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f 



11 



I ■ 



» 



H- 



BURTON'S 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



VOLUME VI. 



FROM JANUARY TO JUNE. 




■Mou Ike uJieia oT ihtf eonli u wdl :!■ ijl ihi: dninLuff ruonu i^ tbehirn bon ud the ricJk. 

Dx Vofc 



PHILADELPHI A. 
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM E. BURTON, 



260554 









CONTENTS. 



rAGK. 

Aooount of George Cruikihank, 11 

A Winter Glee 39 

Additional Sketchei from the Log of Old lion- 

■idee 40,63,118.184 

AlciphroB, Notice of, 53 

Albam Lyrics, a Poem, 97 

Antomnai Perpetration, 130 

April, the Fint of, 155 

April Fool 156 

April, a Sonnet, 169 

Aiheifli, 167 

Annuali 248 

Amateur Actor, a Sketch, S9 L 

Barque of Life, a Poem, 49 

Biographical Notice of Mr. and Misa Vanden- 

hoff, 59 

Brother*. The, . . • 114 

Ballooning acron the Atlantic, 149 

Britifh Steamer Gorgon, 150 

Beauty's Decay, a Poem, . . . , . . .171 

Betrayed, The, a Poem, 242 

Bemb Cannon, 246 

Cruikihank, Some Account of George, 11 

CiyofDeath, The, a Poem, 15 

CamoenB« a Sonnet 26 

Country Church, The, a Poem, . : . . . 27 

Coffee 48 

Centinuation of the Memoin of Charles Mat- 
thews, Notices of, , . 57 

Childhood Scenes, a Poem, 99 

Conquest of Gideon, a Poem; 121 

Columbus, a Poem, 

Canto 1 127 

2, 133 

3. 172 

4 216 

Chapter on Science and Art, 

No, 1 149 

2 193 

3 246 

Central School of Natural Science, . . . .149 

Congers's Fire Detector, 150 

Child and Rod, a Poem 167 

Captive Bird, a Poem, 167 

Critical Notice of the Picture Galleries of the 

North of Europe 185 

Conjectural Discovery of a New Planet, . .193 

Copyright, a word or two on, 202 

Coroingof Jehovah, a Poem, 211 

Compressed Air Engme, 246 

Dog and his Master, 16 

Dance, the Learned 86 

Diary io America, Notice of, 103 

Dove in Winter, 136 

Der Teufelskeri 195 

Diary of the Rev. John Ward, Notice of, . . 201 

Death of Sisera. The, 211 

Dead Man's Ledge, The 226 

Doke, The, Notice of; 248 

Bglinton Tournament. The, a Poem, ... 65 
£trl March and His Daughter, a Poem, . • 92 



FAOI. 

Electrical Copying, 195 

Every Day Life in London, Notice of, . . . 301 
Fables in Rhyme, 

The Ram and Jackass, IG 

The Standish and Pen, 16 

The Dog and Master, IS 

The Lazy Oxen 16 

The Tallow Candle and Torch, ... 77 

The Fool and Sage, 77 

The Tortoise and Mouse, 77 

The Haughty Rat, 77 

The Cat and Hound, 77 

The Two Painters, 167 

The Child and Rod 167 

The Shepherd and Sheep, 167 

The Captive Bird, .167 

The Atheist 167 

Further Chapters of the Miami Valley, 33, 90, 

141, 164 
Field Sports and Manly Pattimea, ... 49, 98 

February, a Sonnet, 73 

Figure Head, The 93 

Fright, The, Notice of, 106 

Florence Vane, The, a Poem, 108 

Fire Detector, ISO 

Fire Alarm Bell, 150 

First of April 155 

Florists' Guide, The, Notice of, 250 

Frank, Notice of, 250 

First Love, a Tale, 277 

GovernetM, The, Notice of, 58 

Grotec^ue and Arabesque, Notice of, . . . 58 

Gorgon Steamer, 150 

Hulmandel's New Mode of Engraving, . . 149 

HollenthalThe 190 

History of the French Revolution, .... 106 

January, a Sonnet, 36 

Journal of Julius Rodman, 44, 80, 109, 179, 

206,355 

Youth of Shakspeare, notice of, 293 

Jest Book. Shakspeare's, 78 

Journal of an Actress, 95 

Krasieki*s Fables 17,77,167 

Laxy Oxen, The 16 

Last Shilling, The 17 

Learned Dunce, The, 86 

Literary Curiosity, 89 

Light from Air Gun 150 

Letter Bag of Great Western, Notice of, . . iS^ 
Log of Old Ironsides, Additional Sketches 

from the 40,63,118,184 

Murder on the Bridge, The, 24 

Marion, a Poem, SIS 

Metempsychosis, The, . . . j , . . 37, 74 

Monody on the Fall of Poland, 43 

Monograph of the Lymniades, 100 

Military Magazine, 105 

March, a Sonnet, 138 

Memoirs and Reminiscences of the French 

Revolution, Notice of, 153 

Marble Sethoide, 19i 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Miy, a Sonnet 329 

Medals copied by Galvanivm, 246 

Memoira and Letters of Madane Malibnuit 

Notice of, 248 

Mntical Doctor. 279 

Mail Robber. The. a Tale, 281 

Notice of William Cullen Bryant, . . . .203 

Ocean, The, 4*2 

Onmiana, 161,235,289 

Pitching a Gun Overboard 40 

Poland, Monody on the Fall of, 43 

Peter Pendulum, 87 

Philosophy of Human Lir«, Notice of, ^. . .105 
Pictures of Early Life, Notice of, .... 105 

Poet, The Mad, 12(» 

Philadelphia Steam Frigate 150 

Philosopher's Stone, The, 168 

Pyramids, The, 193 

piieamatic Engine, 194 

Perils in the Woods, Notice of, 199 

Pilgrimage to Jertualem and Mount Sinai, 

Notice of, 199 

Pathfinder. The, Notice of, ...... 200 

Poor Jack, Notice of, 2i 2 

Peep at Midnight from a College Window, . 212 

Philosophy of Furniture, 243 

Pilgrim to his Siafl*, a Poem, 245 

Plate Glass, 246 

Picture, The, a Tale, 275 

Proud Ladye, a Poem 293 

Ram and Jackass, 16 

Running through Icebergs, 63 

Return, The, a Poem 144 

Romance of Travel, Notice of, 153 

Rambles in the Footitops of Don Qoiiotte, 

Notice of, 154 

Royal George, ... * 193 

Red Rain 194 

Retrospect, a Poem, 198 

Rosa, To. a Poem, 223 

Rriigious Conceit, 228 

Railway Gates, 246 

Review of New Book9. 
Tkles of the Grotesque and Arabecqoe. By 

Edgar A. Poe 58 

A Monograph of the Lymniades. By S. Steh- 

roan Haldeman, 100 

Voices of the Night. By Profeisor Longfellow, 100 
Diary in America. By Captain Marry att. . 103 
The Spitfire, a Novel. By the author of The 

Arethusa, 105 

The Philosophy of Human Life. By Amos 

Deans 105 

Pictures of Early Life ; or Sketches of Yoaih. 

By Mrs. Emma C. Embury. 105 

The Fright. By Ellen Pickering 106 

The Hiiiory of the French Revolution, . . 106 
Sacred Philosophy of the 8ea«onr. By the 

Rev. Henry Duncan. (Second Notice.) . .151 
Memoirs and Reminiscences of the French 

Revolution. By Madame Tussaud, . . . 152 
The Letter Bag of the Great Western. By the 

author of Sam Slick • 152 

Trials of the Heart. By Mrs. Bray, . . .153 
Romance of Travel. By the author of Pan* 

cillinga by the Way 153 

Ranbles io the Pootsrepe of DoDQnixotte. By 
tha kte H. D. iDglia, : . . 154 



PAGE. 

The Pathfinder ; or the Inland Sea. By the 

author of the Pioneers SOO 

\ Word to Women. By Caroline Fry, . . 20O 

Diary of the Rev. John Ward, 201 

Every Day Life in London. By James Grant, 201 
PtKir JHck. By Ca plain Marryatt, .... 202 
The Tower of London. An Historical Ro- 
mance. By W. H. Ainswoith 202 

The Duke, a Novel. By Mrs Grey, . . . 249 
Memoin and Letters of Madame Malibran. 

By the Countess de Merlin, 248 

The Uncertainly of Literary Fame. A Poem. 

By E. W. Thompson, 20 

The Florists* Guide 250 

Frank ; or Dialogues between Father and Sod, 250* 

Vooih ofShaktpeare, S9^ 

The Proud Layde, and other Poems, . . . 294 
Some Accoimt of George Cruikthank, . . 11 

Siandish and Pen, IS 

Stanias. By Childers, 98 

Secret, The, 28 

8(»nnei to the Nightingale, 47 

Sailing 49 

Sloop Yacht, 52 



Song, 

Shakspeare*B Jest Book, 78 

Spiifire, The, Notice of, 105 

Sacred Philosophy of the Seaaona, Notice 

of, 1G« 

Sabbath Morning, a Poem, 118 

Sacred Lyrics, 

The Draih of Sampson, 121 

The Conquest of Gideon, 131 

TheDcatti ofSisera, 211 

The Coming of Jehovah 211 

Squire Sparkins' Splorificaiion, 139 

Sacred Philoso,>liy uf ihe Seasons, Second 

^o^ieo of, • . . . 151 

SileHce, a Sonnet, J 66 

Siiepherd and Sheep 167 

StanziMf.<r Munic 189,215 

Singular Snti.t fir Krror 193 

Scenes in ihe Me«H 224 

Ttirkiflh SoiKToiiMoii 48 

The Betrothed 242 

Tales ( I the Gioie»qii> h •! Arabesque, . . 58 

Thaiimaturgia 68, 145 

To a Dovn m Winter, 126 

TriaU of the Heart, Notice of, 158 

Theodoricnf the Amali 237,269 

Tower uf London, Notice of, 302 

Trench*- Paper Mill 246 

Thunder, 246 

U. 8. Military Magazine, Notice of, ... 105 

Undercliff, 107 

Utility of Classical Studies, Notice of, . . .248 

Voices ofthe Night, Notice of, 100 

ViMit to a Mad house 298 

Velocity of Cannon Balls, 248 

Where Hudson's Wave, Notice of, . . . .100 
Warning Voice, The, a Poem, . . . . * 117 

Who Can She Be? 122 

Warfare of the Clonda, a Poem, 178 

Word to Women, Notice of, 208 

Word or Two nii Copyright, ...... 909 

Toung Year, a Poem, * . 80^ 

Tea. ril Fly to the Prairie, a P6aia» . . , 
Toaih of Shakspeare, Notice eC 



BITRTOSr'B 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 



MONTHLY AMERICTy!^^ REVIEW. 



EDITED BT WILLIAM E. BUBTOH, 
EDGAR A. FOE. 




nn not to dnir ■ llu Uiu would ba laTidlmii balvicD high and low, ruk tai 
■uldrilomitaci, richn and (unnj. No. TSt diMtinaiim it in Oh miitd. Wboosr )■ opan, JuK and mat 
■hnanr li of a hnraana and aSabls danuanoT; whoiTBr i* banaontila In blmaair, and In hJa JulcniaDt of 
olbara, and roqalrsi no law but hlaward toDiak* hJm CulDI aa ancagaDiaai— «cb a man ]m a gtmiUmaH!— 
•Bd iBch a nuu bht b* fmai uwiif Ihi UlUn <f tba aanh aj wall a< In [ha dnwinf ioobj or Iba bi|Uion 
■Dd Iba itch. Di Tmbb. 



VOLUME VI. 
FROM JAHUART TO JOLT. 



PHILADELPHIA! 

WILLIAM E. BURTON, 

OPrOBITl TBB XZOBAVai), DOOK ITRIBT. 

"mfy" 



\ 



BURTON'S 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN MONTHLY REVIEW 



JANUARY, 1 840. 



SOME ACCOUNT OF GEORGE CRUIKSIIANK, 

THE CELEBRATED HUMORIST, 

WITH VIVE OP HIS I)£8ie?VS 8 X L B C T Z D FBOX HIS WORKS. 

Etbbt one ot our readers has^ at some period of his life, laughed over the productions of George 
Cruikshank*s burin. His inimitable genius has made itself known in the vastness of this western 
world ; the popular novelists owe half their reputation to his powerful illustrations ; the print store 
windows are surrounded by crowds who gaze with joyous eye upon his poztrayed whimsicalitiea ; 
the connoisseur places his ** Sketches" on the same shelf with Hogarth ; and Bunbury, Gilraty, 
Rowlandaon, Heath, and H. B. confess his superioiity in the ait of caricature. 

It is strange that we cannot furnish a solitary specimen of capability of humorous design in the 
long and lustrous list of American artists. We enjoy ciiricature. and revel in the rich fun of the 
English sketches which command a rapid sale in every part of the Union. We are essentially a 
laughter-loving nation ; the jocund peals of mirth that greet the performances of every talented 
comedian evince oui keen and ready perception nf the ludicrous; puns are prevalent in private life; 
our daily papers teem with facetiie, and American Broad Grins are staple articles with our trans- 
atlantic friends. We can adduce the world's approval of our painters, but yet we are unable to ex* 
hibit a comic sketch of American manufacture, of tolerable pretensions to cachinnatory excitement. 
Johnston, of Boston, may be subpoenaed against us— but with all due respect to the learned counsel 
on the other side, we opine that the witness has not disturbed our evidence. Johnston has merit, bat 
we have never been able to discern his humor. His ** Sketches" are all aUke — his fat old men and 
vulgar women are eternally the same, in figure, face, dress, and deportment — his niggers are from 
one stock of ebony — his loafers are reduplicates — and his boys are truants from the same school 
tuque ad nauseeun. Then, again, let us look at the miserable lithographic caiicatures which the 
persistive enterprise of a New York publisher inflicts upon the town. We admire his indomitable 
spirit, and ardently wish him better implements of mirth-compelling power — but are fain to confeai 
that the fun of his folios is as hard as the stone whence they are printed. And yet these lithoglyphe 
are in demand; these induratedfunniments — these pensive pleasantries — these case-hardened comi- 
calities — sell ! 

We have before us a caricature by George Ciuikshank dated 1818, representing *< An Interesting 
Scene on boanl an East Indiaman, showing the effects of a Heavy Lurch." We have laughed at 
this glorious print some hundred times, and it yet possesses power to wrinkle our countenance. But 
it is net in caricature that our inimitable artist displays the sovereignty of his skill ; his designs for 
the various illustrated works which have lately been so popular with all classes of readers, have stamp- 
ed his genius with the sterling mark. Whilst his industry enables him to furnish countless platee 
for the numerous books on which his well-appreciated talent has bestowed an enviable popularity, 
his extensive genius empowers him to give a distinct individuality to every creation of his pencil-— 
he never repeats himself. In the illustrations to Oliver Twist, we know at one glance the names of 
the penons depicted, maugre their change of dress, oi difisrence of expression recorded in thehr conn- 
tenanoes. The orphan Oliver is as finely given in Cniikshank's pictures as in Dickens' pages ; and 
ret. Ti. — ao i. a '^ 



12 BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

although we believe that Boz is the best living depicter of man and manners with the pen, we must 
claim for our friend George the same proud preeminence with the pencil. He is indisputably the 
Hogarth of the age, and his fame will not aufier in a keen comparison with the author of The Rake's 
Progress and Maniage a. la Mode. 

When Pierce Egan perpetiatcd his book, ** Life in London, or The Adventures of Corinthian 
Tom, Jerry Hawthorn, and Bob Logic,'* George Cruikshank was engaged by ihe publishers, Sher- 
wood, Nceiy, and Jones, to furnish a series of plates illusUative of the various scenes of ** Life" in 
the great metropolis. The plates were the sole cause of the exceeding popularity of the work ; for 
when Moncrieff, the celebrated play wright, undertook to make a drama from the subject, he was 
compelled to throw aside the vapid dialogue of Egan, and actually wrote his play from Cruikshank's 
spirited designs. The success of this piece is unprecedented in the history of the drama — it was 
played at one theatre every night for an entire twelvemonth ; all the minor theatres produced an imi- 
tation Life in London ; the patent theatres suiTcied their royal boards to be disgraced by the evolu- 
tions of Tom and Jerry ; and the provinciab existed for sevend years upon the reputation and profits 
extracted from their representation of the heroes of Almacks and the blackguards of the Fives Court. 

Cruikshank was next employed upon a work called *' Life in Paris;" and to appreciate the pecu- 
liarities of the badaudSf George resided for some time in the French metropolis — but the public was 
becoming sated with the varieties of ** Life" which the success of ^ Tom and Jerry" had forced upon 
the town, and " Life in Paris," although a work of superior merit, did not meet with proper en- 
couragement. 

When Hone, the political bookseller, published his " House that Jack Built," several hundred 
thousand copies were sold in a few weeks. The public mind was considerably agitated by the trial 
of the Queen of the Realm at the bar of the House of Lords, an event unprecedented in the history 
of the country, and the nation was divided into two distinct cliques — the beUevers in the lady's pro- 
fligacy, and the madheaded asserters of her innocence. Party spirit raged high, and the war of words 
became furious ; but in England, a good joke is relished on all sides ; a Tory will laugh heartily at a 
biting caricature upon his own faction ; and a Whig will grin withdeUght at the crucifixion of him- 
self and his colleagues. Hone knew this; and summoning Cruikshank to his aid, he concocted 
several political jeu-d'esprits, principally directed against George the Fourth and his abandoned 
court, but containing many severe slaps at all parties. The success of his publications has been 
stated; but we must assert that Cruikshank's /nc/uref, for they were no less, were the chief cause 
of the popularity of the pamphlets. We have one of his designs before us now — a representation of 
George the Fourth, king of England, the Defender of the Faith, etc., etc. His majesty has been in- 
dulging in a debauch ; he is represented in the last stage of maudlin intoxication ; his left arm leans 
over the chair's back, and his right hand grasps a broken wine glass. Drunken stupidity is incon- 
ceivably well depicted upon the countenance of this ** most finished gentleman in Europe," as the 
Tories loved to call him ; the royal wig is awry, the vest unbuttoned, and the loosened " Grarter" 
hangs from his majesty's knee. A group of empty wine bottles may be seen under the chair — the 
candles flare up with a blaze that tells the incapacity of the monarch to snuff them, or to ring the bell 
for the attendance of his valet. A richly decorated screen forms the back portion of this excellent 
caricature ; the screen is fiipired with appropriate devices of Bacchus and Ariadne, Dancing Satyrs, 
etc A lady's bonnet hangs upon the comer of the screen ; and the floor is spotted with cards and 
•dice, telling too plainly how his majesty's hours have been passed. This picture is perfect ; it is a 
aevere exposition of the vices of Greorge the Fourth, and had more efiect upon the minds of the mul- 
titude than a six hours' oration by Hunt, the Spa-Field's demagogue, and hero of the massacre at 
Manchester. 

George Cruikshank shortly afterwards published a series of works upon his own account, " Illus- 
trations of Time," whence we have selected two of our accompanying designs ; and " Scraps 
and Sketches," were among the best of these pubUcations. 

One of the *' Scraps" was exquisitely funny, and deserves a passing notice. A steam coach was 
seen progressing down a hill on one of the great roads in England. Some three or four stage horses, 
easily recognised by their chafed sides and docked tails, were seen on the brow of a road* side hill 
gazing at the new invention with looks of fright and horror. One fellow, with his mane standing 
** on end," thus soliloquises — " Well, I'm damned ! a stage going at that rate, and without horses ! 
aye, aye, it's all up with us !" Another piad, with a knowing look, observes, *< I thought this in- 
vention of steam would bring us into hot water — nothing now remains for our masters to do but to 
boil us down for dogsmeat" But an old gray horse, blind and lame from excessive age, hangs his 
head over a gate, and quietly observes, ^ What 1 a coach go without horses ? no, no, youngsters, 
you mus'nt tell me that — I've lived too long in the world to be so easily deceived." 

His exemplifications of the subjects in a volume of rare worth, called " Points of Humor," are 
among the best of his productions— one of the designs, we remember, engaged the attention of an 
AmeriMn painter of high repute; he pronounced it an inimitable creation, and we accorded our 
assent A poor devil of a hypochondriac is represented sitting upright in his bed, gazing with a 
melancholy eye into the void of his half- furnished garret, and peopling the space with the beings of 
his imagination. The lairy-lika creatures swarm around his truckle bed ; and we petoeive, by the 



GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 13 

shapes his fears have formed, the depth of his poverty and his despair. A natty bailiff has stepped 
on to the edge of the truckle bed, and exhibiting a tailor's bill of direful length, taps the unhappy 
wretch on the shoulder, while another " bum" or follower, waits at the bedside to repeat the dose if 
necessary. A parish beadle, burly as the veritable Bumble, stands at the foot of the bedstead, and 
holds forth a warrant for bastardy — two inteiesting ladies who are " as women wish to be who love 
their lords," with a host of little responsibilities, stand weeping by the beadle's side. A heavy load 
of bad debts and unpaid bills are being nailed to the poor wretch's shoulder by a blue devil of active 
look ; a forged ten pound note hangs from the watch pocket on the bed back. It is impossible to 
describe the expressive stare of the unhappy hypochondriac — 

So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, 

as he sits with clasped hands in agony supreme. A malignant looking scoundrel of a flying imp 
o0ers him a pistol and a razor, as the means of escape from the contemplated ills; a jumping, grinning 
skeleton "begs leave to propose a hangman's noose which he has just suspended from the rafters; and 
death, in the extreme coiner of the room, holds up his hourglass to show that the sand of life is run, 
and waves his dart in threatening readiness. By a curious arrangement, peculiar to the deeepiio 
titua of the mind's eye, a fat and punchy tax collector is seen knocking at the house door, with a 
long list of unpaid rates in his brawny hand. 

Lockhart, then connected with Blackwood's Magazine, devoted several pages to a notice of Cruik- 
ahank's great merit in the conception of these designs. 

Our artist then devoted much of his time to the new trade of illustrating both old and new publi- 
cations. A person named White had attracted some attention by the rich humor of his style as ex- 
hibited in the police reports of the Morning Chronicle newspaper. He gathered several of his best 
articles together, and published them in a volume entitled *< Mornings at Bow Street;" and having 
▼ery wisely secured Cruikshank's aid, the book sold so well, that a second volume was called tor, and 
ahortly produced. 

It is almost impossible to enumerate all the works which have received assistance horn our hero's 
prolific graver. *< Roecoe's Novelists," Hood's Poem of *< The Ephiny Hunt," a volume of Italian 
Tales, a curious little affiiir called " Punch and Judy," well worthy a place in a book-lover's collec- 
tion, << Peter Schlemil, oi the Man without a Shadow," " German Stories," ** Johnny Gilpin," *< Hans 
of Iceland," « Tom Thumb," *< Tales of Irish Life," The Lancashire tale of «< Tim Bobbin," «< Green- 
wich Hospital," by the Old Sailor ; and also, a work of singular merit, called ** Three Courses and 
a Dessert," by William Clarke, an author of exceeding worth, whilom editor of the Monthly Maga- 
zine, concocter of '* The Cigar," a small periodical of much originality, and the author of *< Thm 
Geoigian Era." Cruikshank's Illustrations of the various points in the tales given in the <* Three 
Courses and a Dessert" would alone be sufficient to render his name immoitaL 

Like many other delineators of the ludicrous, Cruikshank imagines that he excels in serious dis- 
play. Comedians, generally, fieincy themselves better performers of tragedy than the popular repre- 
sentatives of the dignified portion of the drama, and our friend George is satisfied that he shinee 
best in gloomy subjects and melancholy plots. He has certainly given evidence of his ability in 
every department of design ; in his plates illustrating Oliver Twist there are several of deep interest 
Nothing can be more painfully affecting than the view of Fagin the Jew in the condemned cell, on 
the night previous to his execution. There is no extraneous matter introduced into the picture— 
the felon sits alone in withering retrospection of his almost ended life. The iron has entered his 
soul, and the lineaments of his face display the hellish depths of his despair. Dickens has told the 
tale in unapproachable beauty ; we looked upon his delineation of the Jew's suflbring as a perfect 
specimen of simple but effective composition ; we laid down the book, and paused to dwell upon the 
picture which the masterly hand of the writer had placed before us — and yet, when we renewed oar 
reading, and, turning over a page, came to Cruikshank's illustration of the author's design, we were 
compelled to confess the superiority of the pictorial efiect. Boz, the greatest pen and ink artiit of 
the age, has never been effectively illustrated but by Cruikshank ; while Cruikshank has given im- 
mortality to the inane effusions of dunces and fools. 

Cruikshank is great in all matters, and bestows a degree of attention on all minor and minute 
effiscts till he produces a wondrous whole. Take one of his mobs and carefully look at the petite 
faces of the crowd, scarcely bigger than pins' heads — there is a different countenance to every head, 
and yet each face is in keeping with the character of the individual represented. The smallest of his 
dengns will bear as much *' moralizing*' as any of Hogarth's pictures; neither of the artists ever 
drew an unnecessary line, or placed the minutest ar^cle in view without a specific motive illustra- 
tive of some portion of the subject. He has for the last half dozen years bestowed his talents upon 
a series of plates for the London Comic Almanac, a work of considerable humor ; he has executed 
some things for this publication that deserve a specific notice— but were we to remember all his 
doings, and award proportionate praise to their excellence, we should occupy the whole of our 
month's number, and then leave the task undone. 

We have not done Cruikshank the fullest justice in the nature of our selection from his designs ; 
hot we were unable to find supeiior vignettes of sufficient smallness to fill the allotted space. Wa 
know of hondreda of his deaigns that would have suited oar paipoae adninUbs ^\iQX'^QaDSsEni>8Qifi3ia«d^ 



14 burton's obntleeman's maoazinb. 

coald not obtain copies of them in time. Neterthelesi, we heartily recommend the aocomptnying 
etdiingi to the notice of oar readen, and request leave to say a word or two in illustration of (heir 
meanings and deserts. 

The first subject, the head of the old gentleman in the comer, is selected from a tail piece in the 
** Three Courses." Caddy Cuddle, an eccentric country squire, loses his spectacles, and borrowiiig a 
pair, tries their power by reading a ghost book aAer he gets into bed, at a strange house, in a room 
hung round with figured arras and spectre-like pictures in antique frames. He falls asleep and dreams 
of dreadful things; he wakes up — the moon illumines the chamber, and opening bis eyes to assure 
himself that he is not among the strange beings of whom he had been dreaming, he beholds an imp, 
more grotesque and horrible tliun any tliat had visited his night's slumbers, perched upon his nose, 
threatening it with whip and galling it with spur. This nose-night-mare annoys him for some time 
with its infernal jockey dhip, till the imp-ridden wretch summons his courage to the sticking place, 
and m^kes a clutch at the impudent little fiend. To his surprise and joy, he finds the denl b ncH 
thing more than the strange spectacles which he had left upon his nose when be dropped asleep-^ 
and by tossing to and fro in his dieams, he had twisted them till they had assumed a position and form 
calculated in the obscure moonlight to frighten a person of stronger mind than Caddy Coddle. 

The next subject is from the same publication. Bat Boroo, a harmless little creature, is represented 
in as pleasant '* a fix" as any little gentleman need desiie to be. An infuriated bull, from whom be 
has Just escaped afb^r a severe run, is on one side — a brace of promising bull dogs, trained to ftj at 
all intruders, on the other — a chevaux-de-frise beneath— deep water in front—- and a low of unde- 
niable iron spikes behind, flanked by a bristling wall and a park full of steel traps and spring guns. 
Leaving this gentleman in the full enjoyment of his comfortable post, we come to the centre etdiing, 
which is one of Cruikshank's *' Illustrations of Time," and is entitled ** Time Badly Spent" The 
lieges of London city have turned out to view the ascension of a balloon, and the results of this 
waste of time are foidbly illustrated by the satirist. The breaking-down of the scaffold on the right 
will give serious reasons for remembrance to many of the idlers who had trusted to its strength-— 
the position of " the great unmoved" upon the pole is ludicrous in the extreme. The milk maid, a 
character peculiar to the streets of London, pays the penalty of time mis-spent in losing the contents 
of her milk pails, which a couple of rascally urchins are stealing with impunity. Near the centre, 
others of metropolitan habit, a fireman, waterman, (hackney boatman on the Thames and registered 
flretnan,) and a dustman or remoVer of coal ashes, are mis-spending their time in setting-on two di- 
minutives to box, in imitation of" the Fancy" which at the date of publication, was the fashionable 
rage. Two other hopeful sprigs, iral 8t. Giles's kiddies, are tying a tin kettle to a poor dog's tail, 
who passively awaits the painful results of time badly spent In this plate, Cruikshank seems de- 
termined to exhibit the wickedness of liondon boys ; in the extreme left coiner, a lad is seen pick- 
ing the pocket of an unconscious speciatoi, while an experienced « fence," or receiver of stolen goods, 
is looking out for squalls in the shape of police ofiicers : in the other comer, a pecocious lad is 
" gaflSng" or tossing pence for pie«. The motley crowd of a huge city is well represented in this 
plate ; on the right of the centre the head of a horse soldier is seen above the medium of the mob— 
a good instance of Cruikshank's observation, for every member of those fancy regiments of England, 
the Life Guards, arc composed of men above six feet in height The tops of the houses are covered 
with idle spectators, and the chimneys groan with loafers who rejoice in any cause of holiday. 

In the left coiner of the bottom row is an exemplification of ** Time Lost" Diogenes, with a 
lantern, is continuing his search fur an honest man among the detenus of a London jail. What a 
variety of villnny is presented in the faces of the four jail birds who advance to know *< vot the gentle- 
man vants V* The munlerer, the house-breakfr, the plunderer on the highway, and the low sneak- 
ing but impudent pickpocket are here presented to the life. We can fancy the latter gentleman, who 
is advancing with his pipe, asking the Grecian if his maternal parent knows of his absence from 
home — while the bold-faced villain, next but one, bullies the philosopher with a sang-froid that 
would make an exquisite from St James' pale with envy. ** Vot the 'ell does this ere old covey mean 
by his sinnervations ! I'll l)c gallowsed if I'll 'ave my room burst inter by a chap in a sheet vith a 
glim in his mawley a axen for a 'onest man." The blood-stained ruffian on the extreme left vishes 
to ** know if tho genelman von't stand a drop o' nothing," while the fourth fellow, in a voice hoarse 
from gin and prison damp suggests that the " wcnererble ancient is a mishnerry from Chaney — von 
o' them broad vot Tears their blessed shirt outside their toggery" — and wonders if it's worth while to 
pick his pocket. The whole subject may be taken as a satire upon the excessive philanthropy of 
various well-meaninn people who bestow their kindness upon hopeless villany, and leave the poverty- 
stricken and young in crime to helpless wretchedness and shame. 

The remainder subject presents correct likenesses of Mr. Hone, the compiler of the Every Day 
Book, and of the veritable George Ciuikshank himself. He is, of course, the youngest of the two, 
sitting on the right hand side. George is rather a good-looking man, and the portrait is undoubted- 
ly like him, for it was diawn by himself, but when we saw him last, he sported a magnificent pair 
of moustaches, with a terrific imperial, and pretty whiskeis to match. 

George Cniikahank's father was a native of Edinburg, and was originally apprenticed to a rfgn- 

painter, plumber, and gbzier ; from this unfitting employment he ran away, and lecomptiiiMi ft 

JS^ird to London, Hit friend promised largely while in Scotland, but in England he iiMllledl 



THE CRT OF DEATH. 



15 



Craikahank by proposing that he sbould becomfl bis lacquey. Witbout a shilling, without eren a 
penciJ, the young man threw himaelf upon the world ; he entered an engiavei^s shop, and requested 
employment. A plate was given him to copy, when to the engraver*s surprise the young applicant 
was fain to borrow not only the tools but the coppei, and tbe use of a work-bench. The tradesman 
was good-natured, and the young engraver proved his talents, and obtained the fullest employment. 

In London, the elder Cruiksbank soon obtained a wife ; J. R., or as he always writes his name 
now, Robert Cruiksbank, was the eldest child, and our hero, George, the second. Robert studied at 
the Academy, and became known as a miniature painter of some merit. George studied but little, 
but wishing to enter the Academy, made a picture from the antique, and presented it to the notice 
of the celebrated Fuseli, who gave the youngster permission to join the Academicians, but told him 
that he would have to fight hard fot a seat. George was disgusted, and never made another attempt. 
He returned home, and devoted his attention to the portrayal of life itself, in sketches, caricatures, 
etc. His- father, pleased with the execution of one of his subjects, offered it to a publisher, who gave 
it to the world, and eHtablishe<l Geoi^e Cruiksbank as an acknowledged humorist and dealer in sati- 
rical pictorials. At the father's death, the cider son, Robert, joined our friend George in the fabrica- 
tion of political caricatures, and the brothers drove an eminent trade for several years. At present, 
they are not on the best terms — nay, we reget to say that they have been in violent opposition to 
each other for many years. The talents of the elder brother are in every way inferior. 

George Cruiksbank is a married man, but we know not whether he has any family. He is a 
sociable, agreeable friend, but not very brilliant in conversation. He is moderate in his habits, 
but he likes a bottle with a friend, and enjoys a gotxl story and a merry joke — although we must 
confess that we never knew him to bring his share of such things to the genernl feast. It is strange 
that a fellow overflowing with genuine wit and humor an paper ^ should, in company, ** sit like his 
grandsire, cut in alabaster.'' How many excellent jokes has he pcipetuated ! how many thousands 
of persons has he made to roar with laughter ! and yet be was never heard to utter a respectable 
witticism in his life ! B. 



THE CRY OF DEATH. 



BT CATHABIKS H. WATIRMAK. 



" I COME, I come," 
And a maiden sat in her summer bower, 
In the changeful gleam of the twilight hour. 

And joy was in her home. 

Afar, afar, 
From her happy cot, 'mid the clustering vines. 
Where the pale moonbeam in silver shines. 

She gazed on each bright star. 

A gentle prayer 
On the low night wind as it murmnr'd by. 
Like the sound of some passing spirit's sigh. 

She whisper 'd softly there. 

An icy breath, 
A hurrying wing, as of speedy flight, 
A darkness shrouding a sunny light. 

And the maiden sleeps in death. 

" I corne, I come," 
And a child with eyes like the sky's own blue. 
Sat playing amid the flowers, and dew. 

And peace was in his home. 

Loudly, and wild, 
A burst of joy thro' the cahn air thrills, 



And echo'd by mountains, vales, and bills; 
'Twas the laughter of a diiid. 

Silent, and hush'd. 
The air blows chill, and the flowers depart. 
And the stream grows still at the child's glad heart 

And death the blossoms crush'd. 

" I come, I come," 
And a worn old man with his locks of gray^ 
On a bed-rid couch at morning lay. 

And quiet fiird his home. 

He dream'd of joy ; 
And the sunny light of his childhood's track 
To his fading vision came brightly back. 

And he dream'd he was a boy. 

His eye grew dim, 
And a sudden shuddering o'er him crept, 
A gentle sigh — and the old man slept, 

For death had shrouded him. 

" I come, I come," 
It came like the blast of the dread simoom, 
A trumpet tone from the hiding tomb. 

And a sadness fiU'd each home. 



FABLES IN RHYME. 



FROM THE POLISH OF ARCHBISHOP KRA8ICKI 



BT THOMAS DUHV X IT O L I 8 H , X. D. 



THE RAM AND JACKASS. 



The afs complained, in moTing words, 

It was a shame and sin 
To cast him from the stable out 

And let the ram within ; 
Bat, while the loudest were his moans, 
Thas spake the ram in bitter tones : 



<* Be quiet, pray, my long-eared friend. 

With anger be less rife, 
A butcher's standing by my side 

With ready-sharpened knife. 
Comfort yourself with this conceit, 
* Mankind will not eat jackass-meat' 



t n 



THE STANDISH AND THE PEN. 



Betwixt the standish and the pen 

A dreadful quarrel rose. 
Which came to words of bitter kind, 

Black looks, and almost bbws, 
As to which penned a certain fable 
That lay just written on the table. 



Its author in the meanwhile came 

The library within, 
And, finding out the cause of this 

^ipflt sad and dang'rous din, 
Exclaimed, ** How many bards at war 
Just like this pen and standish are !" 



THE DOG AND HIS MASTER. 



A certain dog, of watchful kind. 

To scare the thief away. 
Barked from the setting of the sun 

Until the dawn of day. 
His master, at the morning light. 
Flogged him for barking thus all night. 



Next night the dog in kennel slept 

Sound, with prodigious snore, 
The thief broke in, and. seizing all, 

Made exit by the door. 
. When morning came they flogged the brute^ 
I Because the lazy dog was mute. 



THE LAZY OXEN. 



The first commission of an ill 

Delightful is, no less ; 
Tis in the efiiscts it brings about 

That lies the bitterness. 
As easily is proven by 
This most Teiacious hislory. 



j In spring the oxen all refused 

To plough the grassy plain ; 
When autumn came they would not haul 

From out the fields the giain. 
In winter, being scarce of bread. 
They knocked the oxen on the head. 






• • • • •• • 

• •• ••• •• 



HE L 'A-S T: ,fe/li J-L L.-I N G . 

• ; ' • • . . 



-. ; ••: :.V / 



9 



BT J. X. DOW, W ASH I N OTOlf f D. C. 



It waB at the commencement of a stormy eveniog in the rainy season, when a young -mm, di 
ed in a soiled and tattered suit of clothes which, like their wearer, had seen better days, loshed into 
the bar* room of one of the low hells of Lisbon, in a state of intoxication, and throwing himself upon 
one of the rude settees, ordered a bottle of eau de vie to be placed before him. The assiduous at* 
tentions of the garcon soon supplied the wants of the impatient stranger, and drawing together the 
curtains of the alcove, he left him to attend to numerous calls from people of almost every ntlion vn- 
der heaven. ^ * 

The young man sat for some time with his head leaning on his hand, and nothing gavft e^ence 
of his existence but the escapement of a sigh, so deep and strong that — like the outbreaking of tfie 
smothered fire of a volcano — it seemed to burst asunder the object ^m whence it proceeded* At 
length he drew from his pocket his purse, and after duly examining its lean and poverty-stricken ap- 
pearance, turned out upon the marble table a solitary shilling. It was his all — he had arrived at the 
<* ne plus ultra" of hi* riches, and poverty seemed with long and withered limbs to stalk before him. 
It was the turning point in the history of Henry Staunton; birth, friends, reputation, ay, even the 
decency uf a vagabond, were about to be surrendered up to the power of intemptfance and crime. 
He gazed about him with a look of madness ; he had not calculated upon poverty — poverty such as 
this — ^when the dice and the gold rang upon the gaming table — when the song of the syren swelled 
high above the festive board, and the deluded votaries of Bacchus found a living pain in the draughts- 
of jolly Cham. 

He had calculated the cost of the degradation and debasement of a noble soul ; but poverty ! he 
had not thought of her — that cruel hag which, worse than the damning nightmare, sits heavily upon 
the breast, tliough lightly upon the stomach, of the poor unfortunate, and presses him down to a 
level with the ignoble and the vile. In our own happy country we hardly ever see or feel poverty ; 
but in the old kingdoms of Europe, where the unfortunate arc numberless, and where the tendency 
of their institutions is 'to make the poor, poorer, and the rich, richer — poverty, such as man would 
gladly exchange for death, stalks about the street in slow and cadaverous form, scowling like the fa- 
mishing w^olf for victims, and clutching her long skinny fingers at the tbioats of rosy-cheeked child- 
ren and well-fed friars. 

Henry Staunton reflected — it was the first time that he had cast a thought upon his wretched c<m* 
dition for months. He looked at his ragged clothes, and shuddered ; n little mirror before him show- 
ed him his finely shaped countenance bloated and red with unnatural excitement ; a deep gash, half 
healed, mat red the beauty of his commanding forehead, and his thick, glossy, raven locks were mat- 
ted with lint and dust. His once smart beaver was knocked into a thousand angl9B» and his mi- 
washed shirt collar hung over an apology for a black silk neck handkerchief, like a dirty jib over the 
bowsprit of a Newcastle collier. His whole dress would have brought him in a handsome sum had 
there been in the neighborhood some Billy Barlow, devoid of the necessary costume of his cbarao* 
ter. 

The brandy remained untouched — the fever of intoxication had passed away — the finer feelings 
of human nature began, like oil poured upon the stormy ocean, to calm the swelling and blackened 
furges of vice ; and the tears that had long since been dried up, like a summer brooklet, suddenly 
accumulated in their parched channels. He drew a white handkerchief from his breast, and grasp- 
ing it convulsively in his hand, gazed upon the name for a moment, then, dashing his head upon 
the table, burst into a fiood of tears. His sobs soon attracted the attention of the company in the 
next alcove, and the keeper of the hell, fearing that his foreign customer might be about to commit 
suicide in his premises, and thus lay upon him the onus of his burial, entered the recess, and shak- 
ing the unhappy youth by the collar, Iraide him seek a lodging elsewhere. Vhin was enough ! Henry 
Stsunlon arose a new, a redeemed man. The hour of degradation had passed away, and with ft 
smile upon his face, which, like the rainbow of God upon the retiring shadows of the deluge, gave 
evidence of future calmness, he replaced his memorial of early love, and lifting from the table his 
solitary shilling, bade the keeper of the hell observe that his brandy remained untouched. He then 



18 BURTOM^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

departed ; and as he stepped out upon tlie Preca del Roocio, the night wind howled around the rocks 
of Cintra, and the ralley of the Tagus gave back its sounds with a thousand echoes. 

Along the morena of Lisbon are numerous stands, where the jBatmeploving boatmen of the Tagus 
huddle around a few brands, and await the hour when^the nliw^l office/^ from the various squadrons 
come down to return to their floating lodgings, ^&e Up't^ustafhed sentinel paces along the quay 
with greater dignity as the middle houT'OfAi^tHra^B^ear^ and the horse patrol make their only 
round when the joyous reefer, wjth tl|e wealt^er l^ech of his main-topgallant sail a little lifting, comes 
swearing down the 8tree(9^ damding tfie*eaithquake for making them so hilly, and the citizens for 
crowning ^^^nCwith ^qc(^SBarry* filth. As for the earthquake, that could not be helped ; but for the 
nighH^ ^Up^eiJiJof^ unholy water that descend upon the heads of wandering strangers, from eight 
till tw£rve,.1S M., from the numerous front windows of the eight storied houses of every street in 
Lisbon,'nothing can be offered in extenuation. They are sins which cannot be forgiven by foreign- 
ers, and aie barely tolerated by those who indulge in them. 

It was to one of these fires that Henry Staunton bent his steps, as the heavy tones of the cathe- 
dral clock tolled eleven. Soon after his arrival there, a captain of a jackass frigate, who had been 
dining with his country's consul, came rolling down like a ship in the chops of the channel in a 
heavy sea, with the wind free, and endeavored to make the boatmen who beset him understand 
where he wanted to go; but from a natural thickness of his tongue, and an an additional impediment 
in the shape of aqua v/7a«,he endeavored in vain. At length, Henry Staunton, who sate shivering 
over the few embers of the dying watch-fire, approached him, and, in English, asked the stranger 
where he wished to be taken. 

** Tdbip," said the son of Neptune, with a heavy lec-Iurch, " why taken on board and be d d 

to jon,** and he chuckled at his wit like a monkey who had put a hot chcsnut into a confiding cat's 
paw. 

*< But to what ship 1" said Staunton. 

« What ship," said the captain — '< why to the Boanerges, captain Spitfire, pierced for thirty-six 

long guns, with a shifting one astern. D n it sir, there she is, don't you see the light under the 

mizzen-top ? Suppose you go on board with me, youngster, as you seem curipus ; I always like to 
meet a countryman in a foreign land, especially after dinner. Come, bear a hand my boys, and 
bring up the boat." 

A boat was soon ready, and, after numerous ineffectual efforts, the captain compromised the mat- 
ter with his legs by rolling in on a couple of oars. Once on board, by force of habit, he rolled into 
the stern sheets in an upright position, and gave the order — <* Shove off.*' 

The boatmen, however, refusing to move until they were paid, captain Spitfire seemed to ignite 
At this insult to his dignity, and was about to roll out upon the quay in the same manner that he 
rolled in, when Staunton, recollecting his shilling, pulled it out, and shewing it to to the boatmen, 
«&id, ** If this will compensate you for your trouble it is at your service." 

** Thank you, my master," said the first oarsman, ** it is small, but it will do," and hailing his 
•companion, who immediately joined him, the boat shoved off from the quay, and soon lay along side 
of the frigate Boanerges, one of H. B. M. squadron in the Tagus. The worthy representative of 
his country's honor was soon housed in his state room, and Henry Staunton, having been invited 
4>alow by the master-at-arms, located himself on a grating between the two forward guns on the star- 
board side of the gun-deck, and was soon lost in a sleep far more sweet than any that had blessed 
his eyelids since his departure from his native home, to learn the ways of damning vice in a guilty 
land. 

« Seven bells," cried the master-at-arms of the Boanerges, as he came up the forward hatchway. 
^Tum out, turn out, you lazy lubbers," and administering a few gentle hints with his rattan, soon 
bad the crewnpon their feet busily lashing up their hammocks. 

Henry Staunton heard nothing of this din until a gallon of golden water came plash in his face 
fiom the bucket of one of the after-guard, who was busily employed in washing down the deck. He 
started to hid feet, and, with good humor, acknowledged the fitness^ of the oblation, and then gazed 
about him. It was morning, and a golden one too— the shores of Altemeja and Lisbon were bathed 
with the gaudy coloring of nature — the land breeze came off frofai the osangc groves and purple 
hills— the cry of the smuggler was heard as his train of asses came down the steep bank of the 
shore, while the cheerful yeo ! heave oh ! of the lugger's crew, fts Uiey took on board the wine of 
Xeres and Oporto, awoke the echoes of the winding river's shores. 

It was a long time before he could call to mind the occurrences of the previous night ; and while 
be stood looking anxiously out of the bridle port, his forlorn condition attracted the sympathy of the 
British tars around him, who kindly gave him an invitation to their mess, and bade him brush up 
for his interview with * Old Smoke Pipes,' the nick-name given to their commander by them. 

Henry Staunton soon cleared himself from all remains of his old habits — his tattered suit went 
down on the bosom of the golden river, and his old rimes served to toll out two or three unwelcome 
sharks who had entered the bay for the purpose of overhauling the shoals of marrow bones that had 
been thrown overboard until they had neariy overturned the admiral. AAer undergoing the mar- 
tyrdom of being shaved by the barber of the ship, Staunton dressed himself in a neat suit of sailors' 



THE I^A^ST 8HILLIMO. 19 

ciiihiiig 'p kk luiir be combed over kis wouiidod SankkMd, and a» bo paood tke focceaotle wkk the 
fortw maoier of thm watch, awailiog the conxnaiKio of Um honocmbio faftai» Spitfivo, Be aeemad 
Itto oae gi the fkacy men of the Boefoorggaa JMt leturned fmm • hbtrty woek oa abere. 

Jngt before the topgallant ya«de woie croioidy captain Spitfie made hie appaayamca in anaat 
dreia, and, with a aearaanlike alacritj, endeaTored to make up for his evening debaoch hj hie atiiet 
aaaah alter the iauka of othera. After ioepecliiis tbo ahip througboutf and finding ewiy thuig aa 
OHial in proper order, he tent for the master-at-arma. and bade him bfing inte' the cabin hie icniib 
acquaintance of the previous evening. 

Henry Siaunton was soon in the presence of lihe commander, who bade the nMteimt-anna reike, 
aad then tuoung to himy said i» a fpntMitma^** jooBgatet, Hell me your hieleiy !" 

fltawitoB detailed the principal evente olhiadiesoUte Uli ia a spirit of dee^cootritioDr uid wbea 
he had finiBhed he leaned hia aehinf^ head upon hia faaad^ and awaited hie firte.- 

Captain Spitfire looked at the fine fonn and mleUi^gRt iace befoM him fev aome miautei, mki 
atriking hia hand npon the table, said, <* youagster, Fll make a maa of yooy fiar he whom tke 
land casts ofi'the sea must swallow. Vou have improved teitoMy ua jom oatwotkvaiaBe laetni^i^ 
eea that jou ke^ ae clean here,'' (strikaig his hand wpom boa InmasL) ** Sbt and diedfiine tterer 
and i» ooaipany—^aiid he thai keeps hiacoppei fool in my ship mnatbawntfay ef cendamnarioajf* 
tina tasaiafi, ha laag a beU— 4he oiodeily enteiedb ** Tett Mb 81ops» tha poieer, to bring up the n^ 
fii^ist another eon of thnndei ia waiting t» be chriMenedk" 

The j^ueer had expected a moroing call ftom hi* eemmandei, aad 8oo» entceed the cabi& of the 
Bee»argpBB, wkh lua shipfing aatiake in his band; and ia a Sam miautea Heniy Stauatoo waaift- 
teila midahiipanaa ia the gallant navy of Britain.. 

" Here, air," said the captaia, haadm^ Staaatoa a doabtoea, « Here ia safficient U> bay yoa a 
jacket and dirii'-^-act yomr part well, and from the gianee of yaur top-lighte, I fiwl confident that yea 
win do hie m a jw t y some semce. Reeolleet, thcce ia yaui ahilliag^wfch inteieel--atu(fy the neceaaa* 
If peiiof yoor pffofiBasioo^ aad lei the fcncy bosinesa go to the devil^ to whom it beloagk Abhor 
white gloves and cologne water — speak as little cuxsed French as poerible, and never call me Old 
Smoke Pipea on duty. Be off— I won't be ihankedv I have read yoa like a book. Go to dke firat 
lieotenant, and study the ropee, and be careful how you let Nip Cheese, (the purser^) fingai yom 
deabloon." Thus saying, the excellent hearted captain bowed the newly dubbed midahipmai* of 
the Bkoeracrgea to the door of the cabin, and seeiag. the master's- mate of the wateh at the gangway, 
i'bHsiI oat, " Mr. Strotker intrnduce Mi. Staunton to the young gentlemen below, and be caselbl 
hear joo cot up any monkey shines with him — there'a the ma&t head ! You undentand me air f 
Good morning, Mr. Staunton.'* 

A pendant waa now seen flying fiorn the admirar^ signal hAlliard», aad then wee seen the Boa- 
a eijw ' number, aad a signal below. 

** What ia it ?" cried a dosen voices*. 

** Boanerges under way to get — follow the admiral witli or without signale,'* said the signal ofi- 
eer, aahr entered tlie cabin.- 

** Anawer the signal, air," said captain Spitfire ; ** Mr. Gatharpin all hands up anchor." Then 
the heavy roar of the admiral's signal gaa came rolling over the deep, and the- ** blue peter" uniol- 
liag itself to the breese, floated gaily ai his fore. 

New all was buetle and apparent confuauw. aad (like all other ships of war that had been kmg 
aadiOMdy) the Boaaergea got under way in a lubberly manner, and as the shades of evening fell 
the silent waters, took her departure firom the roek of Lisbon. 

Touag Staunton waa now on a new element — the dark hour had passed away, and the poor ▼•> 
gahead, who so lately would have sold hia exiatence for nm^ became a Jemmy Reefer, wad wae 
caasidered, ere he had been, a week oo board, the crack ofiicer of the cock-piL 

Onward the three decker rolled her course, and swiftly the gallant ftigate followed in her wake. 
On the third day out, a signal from the admiral denoted a sail on the starboard bow, and soon mo- 
ther signal bade the Boanerges crowd all sail in chase. Now was captain Spitfire's time to diow 
his intrinric value — his qualities became brighter, (like those of the diamond,) beneath the 
head of the polisher, and the gaUant tar, ere the enemy's conrses hove in sight, waa ready for a dee- 
pciate battle on the deep, Hia batteries were clear — his guna double shotted-— codaaws, pistols and 
beeiding pikes were distributed by no niggard's hand, and the powder boys stood ready behind each 
gOB with Kpare cartridges in their leathern passing boxes. Round shot and wads were in the shot 
ncka, and Uie men were at quarters with tlieir trowsere mlled up to their knees, their jackets ofi^ 
aad their necks bare ; some had handkerchiefs about their waists, and some had them twisted d ia 
TSttrque around their heads ; lo»>king as they stood in clusters around each iron mouth piece Uke a 
cen^ieaent part of the cannon itielC The decks wore sanded toprevent them from becoming slippe- 
ty with blood. The marines and top-mea were at their stations, and the cock-eyed marine offioBor, 
with a tremendous mucklo-whanger, was marching up and down the larboard waist, now casting 
mm eye into tlic foie-top, while the other rested oa the mizaen, and now shaking hia aword at aome 
3mf UMow who had sate down to reat, probably ta sigh over the melancholy reflections whioh tha 
hear excited within his breast 

rot. VI. — !ro. r. k.% 



• 



20 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

The eaptain was standing on the hone block peeping through a mighty spy glass, while the offi- 
cer of the deck, assisted by two quarter masters and a few youngsters, was endeavoring to make out 
the craft from the opposite side of the ship. At length, as the Boanerges drew nearer, the frigate 
laid her maintopsail to the mast, and yawing gracefully, ahowed the lilies of the Bourbon floating 
at her ensign peak. 

« French, by ," said captain Spitfire to Mr. Catharpin, the first lieutenant. ** Stand by 

the bow-gun sir. All ready V* 

« Aye, aye sir,'' replied the commander of the division. 

« Then let the Mounseer's hear your thunder — fire \" 

<*Bang," roared the bow chasers, and, from a wreath of woolly smoke, the thirty-two pound shot sped 
on its mission of destruction ; it took the Frenchman amidships, and slanted across his gun-deck ; the 
splinters flew about merrily. Considerable confusion was created by the salutatory of the Boanerges, 
and L' Agile, for such was the French frigate, filled away, and endeavored to get the weather 
gage, but captain Spitfire was up to the frog-eater, and tossing him half a ton of cold iron in quick 
succession, the Boanerges bore down to board. 

*< First division of boarders away,'* thundered the obtain, and from the different quarteis of the 
ship came forth a flood of armed men in the twinkling of an eye. The Boanerges had now run foul 
of L'Agile's stem, and making the firigatea fiist with his own hands, captain Spitfire, followed by 
young Staunton and a hundred men, gained the Frenchman's dedL. It was a dreadAil meeting — 
the French fought like tigers — the boarders flung themselves upon boarding pikes and points of cut- 
lasses ; battle axes and hand grenades were hurled in every direction — the report of the boarder's 
pistol was followed by the crash of the next man's scull as its heavy butt descended upon it. The 
second division now came to the assistance of the first, headed by the first lieutenant, and they ar- 
rived in time to secure the victory. Harry Staunton had just cut the French captain down as he 
drew a pistol to shoot captain Spitfire. At that moment a pikeman pinned the gallant reefer to the 
mizzen mast, but he had hardly done so before the cutlass of captain Spitfire laid him headless upon 
the deck. 

At this moment the third division of boarders came pouring in, and in five minutes the flag of 
England floated at her ensign peak. **The cross it went up, as the lilies came down." 

For a moment captain Spitfire had missed young Staunton, but now, seeing him leaning pale and 
trembling against the mizzenmast, he sprang and released him, and while the tear stood in his eye 
he clasped him in his arms, and said — ** Well done, my young recruit ; you have nobly earned your 
swab, and if there is any gratitude in the sea-girt isle, you shall have a handle to your name ere I 
am three weeks older." 

The surgeon instantly had bis patient removed to his berth, and after a careful examination of his 
wound, he conveyed to captain Spitfire the gratifying intelligence that his young charge would finally 
recover, notwithstanding he was severely hurt. The prize was then oveihauled, and the damage to 
both hull and rigging repaired. 

In the course of a couple of hours, captain Spitfire, having left the prize in command of lieutenant 
Catharpin, made the signal for ** crowding on all sail," and the crews giving three cheers, which 
were re-echoed by the dark hollows of the ocean, L' Agile spread out her white wings, and fol- 
lowed swiftly in die wake of her conqueror. Night now settled upon the heaving ocean, and cap- 
tain Spitfire, seeing no signs of the admiral, shaped his course for England. Three days after the 
action, the Boanerges, followed by her prize, passed the Eddystone, and anchored in safety off Ply- 
mouth. The captain of the Boanerges reported himself to the port admiral, and then posted up to 
London, leaving Henry Staunton on the sick list By return of post, young Staunton received his 
commission as a lieutenant in the Britiah navy, with a leave of absence, and a handsome amount of 
prize money. Thus we leave our hero, to return to an earlier period of his life, to trace out the 
eanses which led to such unforeseen, yet happy eflects. 



Henry Staunton was the only son of a wealthy merchant of Philadelphia, and having an austere 
&th«r, and a weak and indulgent mother, he became as unfit for the realities of the world as one 
could expect under such circumstances. His follies — ^for he had many— constantly brought upon 
him the reproaches and punishments of his fiither, and, in the same ratio, the attentions and gifts of 
his mother. Thus matters went on until the day of his mother's death. That day was a melan- 
choly one for our hero ; he shut himself up in his room, and for days refused to be comforted. At 
length he became more calm, and met his father at their lonely meals with a brow bent down with 
sorrow. Mr. Staunton, however, like a true business man, forgot his loss as soon as he usually did 
the loss of a ship, or the decline of fancy stocks ; and, after numerous long and exciting conversa- 
tions with his son, at last decided that he should become a merchant, and directed him to make op 
his mind to enter the counting house as soon as the fall business should commence. In the mean- 
time, he gave him a check on his banker, with permission to spend the summer months at his oooii^ 
ry seat, in the interior of Connecticut 



THE LAST SHILLING. 21 

It was a lovely and stately mansion, near one of the pleasantest villages in the blue law state, sur- 
rounded by orchards, gardens, and lawns, with a silver stream flowing at the foot of the little emi- 
nence upon which it stood. Its white>washed out-houses, at a distance, gave it the appearance of a 
little village, and around it, the magic talisman of wealth had spread a richness and magnificence 
seldom Feen in the interior of the country. Henry Staunton had, by the will of his mother, inhe- 
rited a handsome little fortune in the stocks, and here, with suflicient to satisfy his every want, amid 
the rural scenes and quiet retreats of Connecticut, his noble mind began to expand, and give blight 
evidence of a brightei manhood. Besides, he had fallen in love, and that, too, by the merest acci- 
dent. He had met, in his fishing excursions and lonely walks, Emma Lester, the daughter of the 
worthy cleigyman of the paiish, and being struck with her saint-Uke beauty and afieetiQnate attentio 
to her aged father, had called at the parsonage. After the first difficulty had been surmounted, viz : 
that of breaking the ice, he became a constant visiter there. Often would these young and ardent 
beings wander forth by the gentle Willimantic, at the rosy hour of day, 

" And fondly whisper love." 

Henry Staunton was now a happy man, and if the thought that he m«st at length leave those £ury 
scenes and the maiden he adored, to become the drudge of a warehouse, occasionally clouded his 
brow, the smile of Emma Lester chased it away as the sun chases away the phantoms of the night 
Matters went on thus until all the village knew that the young couple loved each other, and the old 
clergyman, at last discovciing the same truth, called them befoie him and blessed them,'and the next 
day was gathered unto his fathers, leaving Emma to the tender mercies of an uncle in New Yoik, 
who possessed vast wealth, great eccentricity, and as little regard for the feelings of the lovers as old 
Staunton himself.. 

Henry Staunton was now eighteen, and love at that age is apt to bum strong and last long. Af^ 
ter seeing the good old man to his long. home, he endeavored to cheer up his desponding Emma: 
but the shock to her feelings was so gieat, that her uncle determined to remove her to New York at 
once. A few days, and this determination came upon the ears^of Henry Staunton, like a clap of 
thunder in a clear sky. He had never thought of such a consequence, and although it came from 
the lips of Emma with a smile of hope that the separation would not last, yet his own fears told him 
that it might be for ever. He then told the gentle Emma of his father's sternness, and the little 
piobability of his ever consenting to a union between them. 

" And is this the fact, Henry Staunton V* said the weeping maiden, *<and have you kept such s 
truth hidden from me so long ? Henry, it was not generous, nay, it was unkind in the extreme — 
but no, I will not believe it ; your father will relent, and we shall be so happy in our rural bower. 
Oh ! what a dream I had last night — it was an omen of a bright and glorious career for you !*' 

At this moment, the carriage of Ronald Lester drove up to the door of the parsonage, and inter- 
rupted the farther conversation of the lovers. 

** Heniy Staunton," said the old man, after the introduction had been made, ** 1 have heard of you ;. 
you have seduced the aflections of this innocent and unsophisticated maiden, when you knew your 
father would never consent to your union with her. You have acted like a scoundrel, sir ; begone, 
and never let me see your face again." 

Staunton endeavored to expostulate with him, with the tear of sorrow in his eye, and the blush 
of indignation upon his cheek ; and Enmia, weeping, plead for a moment's heazing ; but it was all 
to no purpose — the old gentleman had made up his mind, and that was sufficient. In a few min- 
utes, Emma's little stock of books and wearing apparel was ready, and her uncle, handing her to 
the carriage, took his seat beside her, and ordered the coachman to drive off. Hemy Staunton stood 
watching the carriage as it wound around the hill like one awakened firom a dream, but no token of 
affection was left for him nntil the Lesters came to a sudden turn in the road, when a white pocket- 
handkerchief waved along the side of the carriage, and fell upon the ground. Staunton sprang to 
the spot, and seized the treasure ; it was marked with the name, and wet with the tears of Emma 
Lester. 

*' And am I doomed to disappointment T' said the youth, in agony. At that moment, a thought 
flashed upon his mind. ** I will leave the country," said he, ** and forget that I am a Staunton." 

In a few hours, he left his father's country seat, and proceeded to New London, where he disposed 
of his right to his mother's legacy, and took his departure, in a merchant vessel, for England. 

After a long passage, young Staunton entered the metropolis of England, and meeting with those 
who, like the sucking fish, live by drawing the vitality from others, he soon lost a portion of his 
money. He then proceeded to Paris, and what was left by the ancestors of Crockford, was taken 
by the ancestors of Frascati, with the exception of a sum sufficient to pay his passage to Lisbon. 

Upon his arrival in Lisbon, he was disappointed in finding that his father's vessel, which he m^ 
by Lloyd's list, was there, had sailed the day previous for Philadelphia. Thus left without monej^ 
and without friends, his father's consignees refused to believe that he was the son of old Staunton, 
and the hells of Lisbon shook off a customer of such doubtful character. It was at this period thai, 
our tale commences. 



22 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

It was evening, and the shrill whistle of a NoTeniber^ wind awcke the echoea of the silent citj 
•f New York, when a josng English officer hnded at the Battery from a packet that had juit ar- 
med fiom England. Two stout seamen took his baggage upon their shoulders, and followed hnn 
vp Broadway until he reached a noble maasion, when he bade them halt He then appreachod the 
^ber and rang the beff, which was immediately answered. 

«* J» Mr. Lester at home V said the officer. 

" Mr. Lester ?" said the serrant. ** Mr. Lester does not Ihre here. Mr. Lester has &iled in boai- 
neas, aiid is imprisoned for debt." 

** G tm M QoA f is it possible V said the young man, in insupportable agony. But where is his 
ideee, Mise Btema ? Surely she must he somewhere in the yicmity.*' 

<* The yomig woman went to jail with the old man,** eaid the servant, as he slammed the door in 
the ftee of Steunton ; fbr it was he who had thus returned, loaded with honofs, to claim his first 
lofek 

<( Take my baggage to the nearest hotel, and leave this card with the landlord," said Staunton to 
the seamen. Then, swift as a son bearing a reprieve for his condemned father, he sought — that blot 
upon the escutcheon of freedom — the poor debtor's prison. 

Entering the jailor's apartment, he begged to be permitted to have an interview with the Lestora, 
whkh WW denied hnn. 

** What b the amount of the execution upon which Ml Lester is impriaooedl" aaked Stmanton 
• fiiee teeming with the workings of a nobfe soul. 

« Twe tkevsan^ dottars," sad ^ jailor, in a lough voice. 

« Only two thousand doflars!" said Staunton ; ** then give me his discharge; for here is the mo- 
ney r 

The jaiiof was deubtful how to aet in this ease for some moments, but finally tod^ the money, 
made out Ronald Lester's dischaige, and taking the key, unlocked a gloomy eel), and pointing down 
^aome meuldy, dlansp steps, said^- 

** Theve Ihey are: the doors are all open — they can leave as soon as they wish ; and hazkoe, yotmg 
nMm» the aeoner the better." 

Rsniy Btaunten took the offi^red discharge, and soon stood before the inmates of the prison. 

*< HeDiy— any own dear Henry !** screamed the maiden as she raised her eyes to note the cause of 
intimoa al such an hour, and throwing herself into his arms, bathed his cheek with tears. Then 
taming, said — " Unde, deat uncle, Henry Staunton has come to save us ; look i^ and welcome 
him, for through his instrumentality, our sorrows will soon be at an end." 

<* Young man," said old Lester, with a frown upon his biow, as he raised himself from his couch, 
wbien he had been eonfined by a fever of the brain since his entrance, ** come you here to mock me 
im my how of degradation and sorrow — begone ! Ronald Lester is in prison — in pzison for debt — 
but he asks no aid from any one. No crime nor dissipation has brought him here. Accident and 
false partMrs alone have wrought the changes you behold ; and a ruined man may as weU die in 
prison as in the street. 

StaanKm sprang to his bedside, and grasping the merchant by the hand, said — '< Lester, have I 
^feaerved thie treatment from you ? You know I left the country at your command, and now I come 
with weahh and honor to claim my own true love. I come not to mock at yow troubles, but to end 
them. Heie is your discharge — the doors are open — ^let us begone!" 

The aged merebant gazed steadily at the youth for a few minutes — his frown passed away — a 
smile played upon his countenance — he raised bis head upon his hand. 

" Heniy Staunton " said he, ** you have redeemed yourself. I have wronged you deeply ; hence- 
forth, lei eur anger cease. Be kind to that dear girl, who, like a ministering angel, has hovered 
around ^ns gloomy prison, and smoothed the coarse and moistened folds of my dying couch." Then, 
with a loek of phrenzy, he wildly screamed — ^ Ha ! I am free ! the piison doors are open ! — Ro- 
nald Lester is not a ctirainal, or the doomed companion of felons. Throw open yonder vrindow 
vrider. Ay, now I see the twinkling lamps — I hear the voices and the steps of busy men — I hear 
the laugh and the song — hut let us to business. Send for a clergyman ; I wish to niake reparation 
for injury before I die." 

A elergfoian was soon found, and to the astonishment of both parties, was ordered by the old 
QWicliant te perform the marriage ceremony. 

M Emma and Henry," said Lester, « kneel down before me— may God Almighty bless yon, my 
children. And now let us away^-call my carriage— I must to Wall street, to meet my labilities — 
sead for my partner — no hope— ruined — lost — ^imprisoned — free ! Ronald Lester b no longer a pii- 
aonerf ami turning his face to tae wall, he expired without a groan. 

The next day, the coipse of the ruined and bioken-hearted merchant was laid with the dust of his 
fathers, and immediately afterwards, Henry Staunton and lus weeping bride were on their way to 
Philadelphia. As they entered the city of brotherly love, they were stopped by a long funend pro- 
ceeaton, moving to a (tistant burial place. Staunton inquired of one of the followers whoee fancnl 
it 



STANZAS. 23 

" Old Staunton^B, the miser's/' said the man, in a rough voice, " and wc are hired to mourn on 
the oocaaion." 

** It ia mj father's corpeo !" said Henry. ** Give place, for I am the chief mourner here !" and 
soon his travelling carriage was next to the hearse. 

The burial being over, the sorrow-stiicken son and his weeping wife proceeded to the magnificent 
family manaan of the 8lauiilon% to brood in deep melancholy over their lespeecive losses. But 
grief must have an end, like every thing else, and Staunton and his wife at length became calm 
enough to hear the reading of the will. The firs*, part of it cut Henry off with a shilling ; but by 
a codicil, dated the very day that Henry refrained fcom spending his last shilling at the ca£o in Lis- 
bon, the will was amended, and the whole of the Staunton property was made his own at his father's 
deaih, provided he should return to the United States within seven years after that event 

Henry Staunton continued to hold his commission in the navy of Britain until the war of the 
revolution broke out, when he sided with his countrymen, and threw off the shackles imposed by 
royalty. 

Years rolled on, and the Stauntons became more powerful and wealthy than ever in the rising 
and beautiful city of Penn, and finally, when our hero and his partner retbed from the busy stage 
of life, a numerous progeny was left to perpetuate the family name ; but where they are now, God 
only Imews. Upon opening the will, the children were made acquaintad^fior the fiat tUB% with their 
fiOlMn's former povert^ and distiess, but with all virtuou* and honert Beo, tkey Ml thai they hid 
cause te be.grateful that onoe, in early life, Henry Scaunlei^ on the qjuay of liriMiBy had be«i w- 
doced to hiB laai ahBling. 

Captain Spitfire becama, in time, an admiral of the lad, and died one dayv at a psblie diwMt in 
London, leaving bdiind him his virtues and his vices, for the satis&ction of U» fnends, and th* taa- 
der mercies of hia enemies. His laai words were—" Board tke ehau" 

Genlle raader, my long yam ia at an end, and your task ia over. Adiaa : and ramamhrr mtivm to 
ha above an honorable employment, nor to spend your first or last shilling fw ** diat dna|^ fimah 
dnwB from hell^" that stupifits the brain, and chains the imm«rtal souL 



STANZAS. 



Tbs golden autumn days have come, with skies of light abo«ve 
And breeaas that go whiiqp'ring by like Hoori songa of love. 
And forests waving Ui and wide in, every varied sheen. 
And sparkling riUs that sing aleng the pwple woods between. 

They say that spring hath flow'rets fair, that gaily flow her slieams 
Like those 'mid Eden bowers we*ve seen in dul^iood's sinlesa dieane, 
That birds are warbling all the day, and songs are heard at night, 
And maidens on the greensward dance, beoealh the starry li|^ 

B«t oh ! the autumn days for me, when crimson dyes the biike, 
And drcamingly the vriid fowl floats upon the silent lake, 
Ths brown leaf? es rustle in the wind, the nuts begin to faU, 
And shiiUy thro' the woodland rings the schoolboy's merry caU. 

The moonlight floods the ev'ning sky, the zephyis scarcely play. 
And hill and stream, like ftiry land, seem melting fiv away — 
A thrilling muaic fills the air, like whispeis fiom the blest. 
And tender, mournful memories gush silent thio' the breast. 

Oh ! then to sing the olden songs we once in childhood sung. 
And faney we are back again youth's sunny fields among, 
That long-lost fiiends are by our side, and loved ones murmur low — 
The mellow, autumn eves for me ! so sadly sweet they go. 

The golden autumn days have come, but only come to fede ; 
Yet menaich-like they pass away in gorgsouaness array'd — 
The aky looks sadder than 'tis wont, the very leaves are sere, 
And nuMimful wails the muim'ring wind above the dying year, 
nifadalpliia. Vevember, itsa ^^VCVVSVBSk. 



1 



THE MURDER ON THE BRIDGE. 



A TALE 



BT G. W. M. RLTXOLDS, AUTHOR OF ALFRED D£ ROSANIT, ITC. 



'i*Hi night was dark and ttormy — the rain fell in torrents — and as I occasionally looked over the 
high parapet of the Pont Neof, or New Bridge, I could catch a glimpse of the rapid waters of the 
Seine flashing as they passed through the wide aiches, even in the midst of gloom and obscurity. 
Ever and anon the moon made a feeble essay to pierce thiough the clouds that veiled her ; and then 
the tall towers of Notre Dame were faintly visible, their black and threatening appearance adding 
fresh gloom to the scene. 

I drew my cloak closely around me, and walked at a quick pace up and down the bridge. A 
murder, under drcumstances peculiarly horrible and revolting, had been committed there the night 
before ; and information had been received at the Prefecture, that a gang of desperate characters in- 
tended to haunt that quarter, in order to intercept any individuals who might be obliged to traverse 
the bridge in the dead of night To prevent the commission of farther atrocities, a gendarme was 
ordered to patrol the Pont Neuf, and that port of the Island which lies in its immediate vicinity, 
until some clue should be discovered to track the assassins. 

This was in the year 1827, and it was the first time I had been appointed to a dangerous service. 
I had only been incorporated amongst the body about six weeks — and hitherto my duties had no 
compromised my safety. Now every thing was to be dreaded at the hands of the midnight mur- 
derers whose motions I was appointed to watch ; and the utmost circumspection, keenness, and 
courage were necessary. 

The houi of midnight struck at the College of Four Nations ; and, as if it had waited for that 
gloomy hour to commence its rage, the storm, that had been for some time gathering, burst forth 
with appalling violence. The lightning glared in frequent flashes ; and while its vivid rays illumi- 
nated the atmosphere, the towers of Notre Dame, the domes of the University, the Sorbonne, the 
Pantheon, and the Hospital of Invalids, although each so far apart frem the others, all distinctly met 
my view as I cast a hasty glance around. 

It was nearly one o*clock, and the storm continued with unabated violence. Being in the month 
of September, the night air was cold in the extreme ; and my thick cloak was but a feeble protec- 
tion against the intemperance of the weather. During the momentary silence that ensued iomiedi- 
ately after a loud clap of thunder, hasty foouteps fell upon my ear, and a momentary struggle — as 
if it were between two or three men — took place at a little distance. I ran to the spot whence I 
fancied the noise proceeded — a sudden flash of lightning aided my steps — and at the moment when 
I laid my hand upon the arm of an individual against whom I ran, the splash of a heavy body fall* 
ing into the waters below convinced me that a foul deed had been accomplished, and that I had ar* 
rived too late. 

Without losing my presence of mind for one moment, I detained the person, whom I had secured 
in a firm grasp, and called loudly for assisUnce. The sounds of retreating footsteps instantly fell 
upon my ears, and I knew that one of the accomplices had escaped. Engaged as I was in hold- 
ing an individual who struggled violently and vrith a considerable degree of strength, it was impos- 
sible to pursue, or even attempt to secure the fugitive. 

** Release me !" cried the voice of an evidently young man, in deepest agony — it was the voice of 
him whom I had arrested — *< release me, and ample shall be your reward !*' 

'* Not for worlds — not foi all the treasuies of France and Navarre!" cried I, having entirely mas- 
tered his resistance, and eflectually mode him my prisoner. 

*' O think of my disgrace — of my ruin — of the infamy that will accrue to a noble house !" he 
•ontinued, his voice almost choked with inward emotion. 

** Who are you V said I, as I led him across the bridge towards the Island of the City. 

'^ Oh ! if I only thought that the revelation of my name— of my rank — and the certainty of a 
liberal reward from my poor old father — who, God knows ! is ignorant of the vicious cotmes pm^ 
MMd ^ bis son, his only son— his heir— oh ! I would tell you ail !" 



THB MURDER ON THB BRIDGE. 25 

'* Monsieur/' said I, in a determined tone of voice, ** communieate nothing to me that you would 
not have repeated to mj superiora; for to the guard-houee mutt jou go !" 

No sooner had I uttered these words, than by a sudden and desperate effort of skill more than of 
strength, he released himself from my grasp, sprung upon the parapet of the bridge, and was about 
to join the person whom he had a few minutes before consigned to a watery grave, when I, fortu- 
nately for the ends of justice— though unhappily as it rtgarded himself — caught the skirt of his coat, 
and again made him my prisoner. In a few moments he was carefully secured in the guard-house 
on the Quai des Orfetves. 

On the following morning I attended at the office of a Commissary of Police of the arrondisse- 
ment, and made my deposition. The accused was immediately sent for ; and when he was taken 
into the presence of the magistrate, he was instantly lecognised by that gentleman as a Monsieur 
8t Leon, the only son of a Count of the same name. His father was one of the richest and moat 
respected noblemen in the Faubourg Saint-Germain ; but the accused, his son, was one of the most 
dissipated young men, and one of the most notorious gamblers, in Paris. On being requested to 
give an account of himself, and explain the extraordinary circumstances that had occurred on the 
Pont Neuf, as related above, he obstinately denied the fact of a murder having been committed, per- 
dated in declaring that the sound of no splash in the water had met his ears, and that he was as un- 
justly suspected as he had been shamefully detained. 

At this stage of the examination, an individual, whom I recognised to be the concierge or poiter 
of the Morgue, entered the office, and requested to speak to the Commissary of Police. An audi- 
ence was accordingly granted in a private room ; and when the magistrate re-entered the cabinet, 
hie cheek was pale, and his countenance indicated extreme horror. A spectacle so unusual in a pub. 
lie functionary of the police pioduced an immediate and singular sensation within me. Meantime, 
the Commissary seated himself once more— reflected for some minutes — and then, suddenly turning 
to the prisoner, said, in an impressive tone of voice, " Unhappy young man ! I can scarcely believe 
the tale I have just heard : — and yet, if it be true, you must have mistaken one for another — for 
another, perhaps, whom you had previously met at the gaming-table, and whose pockets were filled 
with the produce of an iniquitous passion ! It is not for me to judge you, young man — God grant 
that you may be iimocent ! Suspicions of a serious nature rest against you — a higher tribunal must 
decide upon their validity. In the meantime, let me tell you that fate — destiny — or, rather, your 
own vices, have probably prepared for you an awful doom — and a teriible tale remains for you to 
hear!" 

St Leon's knees trembled — his cheek became very pale — his eye rolled wildly — and his whole 
frame became suddenly enervated. The Commissary noticed the effect he had produced upon the 
accused, and, probably satisfied with the result of his exordium^ he proceeded as follows : — 

" Young man, a deadly deed was committed last night — a mangled corse lies at the Morgue, ex- 
posed to public view at this moment — the features are di86gnred, most probably by a concussion 
against the projecting stones of one of the pillars of the bridge — but a letter in die pockets of the 
deceased — a letter addressed to him — proves his identity with — listen, young man, and tremble — for 
that mangled corpse, with those lacerated features — that corpse is all that remains of your father !*' 

** O horror, horror ! a paricide V* cried St. Leon, and he sank senseless on the floor, whence he 
was raised, and immediately conveyed to the prison of the Conciergerie, adjoining the Palace of 

Justice. 

• •••••• 

« What o'clock is it now V* inquired St. Leon, in an almost inaudible tone of voice. 

'< Half-past six," was my reply. 

*< And they come at seven--do they not1" he added, convulsively. 

'< At seven precisely," I answered. 

** Not a minute later — not even one single, paltry minute V eri^ he, his tongue barely giving ut- 
terance to the words in which he thus expressed his wish to procflstinate the fatal moment as long 
as possible. 

'* Not a minute later," said I, unwilling to hold out delusive hopes to the wretched man. 

*< In another half-hour, then, they will be here !" exclaimed St. Leon, sitting up in his bed, and 
clasping his hands together, as he spoke. '< Oh ! in half an hour they will be here — to — to lead me 
to— the— scaffold !" 

^ Pray, compose yourself. Monsieur," I began, sensibly affected myself. 

*' Compose myself ! What — when the very knife of the guillotine is trembling over my head — 
when hell is yawning to receive me — when my murdered father's curses pursue the parricide, hie 
son— oh ! how can I compose a mind lashed by the scourges of ten thousand demons ? Compose 
myself !" he continued, in a tone where bitter irony and agonized feelings were expressively blended 
together — << compose myself ! And already the instrument of death is erected — the cold steel glit- 
ten in the rays of the morning — already thousands have congregated to witness tny last momente— 
•nd already have the devils begun to stir up unquenchable fires to punish me for my crimes !" 

I shuddered as he spoke, but did not venture an observation. I nevertheless inwardly hoped that 
it would not often come to my turn to keep my vig^ by the bedside Q»t ^ cxscAvissiQS^ \fi^S^M»«^ 
during the last night he had to live. 



26 



BURTON 8 GENTLBMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



** Is it possiblo/' said ht, ailer a short pause — <*is it possible that m; vicious piedilectioas can 
kaive led me to commit so horrid a crime 1 Oh ! no— it is impossible— thank God, it is a dream !^> 
k b a dream — a fearful dream ! Domont," said hc» in a more tranquit tone. 

** Tes,*^ was my answer ; ** what can I do fur joa ?" 

** Domont," he continued, ** 1 have had a most houid dream I I fiuicied that I had mardend my 
essn father — my good, my ezcelleat ftther, with his whits locks, and his kind smile, and his mild 
Ifae eye that always beamed tenderly on me— that I did not respect those hoary locks — b«t that I 
was a parricide ! Ob, all this I dreamt, Damont — and it was a long, a very long dream ! And than 
I fincied I was in the Cenciergerie — in a dungeon^ and watched by a Gendarme— b«t it is aU a 
dbaam — oh ! a meat horrible dream ! — aad you are nvf finend» Damont^ and fio^ a Gendaime ! And 
Ifasn I thought that my last hoar waa come — " 

As he spoke, the clock struck seipea. 

** And that I heard footsteps in the corridor leading to miy celt—? 

At that very moment the heavy ttaMip of appraadiing fe^ diawing neaxai and neaicr to the door, 
M open my ears. 

<« Then,'' continued the unhappy maleftctorr ** I dieamt that the clanking sounds of heavj^ key* 
wore heard — ^ 

And the keys clanked in the door as he uttered theos woids. 

** And, laatly^that the mynnidons of jpistico came to take me to the gniUotino ! But, thank God, 
kkaUadreaml" 

Be ceased — the door flew t^n— sad a couple of Gendarmes, with daik^-lantema in their hands, 
■ntsied the celL Although it was perfectly light in the open air, within the eondemned dungeone 
aff was gloom and obscurity. St Loon gpuied for one moment upon the militaay forms tkat stood 
him, and then gave one loud, long, piercing shriek, which, echoed fsr around, and which will 
in my ears till the last day of fiyjatnuffn At tho same time, ho OKclaimed, " O God ! O hor- 
nr I — it is not then « dream T' 

In a state bordering upon the most listless apathy, into which he relapeed almost immediately a^ 
tar tins tenible expression of the deep— deep anguish of his mind, ho was led to a room heUm, 
where he was forced to swallow a cup of coffee. Another male&ctor was to be executed, with hiB»— 
he was already there, and was engagped in smoking his pipe with the utmost coc^nessi In tent minr 
ules the Gendaimes proceeded to shave the hab away itom the backs of the criminals' necks— their 
coat-collars were cut off, and every thing that might impede the fatal blow of the knife was caoefuUy 
removed. 

St. Leon was condemned to suffer the penalty due to the crime of parricide— viz^ to walk to the 
pboe of execution with a black veil thrown ovojE' his person. The pceliminaiies being thus complo» 
led, the solemn procession towsfds the scafibU began. An hour was required for the cart, in which 
the prisoners were conveyed, to reach the £iktal spot where the guillotine waa oMctsd ; for in thoee 
times executions took place at the Barriere du Trdno, One*— and onco only— duxing that awfiiUy 
impressive jouiney, did St. Leon raise hia head ; it was when ho asceiided tho stepe leading to the 
phtform of the guillotine. He cast one glance upwaido*-hie whole firamo tiembled eeavulsively^- 
his cheek became deadly pale — and a hall^mothered cry escaped his 1^ The other crimiiral ex- 
hibited as much couiage as St. Leon did pusillanimity. He was tho firat to sufier, and ho died like 
a hero, if such hardihood deserve so distinguished an epithet His crime had also been murder. 

St Leon was then tied to the fatal plank, then perpendicular — his head hung almost upon his 
breast — he seemed unconscious of all that was going on till when the plank was lowered to a ho- 
rizontal position, and then his lips faintly breathed these two words — ** My fiUher !" I stood near 
him on the scaffold — I saw the executioner apply his hand to the cord— the knife, alieady reeking 
with blood, fell — and the gory head of the parricide rolled into a bosket beneath ! 



C A M O E N S . 

FROM THE SPANISH OP DE VEGA. 



BT niCnAKD STSWABT X T A JT S . D A T I D 8 O !f , MB. 



Tkx rich, my friend, as all examples show, 

Are cautious in the favors they bestow ; 

IT you lid those already out of sight. 

Not e*en my telescope can reach their height 

Ckmoens this, his country's -phcenix, knew ; 

TTIoeigA named divine, he found the saying true; 



His two-fold laurels double envy wrought ; 
The warrior poet won the doom he sou|^t. 
Exile, and fame, renown, a dungeon's ^oom. 
Neglect, and meagre want, a glorious tmnb; 
Such varied fortone find the filmed, tho bmo. 
Hunger in Hfa^ asd mtzble in tho gmre. 



THE COUNTRY CHURCH 



BT JUDGE TRZMPXR, D R X 8 D Z IT , IT. T 



Iir yon secluded spot, shut out from view 
By spreading trees of venerable age, 
On pleasant Sabbath morn the pious few 
There aye do meet in worship to engage ; 
Far, far removed from execrable rage, 
Which often in this wicked world annoys. 
And join in peace each tumult to assuage — 
And turn their eyea above to other joys 
Than mmgle with our lot, in this sad world of 
noise. 

Bown IB the copse, where glides a gentle brook. 
The simple structure lears its modest head, 
Where wild flowers spring in many a pleasant 

nook, 
Beneath Uie shelter of the beechen ahade ; 
There the wikl thyme and camomile have made 
A sweet perfume, that floats upon the air, 
When the sun casts his beams along the glade, 
Or when he sets, and dewy evening fair 
Usurps the scene more sweet than moming*s 

gaudy glare. 

Here is not heard the din of city broil ; 
No wrangling here their peaceful hearts employ ; 
No feverish strife, in quest of Mammon's spoil, 
Which, when attained, can only serve to cloy ; 
But theirs is still a purer, deeper, joy. 
Than fiills to lot of those who join the crowd ; 
No cankering cares their happy hearts annoy, 
Such as assail the wealthy and the proud — 
Strolling thro' lighted hail, or revel long and loud. 

Health smiles benignant on their tugged cheeks. 
By summer suns and patient toil embrowned, 
And simple garb their calling oft bespeaks, 
Where happiness and peace are often found. 
Go seek the walks of fashion, search around. 
Where man bath ever trod, or footstep been ; 
All nature still reverberates the sound, 
Joygleameth midst the wild wood's fragrant scene, 
Where sununer sheds her rays in all their fervid 
sheen. 

Yon aculptar'd stones, that mark the deep repose 
Of those who fiom this world have long since past; 
Of hoary %ge removed, or early rose, 
Benl fvematorely to the withering blast ; 
By sacred hands with many a line imprest 



That fond affection to their memory lends. 
Scattered about in every fancy drest. 
Tell of their lives, their years, their blessed ends— 
The tribute of the heart of dear, of cherish'd 
friends. 

How sweet at eve to gaze upon the spot, 
When solemn twilight spreads its gloom around ! 
To muse on those long past, but ne'er forgot. 
That sleep beneath the verdure-cover'd ground ! 
This is the hour of silence — not a sound 
Breaks from yon venerable fane where late. 
The swelling hymn went forth, the pray«r pro- 
found — 
No voice to preach of love, to tell of hate — 
But holy calm teigns o'er the bliss of man's es- 
tete. 

But when the sun shall cast his beams abroad, 
And thousand merry throats shall pour their lays, 
(And man resumes again his weary load,) 
In happy unison one hymn of praise— 
His is the lot to wander through the maze. 
That vice and folly spread on all below. 
To toil in hopeless penury, or gaze 
On splendor not his own, or patient know. 
There beameth joy above, tho' hard his lot below. 

Look at yon hallowed man, whose lips of love 
Have poured instruction to the grave, or gay, 
Have told the pious of their hopes above, 
Haic led the wandering gently on their way. 
And cheer'd full oft, in sorrow or dismay. 
The heart that pin'd in secret silent giief — 
Told them tho' dark the night, yet breaks the day — 
Tho' hopeless seems their woe, there is relief. 
And flowers may even bloom, tho* barren glooms 
the heath. 

Around the couch of sickness and of death, 
Tis his to bend, to mark its stealthy pace. 
And SCO the ebbing fast of mortal breath, 
Soon hurrying thro' its checker'd earthly race ; 
To wipe the tear-drop from the parent's face ; 
To bid the parting spirit go in peace. 
From mourning friends, their sorrow to erase ; 
Or lost in holy fancy — when the breeze — 
Like this — on thb calm spot — ^now murmurs 
thro' the trees. 



THE SECRET 



ymox THB vmsvcH ot paul bx kock 



Nathalix dx Hautxtii.lx was twenty-two years old, and had been a widow for three years. 
Nathalie was one of the prettiest women in Paris ; her large dark eyes shone with remarkable bril- 
liancy) and she united the spaikling vivacity of an Italian, and the depth of feeling of a Spaniard, 
to the grace which always distingaishes a Parisian bom and bred. 

Married at eighteen to a man of thiee times her own age, Nathalie only thought of the delight of 
having so many new dresses, of carrying a houqxut of orange flowers, and of hearing herself called 
** Mrs." M. de Hauteville was rich — he loaded his young bride with presente — ^but a year had scarce- 
ly elapsed in this manner, when he was carried off by a short illness, leaving Nathalie a widow ! 

Her grief for the good man was sincere and strong. But in youth sorrow does not last long; a 
Nathalie, considering herself too young to live entirely alone, invited M. d\\blaincourt, an old uncle 
of hers, to come and live with her. 

M. d'Ablaincourt was an old bachelor; he had never loved any thing in this world but himself; 
he was an egoUst, too lazy to do any one an ill turn, but at the same time too selfish to do any one 
a kindaess, unless it would tend directly to his own advantage. And yet, with an air of compbus- 
ance, as if he desired nothing so much as the comfort of thoM around him, he consented to his 
niece's proposal, in the hope that she would do many little kind offices for him, which would add 
materially to his comfort. 

M. d'Ablaincourt accompanied his niece when she mixed in the gay worid ; but, sometimes, when 
he felt inclined to stay at home, he would say to her — « My dear Nathalie, I am afraid you will not 
be much amused this evening. They will only play cards ; besides, I do not think any of your 
friends will be there. Of course, I am ready to take yon, if you wish to go. You know I have no 
wish but to please you/' 

And Nathalie, who had great confidence in all her uncle said, was easily persuaded to stay at 
home, saying — •* Well, I believe you are right." 

In the same manner, M. d'Ablaincourt, who was a great gourmand, said to his niece— ^< My dear, 
yi>u know that I am not at all fond of eating, and am satisfied with the simplest fare ; but I must 
tell you that your cook puts too much salt in every thing ! It is very unwholesome ; and the dishes 
are never well arranged on your table. The other day, we had six people to dinner, and the spinage 
was very badlj dressed. What will people say of your housekeeping, when they perceive such 
things 1" 

<* You are right, uncle, and I wish you would be so good as to look out for a good cook for me. 
I am very much obliged to you for reminding me of these little things, which escape my notice." 

The cook who Messed the spinage was sent away, and replaced by another, who knew how to 
prepare the good dishes in which the uncle took so much delight. 

Again, the garden was out of order ; the trees before the old geiMeman's window must be cut 
down, because their shade would doubtless cause a dampness in the house, prejudicial to Nathalie's 
health ; or the ealeche was to be changed for a landau, 

Natbalie was a coquette ; accustomed to charm, she tistened with smiles to the numerous protest- 
ations of admiration which she received. She sent all who aspired to her hand to her uncle, saying 
— « Before I give you any hope I must know my uncle's opinion*" 

It is likely that Nathalie would have answered differently if she had ever felt a real preference for 
any one ; but heietofore she seemed to have preferred her liberty. 

The old uncle, for his part, being now master in his niece's house, was very anxious for her to re- 
main as she was. A nephew might be somewhat less submissive than Nathalie. Therefore, he 
never failed to discover some great fault in each of those who sought an alliance with the pretty 
widow. 

Besides his egotism and his epicurism, the dear uncle had another passion — it was for backgam- 
mon. This game amused him very much ; but the difficulty was, to find any one to play with. If, 
by accident, any of Nathalie's visiters understood it, there was no escape from a long siege with the 
old gentleman ; but most people prefened cards. 

In order to please her uncle, Nathalie tried to learn this game ; but it was almost impo«ible. She 
could not give her attention to one thing for so long a time. Her uncle scolded ; aad Nathalie, 
throwing down the dice, cried out — <* Really, uncle, I never shall learn that game." 



THE SBORBT. 29 

M 80 much tha wofw," ntjpHkd M. d'Abbdncourt, «< as it was only for your own tmawneat thtt I 
wiriMd to toach it to you." 

Thiogf were at tJiia crint when, at a ball, one evening, Nathalie was introdnced to a M. d'Apie- 
mont, a captain in the navy. 

Nathalie raised her eyea, expecting to see a great sailor, with a wooden leg, and a bandage ovier 
one eye ; when, to her great sorprise, she beheld a man of about thiriy, tall and finely formed, with 
two legs and two eyea. 

Armand d'Apramoot had entered the navy at a very early age, and had arrived, although veij 
young, to the dignity of a captain. He had amassed a large fortune, in addition to his patiimoniai 
estate s, and he had now come home to rest after his labors. As yet, however, he was a single man, 
and, moreover, had always laughed at love. 

But when he saw Nathalie, his opinions underwent a change. He inquired— '< Who is that pretty 
woman who dances so welll" 

** That is Madame de Hauteville. Is she not handsome, captain V* 

** Oh, yes— she is— perfect." 

** Yes, and she has as many graces of mind as of body. Ask her to dance the next set, and yon 
will find I am right.'' 

« Ah ! but I do not d^nce." ^ 

And for the first time in his life he regretted that he had never learnt to dance ; but he kept his 
eyes constantly fixed on Nathalie. 

Nathalie perceived this, although she pretended not to take any notice of him. << What fun it 
would be," said she, *• to make that man fall in love with me ; him who hardly ever speaks to a lady." 

His attentions to the young widow soon became a subject of general conversation, and several of 
his fiiends said to d'Apremont — « Take care ! Madame de Hauteville is a coquette. She will amuse 
herself with yon for a while, and then cast you off." 

At last, the report of Nathalie's new conquest leached the ears of M. d'Ablaincourt, and, one 
evening, when Nathalie mentioned to her uncle that she expected the captain to spend the evening 
with her, the old man grew almost angry. 

** Nathalie," said he, ** you act entirely without consulting me. I have heard that the captain is 
very rude and unpolished in his manners. To be sure, I have only seen him ^nding behind your 
chair ; but he has never even asked me after my health. I only speak for your interest, as you are 
so giddy." 

Nathalie begged her uncle's pardon for her inconsideiateness in acting on her own responsitMlity, 
and even ofiered not to receive the captain's visit, if her uncle desired it ; but this he forbore to re- 
quire — secretly resolving not to allow his visits to become too frequent 

But how frail are all human resolutions — overturned by the merest trifle. In this case, the game 
of backgammon was the unconscious cause of Nathalie's becoming Madame d*Apremont 

The captain was an excellent hand at bsckgammon. When the uncle heard this, he proposed a 
game ; and the captain, who understood that it was important to gain the uncle's favoi, readily ac- 
ceded. 

This did not please Nathalie. She preferred that he should l)c occupied with herself. When all 
the company were gone, she turned to her uncle, saying — " You were right, uncle, after all. I do 
not admire the eaptain's manners ; I see now that I should not have invited bira." 

" On the contrary, niece, he is a very well behaved man. I have invited him to come here very 
often, and play backgammon with me — that is — to pay his addresses to you." 

Nathalie saw that the captain had gained her uncle's heart, and she forgave him for having been 
less attentive to her. He soon came again, and, thanks to the backgammon, increased in favor with 
the uncle. 

He soon captivated the heart of the pretty widow, also. One morning, Nathalie came blushing 
to hei uncle. 

" The captain has asked me to marry him. What do you advise me to do !" 

He reflected for a few moments ** If she refuses him, d'Apremont will come here no longer, and 
then no more backgammon. But if she marries him, he will be here always, and I shall have my 
games." And the answer was — " You had better marry him.'* 

Nathalie really loved Armand ; but she would not yield too easily. She sent for the captain. 

** If you really did love roe — " 

** Ah, can you doubt it ?" 

*' Hush ! do not interrupt me. If you really love me, you will give me one proof of it." 

<* Any thing you ask. I swear — " 

** No, you must never swear any more; and, one thing more, you must never smoke. I detest 
the smell of tobacco, and I will not have a husband who smokes." 

Armand sighed ; but be answered — *< I will submit to any thing you require. I will smoke no 
longer. 

The wedding was soon celebrated ; and when they appeared, afterwards, in the gay world, the 
florprise was great that the ccquette should have married a sailor. > The first months of their mar- 



30 BURTON^S GBNTLBHAK's MAOAZINB. 

TMge pHsed very fmoothly ; but BometimM Armand became thooghtful, raUeM,«iid grave ; %iitNa- 
thalie, for a while, did not notice it. 

Aiier some time, these fits of sadness became mere frequent. 

«« What is the matter ?" asked Nathalie, one day, on seeing him stamp with impatience. ^' Why 
mn you so irritable V 

** Nothing — nothing at all f replied the captain, as if ashamed of his ill-hamor. 

** Several times have I seen you act in that way, as if you were out of humor. Tell me, if I haw 
displeaeed you in any thing." 

The captain assured her that he had no occasion to be any thing but delighted with her conduct 
OB all occasions, and for a time no angry expressions escaped him ; but it<soon returned. Natbidie 
was distressed beyond measure. She imparted her anxiety to her unde, who replied — ^ Yea, my 
dear, I know what you mean ; I have often remarked it, myself, at backgammon. He is very inat- 
tentive ; and often passes his hand over his forehead, and starts up, as if something agitated him." 

<* My dear uncle, what can be the matter 1 I wish he would confide his distress to me." 

** Thcte are some things a man cannot confide even to his wife." 

** Not even to his wife ! I should like my hasband to conceal nothing fiom me. I cannot be 
happy otherwise." 

M. d' Ablaineourt promised to endeavor to discover the mystery ; but he satisfied himself with play- 
ing backgammon with hirn every day. 

It was now suramei, and the (amily left Paris for a pretty count<y-seat, belonging to the captain, 
in the neighborhood of Pontainbleau. 

D'Apremont seemed very happy in the society of bis wife, and always aniious to please her; but 
bii left her every afternoon for aliout two hoars, and at his return appeared very gay and lively. 

Nevertheless, Nathalie was not satisfied. She said to herself — " My husband is certainly happier 
than he used to be in Paris ; but where can he go, every day, in that mysterious way, alt alone, and 
without ever mentioning where he has been 1 I shall never be happy till I fathom this to the bot- 
tom." 

Sometimes she thought of following him when he left the house, which he regularly did at the 
•aroe hour, sometimes even when the house was filled with company ; but then to place the servants 
in her confidence, yid to act as a spy upon one who was so habitually k*nd to her — no ! she could 
not do such a thing ! ' 

One day, a young man, a visiter at the house, said, laughing, to d'Apremont — " My fine fellow, 
what in the world were you doing, yesterday, disguised as a peasant, at the window of a cottage 
•bout a quarter of a mile from here 1 If I had not been going so very fiist, I would have stopped 
my horse, to inquire if you were turned shepherd." 

** My husband ! disguised as a peasant !" exclaimed Nathalie, with astonishment. 

** Edgar is mistaken : it could not have been I that ho saw," replied Armand, turning away in 
evident embarrassment. 

•* Not you — iraposoible !" replied the young man. *' Some one, then, very like you." 

** How was the man you saw dressed 1 — where is the cottage ?" asked Nathalie, hurriedly. 

** Oh, madame, I do not know exactly ; I am not well enough acquainted with this part of the 
coontry to descrilic it exactly ; but the man wore a blue blouze. But why I should have taken him 
for the captain, I cannot imagine, 4s we are not yet in the carnival." 

Madame d'Apremont said no more ; hut she was fully persuaded that tlie person mentioned was 
her husband. But why disguise himself? He must be engaged in some very dreadful affair ; and 
Nathalie shed tears as she thought *' Oh, how unfortunate I am to have married a man who is so 
inysterious !" 

She now became very anxious to rplprn to Paris, and her husband, always attentive to her wishes, 
made no objection. But, once in towfi, his old habits of impatience and irritability reappeared, and 
one d%y he said to his wife — " My dear, an afternoon walk does me so much good, such as I used 
to take in the country ; an old sailor, like myself, cannot bear to sit all the evening, after dinner." 

** Yes, sir ; I see how it is — go !" 

•* Nevertheless, if you have any objection — " 

•* Oh, no ! what objection can I have V* 

He went out, and continued to do so, day after day, at the same hour, just as he had done in the 
country ; and, as before, he regained his good humor. 

" He loves some other woman perhaps," thought Nathalie, « and he must tee her every day. Oh, 
how wretched I am ! But I must let him know that his perfidy is discovered. No, I will wait un- 
til I shall have some certain proof wherewith to confront him." 

And she went to seek her uncle, saying — •* Ah, I am the most unhappy creature in the woild !" i 

"^ What is the matter ?" cried the old man, leaning back in his arm-chair. 

Armand leaves the honse for two hours every evening, after dinner, and comes back in high spi- 
lits, and as anxious to please mo as on the day of our marriage. Oh ! uncle, I cannot hear it any 
longer; if you do not assist me to discover where he goes, I will separate myself from hin." 

•• But, my dear niece—" 



THB SBCRBT. 31 

*• Mj imr unde, joa who «re to good and oUighig, grant me tliii one fiiTor. I nm fun theeek 
wenM» ki tbe eecnt.** 

M. d'Abhinceurt wiilied to prevent % ropUuv between hie niece and nephew, which would intw* 
Tery mooh with the ^oiet, peaceable life which ha led at their houae. He pretended to foUow 
Armand ; bat came back Teiy loon, raying ** he had lost right of bixn." 

*' Bat in what diveetion doea he go ?'* 

** Sometimes one way, and sometimes another, bot always alone ; so yoar suspicions are unfirrnnJi 
ed. ^e assured, he only walks for exercise." 

Bat Nathalie was not to be duped in this w^. She sent for a little errand boy, of whose intel- 
ligence she had heard a great deal. 

** M. d'Apremont goes out every evening." 

** Yes, madams." 

*' To-fflotrow, you will follow him ; obseive where he goes, and come and tell me privately. Do 
yoa nndei stand " 

*• Yes, madame." 

Nathalia waited impatiently foi the next day, and for the hour of her husband's depaituie. At 
last, the time came* the pursuit is going on — Nathalie counted the momenta. Afier three-qoaiiSB 
of an boor, the messenger arrived, covered with dust. 

** Well," exclaimed Nathalie, ** speak ! tell me every thing you have seen !" 

** Madame, I followed M. d'Apremont, at a distance, as &r as the Marais in the Rue Vielle dn 
Temple, where he entered a small house, in an alley. There was no servant to let him in." 

" An alley ! no servant ! dreadful !" 

** I went in directly after him, and heard him go up stairs, and unlock a door with a key he held 
in his hand." 

** Open the door himself! without knocking ! Are you sure of that ?" 

** Yes, madame ." 

^ The wretch ! So, he has a key ! But go on." 

** When the door shut after him, I stole sofUy up stairs, and peeped through the key-hole." 

" Well ! you shall have twenty francs more !" 

** I peeped through the key-hole, and saw him dreg a great box along the floor." 

« A box 1" 

** Then he undressed himself, and — " 

<< Undressed himself!" 

** Then, for a few seconds, I could not see him, and directly he appeared again, m a sort of gngf 
blouse, and a cap on his head !" 

** A blouse, still ! What in the world does he want with so many blouses 1 Well, what next I" 

** I came away then, madame, and made haste to tell it to you ; but be is there still." 

« Well, now run to the corner, and get me a hack, and direct the coachman to the house wfaem 
you have been." 

Whilst he was gone after the hack, Nathalie hurried on her hat and cloak, and ran into her ibh 
cle's room, saying — 

** I have found him out — he is at his mistress' house now, in a gray blouse. He had a blue 
in the country. Bot I will go and confound him, and then you will see me no more." 

The old man had no time to reply. She was gone, with her messenger, in the hack. They i 
ped,at last. 

<* Here is the house." 

Nathalie got out, pale and trembling. 

** Shall I go up stairs with yoa, madame t" asked the boy. 

" No» I. will go alone. The third story, b it not 1" 

** Yes, madame ; the left door, at the head of the stairs." 

Nathalie moonted the dark, narrow stairs, and arrived at the door, and, almost fainting, she cried 
—^ Open the door, or I shall die !" 

The door was opened, and Nathalie was received in her husband's arms, who was alone in the 
room, cUd in a gray blouse, and — smoking a Turkish pipe. 

** My wife !" exclaimed Armand, in surprise. 

** Yes, sir, your wife : who, suspecting your perfidy, has followed you, to discover the cause df 
your mysterious conduct!" 

** How, Nathalie, my mysterious conduct ? Look, here it is !" showing his pipe. " Before our 
marriage, you forbade me to smoke, and I promised to obey you. For some months I kept my pro- 
mise ; bat you know what it cost me ; you remember how initaMe and sad I became. It was my 
jipe, my beloved pipe, that I regretted. One day, in the country, I discovered a little cottage, wheie 
a peasant was smoking. I aaked him if he could lend me a blouse and a cap ; for I should like l» 
amoke with him, bot it was necesrary to conceal it from you, as the smell of the smoke, remaining 
in my dothes, would have betrayed me. It was soon settled between us. I returned thither evsiy 
ly to indulge in my fo^orite oecopttieii : and, with the pieoantion of a cap, to keep the i 



32 



BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



from remaining in my hair, I contrivwl to deoeire you. When we returned to Pari*, I hired this 
little room, at a distance from home, and here I keep this great box, in which I alwaya lock my co«t 
before I bring oat my pipe; ao that, on my return, you may not be oflended by the odor. This 
;. .11 thm mvsterv. Fornve me for mw diiobedience, since I have done all I could to conceal it fiom 



is all the mystery. Forgive me for my disobedience, 

Nathalie embraced him, crymg— '* Oh, no ! I might have known it could not be ! I am htppj 
now, and you shall smoke as much as you please, at home. I will never make any opposition to it, 
and you need hide your pipe no longer." 

And Nathalie returned to her uncle, saying — " Unde, he loves me ! He was only smoking ; but 
hereafter he is to smoke at home." 

" I can arrange it all," said M. d^\blaincourt ; " he shall smoke while he plays backgammon.'* 
« In that way," thought the old man, " I shall be sure of my game every evening." 

« My dear Nathalie," said the captain, ** 1 will profit by your permission ; but at the same tinie, I 
will take care that it diall not incommode you. I will use the same precautions at home as I kmve 
formerly done." 

" You are too kind ! But I am so happy to find that yon are fiuthful to me, that I think I duO 
even Hke the tmeUof the tmoke /" 



MARION. 



B T 1. H. a 



ST. LOUIS. 



[** We will all go— Maiion, for ever !" and from the rear, came up the more £uniliar eiy» '' Hmra 
finr the Swamp Fox — let him take the track, and we will be after him !" They cheered each othflr 
on with the cry of " One and aU, Marion's men !" — Paetisait.] 



Iv the c3Fpress groves of the broad Santee, 
The Swamp Fox had gathered a gallant band. 

Who, scorning a tyrant's stern decree. 
Had sworn to defend their native land. 

And her freedom achieve, or in death to fiill — 

They were Marion's troopers, ** one and all." 

They chose their home by the stagnant fen, 
Prefening along its banks to dwell, 

And with '< arms in their hands to die like men," 
Than part with the freedom they loved so well. 

'Twas a noted place ; yet the foe could not 

Track their steps in that dreary spot 

List to the whistle that rings through the wood ! 

A scout approaches — his looks are bright ; 
He addresses the chief — the news proves good — 

And the Fox will hunt on the plains to-night 
The tories are rising — away ! away ! 
A blow for OUT country — hurra ! hurra ! 

The tory band were drowned in sleep, 
Ne'er dreaming that the Fox was near ; 

They woke — the cry, both loud and deep, 
Was thundering in their ear . 

Oenth to the tories! death to those 

Our coontiy holds her deadliest foes ! 



** One and all, men ! one and all !" 

Was Marion's cheering cry ; 
** We'll ne'er permit our cause to fall, 

While for it we can die ! 
Fast on the foe your blows let &11 ; 
Strike for our freedom, one and all !" 

'Twas midnight ; all was hushed and still. 

And nature lay wrapt in calm repose ; 
But the feeble were startled when, o'er tho hill, 

The noise of the conflict loud aroee ; 
But the mother would breathe with her children 

a prayer 
For the safety of all the brave men there, 
Whoso triumph was safety. Hark ! up tiie glen, 
Sounds the watchword of valor, « Marion's men!" 
Thy father, my children, is with them now ; 
In the unfinished funow he left his plough. 
And his hearth-stone forsook, at brave Marion's 

caU, 
For God and our country, << one and all !" 

The foe is defeated, the victory won. 
Again there is hope in the breasts of tilt hm, 

And our country calb on each free-bom Mn 
To join the ** Fox" on the broad Stain; 

Foi a braver heart, or more feaiisM haaAp 

Ne'er foof^t in ddeooe of our own fidr hmL 



SOME FARTHER CHAPTERS 



OF 



THE MIAMI VALLEY. 



BT ▲ PIOVIBE OF OHIO 



CHAPTER I. 

Iv the remder will pardon a brief addition to theae memoin, I will recount, in his own worda, an 
adventure of Peter Smith's, which he related to us while we sat around the fire, as related in my last 
paper. Alas, poor fellow, he never lived to tell it again, and his untimely death deprived us of nu- 
merous adventures of the kind whieh had occurred in the course of his eventful life ; for Peter was 
a veteran hunter. 

- 1 started for the little Miami," said Peter, « late in the fall, to trap otters and muskrats. I went 
in company with one David Jeffries, who was one of the best marksmen I ever saw ; he could, with 
hie large riiSe which carried half-ounce balls, strike the centre almost every shot, and in shooting 
' string measure' none could excel him ; with this notorious rifle he had repeatedly cairiod terror into 
the Indian country. The nights were beginning to get frosty and cold, but still the days were pleasant, 
particularly about three o'clock, when the deer would show themselves. We pitched our camp in 
Warren county, noai where Wayneaville now is, and late one evening set our traps ; it was dark 
when we anived at the camp, and we were wet and nearly frozen to death. We kindled a large fire, 
and warmed and dried ourselves, and commenced cooking our suppers. The scent of the broiling 
meat soon attracted around us a gang of wolves, whose howling almost prevented us, at times, fiom 
hearing each other speak. While we weie thus engaged, we were surprised to hear a loud whoop, 
which we could distinguish as the voice of a human being, even above the howl of the wolves ; we 
now heard the crack of a strange rifle, followed by another whoop. We left our fire, and hid behind 
trees, till the person should arrive. In a short time we heard a heavy tread, and a voice sang out, 
' keep still, a friend comes,' and a white man made his appearance. He was a perfect stranger to us; 
still we were glad to welcome him to all we had. He was exhausted and hungry, and we asked no 
questions till he had partaken of a hearty meal. After he had eaten he became talkative ; he inform- 
ed us that he was well acquainted with the Indian nations, and the country around us, and advised 
us particularly not to continue our hunt any distance north of where we were then, as there was a 
large body of Indians hunting, who would be likely lo shoot us if they were aware of oui being on 
their grounds. He informed us that he had become disgusted at the treatment of his own country- 
men towards him, and had determined to leave them, and join the Indians, whom he had now been 
with some time, and losing his party, had observed the light of our fire, and paid us a visit" 

'* I have eaten," continued he, ** of your fare, and you have treated me unlike white men, but with 
all the friendship of the red men, and I feel grateful towards you for it ; I therefore warn you of 
your proximity to a large body of Indians, whose love towards your nation is no warmer than my 
own." This man was Simon Girty, the notorious renegade, whose blood-thirsty actions in after life 
have merited the execiations of his countrymen. His disposition at that time had not lost all of its 
redeeming qualities ; it was then before ho had become entirely abandoned to crime ; before the 
many awful deeds which he had done for his country had been blotted oat by the blood of his 
countrymen, and probably had this meeting been later, he would have l)een the instrument of our 
death. The next morning he shook us affectionately by the hand, and declared he would never 
forget the agreeable night he had spent in our tent Simon Girty was a man of Herculean mould, 
and of an indomitable disposition ; his features were open and agreeable to look upon, except when 
ho spoke of the treatment he had received of thf whitee, when they partook of the terrible, and his 
eyes glistened with excitement These were blue, and his hair was light, and his voice, when speak- 
ing with excitement, was clear and loud. He was a man not easily provoked, but when he received 
m injury he never forgot it, bat continually brooded over it, till it became magnified and distorted, 
as waa exemplified by his savage treatment towards prisoners who were burnt at the stake. This was 
■t tilt time whtn Girty's ascending influence among the Indians was very great His tu^tioc uc^ 



34 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

telligence had at once given him an exalted atation among the tribes, and his voice was looked ap to 
at the council fire with a great deal of reverence. We had heard of Simon Girty before, as a great 
villain, whose delight was in murdeiing his countrymen, and prejudiced with their talk, we imagin- 
ed Girty had been deceiving us ; but to make ** assurance doubly sure," we concluded to take a tramp 
to the north and ascertain if his cautions were correct ; and being on the look-out, we felt certain 
that if true, we could see the Indians before they could discover us. 

With these deceiving arguments, we shouldered our rifles, redbaited our traps, and commenced our 
match. We soon got in the neighborhood of the " Black Swamp," where was game in any quan- 
tity, but we were too busily engaged in watching where we stepped, to pay any attention to thedeei, 
which might be seen on almost every spot where the ground was firm enough to bear their weight 
Here, in the middle of this swamp, we saw the enemy some five or six himdred yards ahead of us. 
If we had slipped behind some ** scrub oak," which grew plentifully where we were, we would have 
remained unseen, but like all persons when in danger, wo acted with too much precipitation ; we 
turned about and fled, and for fear we should not then have been seen, Jeffries yelled like a panther. 
Upon hearing the cry the savages immediately separated, each man bent on taking us alive in his 
own way ; and in a few moments I found myself up to my chin in mud and water. I tried by violent 
exertions to extricate myself, and by that means caused such a splashing in the water as to attiact 
the attention of my pursuers, while if I had remained still, my head only being out of water, I might 
have escaped unobserved. These two follies, so close upon each other, made me a prisoner in a 
short space of time, and I was soon brought in the midst of the warriors, who treated me with some 
civility. Soon my companion was brought in, who, by the appearance of his muddy and wet clothe*, 
gave strong proofs that he was captured in the same manner that I was. We were taken to their 
camp about a mile north, and tied in the council house, where, to all appearances, they aoon oqbp 
demned us to death ; for those in the affirmative, who struck the war dab on the ground, were not 
few. We were led, or, rather dragged, to a laige open house, where we were thrown upon our 
backs and firmly bound, while two old women began with the most indefatigable peneveranee to 
sharpen two knives. The honid picture of the stake vanished from before oar eyes, and we began 
to prepare to have our throats cut, or die by piecemeal. Soon the boaae was crowded with wanion 
of every age, together with many yoimg girlft and old women, who had assembled to witness Aa 
sport The squaws- finished sharpening their knives, and, after drawing them over their hands to 
ascertain if the edge was keen enough, they handed tbem over to two warriors. 

At this moment Simon Girty abruptly entered ; a black scowl was upon his brow, and a deep flash 
on his face ; he spoke to the warriors in a loud and firm tone, partly in the Indian tongue, and part- 
ly in English. With all the intensity which our situation required, we scrutinized the countenancea 
of the Indians; but appearances weie decidedly against us; the oldest and most reverenced wanion 
gravely shook their heads, as Simon Giity plead for our lives with a voice and gesture which woold 
have immortalised him among his own countrymen. As he advanced and became more animated, 
their attention became more riveted upon him, and their gaze upon us lost its deadly lustre, and thej 
began to look upon us with an expression which partook of human nature. Girty's actions now bo- 
came energetic, and finally subsided to that slow movement and low tone which embodies so much 
pathos ; the old men nodded an approbation, and Girty drew out his knife, strode to where we lay, 
and cut the cords which bound us. We sprang upon oar feet ; ho took us by the hand and led us 
out *' Hasten," said he, ^* or these capricious devils may change their minds — ^keep to the west of 
the swamp, and there is no danger — a d— ^ lucky accident it was that I arrived wlum I did, or yoo 
both would have been sacrificed." He loosened our hands; our rifles were leaning against the tent; 
we snatched them up, and bounded off with the fleetness of a deer. That was the first and the lait 
time I ever saw Simon Girty." 

Thus finished Petor Smith. I have brought Simon Girty in these sketches by way of introduction, 
aa he will figure more than once during their continuance. But to resume. After Thomae Girty 
had finished cleaning out his gun, and recounting to the others one of our adventures, we prepared 
ibr the arrival of the owners of the deer, whom we expected some time through the day. 

The weather proved extremely sultry, and towards noon the wind arose, and the jetpblack clouda 
and slight flashes of U^itning, portended a violent storm. The wind increased till it blew almost a 
hurricane, and some of the tall trees around us were blown up by the roots, while others were de- 
prived of their largest limbs, which fell about us, threatening every moment to crush us beneath 
their weight ; we began to fear we would experience another hurricane similar to the one Girty and 
I had witnessed some years previous ; for this country is repeatedly visited by these tornadoes, as the 
many brush prairies indicate. 

The lightning flashed with increased brilliancy as the clouds neared us, till at the moment of the 
flash, the thunder burst upon our ears, and some lofbr oak near us would be rent into a thousand 
splinters, which were scattered in every direction. Finally the clouds came over oar heads, and the 
rain poured down in torrents; our fire was drowned out, and we were soaked to the skin.. This rain 
wtM feUowed by a violent hail storm, many of the hail stones of which woold have weighed at least 
half an ounce. Afler venting all of its wrath upon os it passed off; the sun idione oat, and all natnio 
appeared revived ; the birds again left their nesUs and filled the air with their waihGnga ; die aqoiiral'o 



THE MIAVI VALLBY. 35 

baik was again heard in the tree tops, bat at this particalar moment none of these sounds were 
noticed by us, for we were too busy listening for the report of a rifle, as Girty declared he had heanl' 
a fidnt crack, which must have been faint indeed to have escaped oar ears; but Girty had ears ISkt 
a fbx. We listened in breathless silence for about half an hour ; still we heard nothing but the barkr 
ing of some squirrels, and finally began to joke about Girty's imaginary rifle; but he contendedi 
with all the earnestness of his nature that ho had heard the crack, and oflered to bet Walker a quaii-> 
tity of gun-powder agaisnt an otter skin, that Indians were within six miles of us. Again we aat 
like statues, and listened for the faintest sound ; and at length we heard a rustling of the leaves joat 
beyond a rising ground, like some person slowly walking ; Girty motioned us to silence, and cook- 
ing his gun, began his cat-like steps, towards the spot whence the sound proceeded. When aboat 
twenty steps from us, we all distinctly heard the report of a rifle, but it was faintly borne upon the 
air from its distance. Girty turned around towards us silently, and laid the end of his finger against 
his nose, as much as to say " I told you I could not be deceived !** He now crawled to the hill top« 
and a wolf sprang out from behind a log and ran o£ 

Girty was the oldest and most experienced hunter of the party, and we all looked to him for hia 
opinion, which at once partook of his own fearless character. 

^ We will play fox with them," said he, « till we ascertain their numbers ; if they do not out* 
number us far, we will give them a small skirmish." 

« Suppose they should double us in numbers, what then ?*' 

** Why, we will kill all we can, and then trust to our heels and to Providence." 

We all started towards the west, deteimined to trust to our own true rifles, and to depend as little 
as possible upon the latter suggestioaof Girty's. The storm had settled the leaves, and rendered 
thnn so damp that we could walk quite rapidly without making the least noise. Girty took the lea^ 
and we all followed in Indian file, prepared to dioot at the slightest hint« 

After travelling about two miles we came to a high ridge, on the other side of which was a hollow, 
which was very deep ; here we stopped to reconnoitre ; observing the limbs- of a &llen tree, thickly 
scattered upon the ground about half way down the hill side, wo concluded to secrete ourselves in 
them, and wait for the enemy, who we were certain could not be far off, and who would be liable to 
pass diat spot 

Before we reached the brush by some hundred yards, we saw the Indians advancing, some singing,, 
and odiers talking and laughing. There were not less than twenty, who were all armed with good 
lifies ; we slipped behind trees as soon as we saw them, and might have remained here till they 
passed, had it not been for the temerity of Ghty, who, finding the small tree behind which he atood 
too slender to hide his broad shoulders, left it and sought another of larger dimensions, whicbgimv 
close by. One of the Indians saw him, and, rainng a shrill whoop, pointed towards the treewilii 
his- fingers, and a small Indian dog ran barking towards where Girty was hiding, but he waa killod 
with one kidu 

There was.no longer any necessity for secrecy, and we all delivered our fire, and every one ^Coor 
ahots gave an account of itself. The Indians fell back. with terror, leaving four of their menilyji^ 
oponrthe ground; but, insuintly regaining their courage, in a moment they had all disappeared, and 
aUwms silent ; not a sound could be heard except what slight noise Walker made, who hadjKQt a 
banet half way down his gun and was hammering it down by striking the nmrod against a tne.. 
Batttut stillness did not last long, and we were, soon pexfeetly aware of each man'^ lurking, place 
by the continual stream&of fire and smoke which poured out 

We returned their fire with vigor, and lor about half an hour kfpt up a continual rattling withoit 
any damage being effected upon either side. The Indians now began to ascertain our nombers ly 
onr firing, and discovering that they outnumbered us five times, they began to grow courageous, and 
with the return of their courage their desire for shorter distance increased. Every few moments one 
fellow would leave bis hiding place, and start for a nearer tree; our bullets beginning to run short, 
we, as if by mutual consent, never fired till one left his place, when he was sure to feJL Cheered 
by Girty's loud and confident voice, we kept up our sharp shooting for about an hour, but in an nn« 
lucky moment we lost all by our eagerness. A large Iiidian of uncommon dimensbns sprang up 
lirom behind a small log which would barely screen his person, and bounded ofl* for a laige tree about 
twenty steps firom where he lay ; the temptation was irresistible, and we all fired at once, and the 
Indian fell. With a shrill and appalling cry, the whole body of Indians sprang from their hiding 
places, and with their tomahawks uplifted, rushed upon us. We all ooUeeted our stiength fatmBmal 
and deadly atn]ggle,.i6r the odda were fearfully against us, each of us being. oppseed by ahettt frw 
men. That chanoa for onr lives ^)peaied ebbing, away, but eveiy men by the delsnnhied appaaM>e> 
of his countenance appeardlito have recaUed all of his energies for that awful struggle. Never were 
there man despeiate men. We fi>ugbt with aJl.the fury which the antieipatieo ef tha elakft tai" 
yuraiosiagfota might inspire, but our nigbtaeet efibrts were of noatoiL At lenglbitbsy sooMaitii 
in^jellii^ na dewn and t^ing.oa The straggle to secuie Gicty vme tndjf tsMible— 4ft ssasi Kkeriiyiagr 
to aecore a mad buffido; he fought with his-gun till thftatsck" was(brobiii.to piiaem.and tbandBw^ 
ing his h a tch et, with one throw he hurled it into theheadof an Indian, and then reeorted to hifthirife. 
Thaj crowded upon him on all Bidea,and wavering, invariably gave way, as he made one sweep with 

TOL.TI^— VO. 1. ■ 



36 



burton's gentleman's magazine 



his long sharp knife, which bore death to those who were so unfortunate as to be in its way. The 
Indians finally despaired of taking him alive, and began to use their tomahawks, and at length wound' 
ed him in the arm, and succeeded after a desperate struggle, in capturing him. 

When our hands were securely bound, we were permitted to get upon our feet. When I had time 
to look about me Petci Smith lay dead with his head bared to the skull — his scalp had been already 
taken. Giity now looked upon this sight for the first time, and turning around to a large Indian^- 
whom I now discovered to be the chief Little Turtle^applied all the epithets to him that he could 
possibly invent The chief only smiled. 

After brandishing their tomahawks over our head«, till they discovered they could not intimidate 
us, they vented their anger upon the body of poor Smith, whom they literally cut up with their 
knives and tomahawks, and then, driving us before them, they beat us every step. This rough 
treatment towards the dead body of Smith would not probably have been permitted had Little Turtle 
been present, but immediately upon our capture he left us among his cruel men, who not having 
their chiefs eyes upon them, vented all their rage upon us. Between kicks and blows, we travelled 
about six miles, at each step receiving a cuff, which we all bore with greater equanimity than Girty, 
who detested an Indian, and was always in a rage when near one. As we were crossing a deep 
guUey on a slippery sycamore log, he suddenly tripped a large Indian who was walking before him, 
and who fell upon his back on the stones below, a distance of about thirty feet, which stunned him 
ao that he was apparently lifeless for some time. 

Here was a picture suddenly presented to my view which is so indelibly imprinted upon my mind 
that it could never fade. As soon as the Indian fell, another of a giant make rushed up to Girty, 
and planting himself firmly before him, poised his tomahawk as if in the act of throwing ; at the 
same moment Girty threw himself in a posture for using the only defensive limb he then possessed, 
his leg ; and they thus stood for some moments, eyeing each other with a deadly and malignant gaze, 
which was truly terrifying. As I looked upon these two Herculean and deadly enemies, thus read- 
ing each othei's hatred in their eyes, I could not but observe what beautiful models they presented 
for the sculptor or the painter. The Indian stood with his long muscular arms poised over his head, 
with his thick bony fingers coiled around his tomahawk handle with the power of a boa constrictor, 
and his large well formed leg planted so firmly against the ground that the muscles protruded to their 
utmost expansion. I shall never forget even the expression of his countenance. 'Tis strange that 
often incidents of a few seconds* duration should be so indelibly imprinted upon the mind, while 
others which have occupied our attention for hours should have passed off like the shadows of a 
^ream. The two enemies stood in the attitude I have attempted to describe but a few seconds, during 
which time I had but one glance at them ; still tliey are before my eyes as distinctly as they were 
-when the encounter happened. At length the gaze which Girty cast upon the Indian appeared to 
intimidate him, and after menacing his foe with his tomahawk without witnessing a recoil, as he an- 
ticipated, he left him. At length we ai rived at the camp, where we found Little Turtle and two or 
three old warriors assembled, who looked daggers at us as we entered. We were firmly bound to 
trees till the cords penetrated our flesh, and then an animated debate took place among the warriors. 
With their inveterate hate flashing from their eyes, some were for murdering us instantly, while 
athers — among whom was the chief — were either for giving us our lilwrty, or at least, protracting 
our execution. It was here that I first witnessed the powerful oratory which these sons of the forest 
^mmand. I have heard the best speakers of our country, yet for natural gestures and for power and 
modulation of voice, these savages exceeded them all. They were complete masters of oratory with- 
out rtiks. The principal reason of an Indian orator^ success is to be found in the earnestness with 
which he speaks. By the powerful oratory of the Little Turtle we were at present saved from the 
-stdte. 



JANUARY. 



Cold January comes in Winter's car, 
Thick hong with icicles^its heavy wheels 
Chambered with clogging snow, which cracks and 

peels 
With its least motion or concnssrpe jar 
'Gfttiist hard hid rata, or hewn trees buried far 
In the heaped whiteneaa which awhile conceals 
The green and pMtoral earth. OM Christmts 



That well-fed and wine-reeling waasailer — 
With all hb feasts and fires, feels cold and shivers. 
And the red runnel of his indolent blood 
Creeps slow and curdled as a northern flood. 
And lakes and winter-rills, impetuous rivers 
And headlong cataracts, are in silence bound. 
Like trammelled ttgen lashed to the tmyielding 
ground. 



THE METEMPSYCHOSIS. 



BT m. S. ELLIOTT, X8a.» OF HABmiSBUEO, WA. 



No. I. 



Tub doctrine of the transmigration of souls from body to body, even from the human to the bmta 
•creation, and nee versa, is curious as one of the many fallacies that have from time to time taken 
possession of the belief of mankind ; but has little to recommend it as the foundation of a religious 
creed, or code of morality. For the purpose of amusing himself more than with any expectation of 
interesting or instructing the reader, the writer of this has thrown into form some of the irregular 
suggestions of his imagination. He supposes his own soul to have been from time immemorial 
passing from body to body, in accordance with the theory of the metempsychoais ; and as this con- 
stant transmigration would lead to strange and varied adventures, the soul is invested with the power 
of relating them, which it has undeitaken to do for his entertainment, commencing with the occur- 
rences wUch it remembers to have taken place at Rome, in the time of Julius Cssar. It seems that 
die good soul's recollections of itself commence with a common warrior of Rome, named Robustns, 
in whose bosom it remained for some length of time, and witnessed and prompted many actions, both 
nngolar and meritorious. 



<* Mt eailiest recollections,*' the soul says, « are of the din of arms, the bustle of a camp, < the pomp 
and circumstance of glorious war,' and the triumphal processions for the celebration of victory. All 
these were common incidents at Rome in those days, when Cesar was gaining laurels not on\y by 
4ghting the Gauls, but contriving to set the different tribes of that war- like people to fighting each 
other. Of course, I early became fond of military scenes, and my bearer, Robustus, soon attained a 
proficiency in the exercises of a soldier's life. 

Among the merits of Robustus, (for it was accounted a merit then,) was an extravagant fondness 
for the arena. He excelled in the science of sword-playing and shielding. In thrust, or defence^ 
with the sword or shield, he was equally at ease in the dreadful conflicts — and being of large statur« 
and strongly moulded frame, his immense muscular power, together with his singular dexterity, 
rendered him a terror to almost every adversary. 

But there was one who feared not Robustus — one whom success had emboldened, and who thirst- 
ed for the blood of the powerful soldier. This was LucuUus, a man of the same yank with Robu»> 
tos. He had slain his tens in the theatre of death ; had been applauded by the populace, and even 
received an approving smile and nod from the emperor. It mortified his ambition Oiat common rumor 
should whisper his rival's fame, and that Robustus should be considered his equal at least, if not 
superior. He panted for revenge, and in that spirit which prompts mankind to pull down those above 
them to their own level, he resolved to humble his rival, lest the merits of Robustus should edipsa 
his own. 

The sentiments of LucuUus were not unknown to Robustus. *< Death, my soul," said he to me, « is 
preferable to dishonor ; and my rival shall feel the weight of thu good right arm, shall writhe be- 
neath this trusty steel." His resolution was taken, and Lncullus was challenged to a conflict. 

Each of the sword-playera had his friends and his enemies ; and parties were formed almost simnl- 
taneoosly with the giving and acceptance of the challenge : the friends of each were confident that 
the prowess and address of their favorite would pievail, and the excitement^ran high as the day ap- 
pointed for the test approached. The coming conflict, even among a people who were so oflen the 
witnesses and admirera of similar brutal scenes, was the subject of every-day conversation, and as- 
dted an interest in every circle of that rude society. 

Meanwhile the two who wen to bear the prominent parts in the tragedy were not idle. Daily 
they applied themselves with closer assiduitj to the study of their bloody science. Each had provi- 
ded a tmsty friend, and practised with a sham sword the different manoBuvres of the barbarous pro- 
fawion which he sought to adorn by singular feats of skill and courage ; and both waited impatiently 
fcr the day selected to decide their fate, when both were to die, or one or the other be exalted to im- 
Bortality among his coontiymen by the meritorious deed of slaying his adversary. 

LveoUos WM the elder of the two gladiaton^ and wm the hualiuid of a lovely wife— tho Mm dt 



38 burton's gbntlbhan's magazinb. 

two darling pledges of afiection. I say, his wife was lovely, for so she was for thooe times and dx' 
cumstances. She bad a fair and graceful person, and was of a most winning dispoaition. Bat her 
mind was unculiivatsd, and if alfve, ahe-wonld notbe thought lovely now. 

Robustus was jet un wedded, but not unbetrothed. His gallantry in the milittiy exercises of the 
times, had attracted towards him the attention of many of his country-women. He had become 
enamored of one fair girl, who returned his aAeetion, however coarse might have been its character. 
She was considerably above hiiii>ia rank, but loved him none the less on account of that which wae 
more his misfortune than his fault At stolen interviews, their troth had been plighted, and they 
only awaited a favorable cppoitunity to perlect their union. 

It may well be supposed that to these two women the approaching conflict was a matter of pain- 
ful interest, not that they doubted that their respective favorites would win the day — but because 
they could ill bear the suspense inseparable from their painful situation. The anxiety suffered by 
the betrothed of Robustus was most intense, inasmuch as there was none into whose ear she could 
breathe the tale of her feelings — none to whoni that tale would be interesting, or to whom it could 
with safety be communicated. She felt she was alone — for what is woman without her confidant 1 
Not so with the wife of Lucullus. She could talk with her friends of her husband's coming trial — 
could elicit their opinions, which were of course favorable, and thus keep her expectttionB alive. 
She was the leader of her husband's female party, and many then were among the gentle sex who> 
were confident that victory would never desert his sword arid shield, and their opinions, distilled to 
the honied sweets of lovely woman's encouragement, were poured by the wile into the husbandVeaz. 
Robustus had not this influence to cheer him ; but when the pale moon shone dimly out tfaroagh 
the hazy atmosphere, as if afraid to pour the effulgence of her cold rays on a scene of love so tnie» 
lest the gush of aflieetion might be chilled» his Lema would meet him by stealth, beneath the walb 
of her father's garden, and nerve his heart with the tenderest but firmest accents of encouragement 
that a lover could hear drop from the angelic lipe of a mistress. How delightful — how rapturow 
were those stolen interviews ! Faie seemed to grant them only to prove the almost aching raptures 
of love and sympathy. 

Time flew on with restless and fleet pinions — and the day so pregnant with destiny to the gladia- 
tors arrived. Expectation and excitement were wound up to the highest tension. High and low, 
Sitricians and plebeians, ielt the overpowering sensations of an anxious and oppressive suspense, 
ven the emperor, tired with other sources of entertainment, looked with more thui ordinary interest 
to the great gladiator show, and it is said that costly presents had* been sent from the court to each 
of tl]0 combatants, to encourage their stout and swelliog hearts. 

The amphitheatre waa- crowded. The usual arrangement of the teats for the difierent oiders had 
^•Gn observed ; and in front and below them all was the open^ space— the arena where death had 
time and again, in his most dreadful forma, sat upon the disfigund corsee of overthrown gladiators, 
and pointed with his long fingers to the avenues by which life had escaped — delighting the eyes of 
the multitudes who thnonged to- the murderous scenes. 

At the- hour appointed, the combatanu were introduced. They were.fine-looking, muscular men-^ 
a striking symmetry of person displayed to the greatest advantage in both.. Cheers rent the welkin 
at their appearance ; and they strode with firm and proud bearing towarda each other. It was their 
busineas to die; and although either would have strickea>the heart of an ordinaiy man with-tenoiy 
neither blanched before the iron eye of his adversaiy. 

Taking their stand as ceoUy andeomposedly as a modern engineer would plant- his level to locate 
a section of canal, they awaited the signal for the onant* It waa ere long given, when a moment of 
awAii silence succeeded, like the cahn of the- elements when the storm-king rests from his labois 
merely to* recommence them with more deadly vigor. The living* mass was silent as a vaulted tomb* 
Then came the cool assault, which was as coolly met — anon, the blows fell thick and fast from 
each, but the other with equal dexterity eluded«and repelled them. Never had the Romans vdtnesssd 
so per^Mt an exhibition ef gladiatorial skilL Tbe multitude hekl their breaths in suspense, and for 
a time victory was undecided. At length Robustus was observed to recede^radtoaUy before the blows 
of Lucullus, who was in conseyjuence encouraged to increased- exertions. Tht blade of tbe fbmwr 
struck often, but at random ; that of the latter seldom, but with, precision. Tbe shiald^of Robustus 
had as yst, Ixowsvei, proved a trusty defence. 

A murmur rose from the populace. The nana of LucoUna -passed from lip to lip; the voices 
swelled till the air was fiUed, and' the cheers of his admirioff oountfymen feltsweeljy on the ear of 
him who was thought conqueror. RobuStus, too, heaid the applause bestowed on his adverssry, and 
Ielt sick at- heart. But despair nsrved his heart and arm v springing, a few paces back» ha recovevsd, 
aad, with a tremendous assault, gained a. partial sdvantag»; xxu^ ^ ^ reeled — ^his shielcl was 
broken by one giant blow, and ere the kraakhless spectators could express their astonishment, liia 
sfsardof Robustus had pierced the heart ofLacullus, who^ /with a groan of anguish, ieU'haaviijf to 
tba earth. 

'The tide of applaase which had ebbed with the raosdiog stsps*of Rohustnsi m&m flowadinUf 
livoff ;■ and bud- and laitaratsd wara the shoots of the esoiled . popnlasw, who dmr Ae Tistac i»a 
triumphal car through the streets of their licentious city. 



A WINTER OLEB. 



39 



Bat when the crowd had deierted the theatre, a few iDdividuaU clustered round some ohject of at- 
tention that remained ; servants were observed carrying refreshments and restoratives ; and Lema 
was the centre of the cluster, and the object of their care. She had ventured to appear at the con- 
flict, trusting implicitly that success would attend her lovei, but had fainted when he apparently 
yielded and the croud <ihwfad bis rit«l. For some time she b^-insenMhle, when the coidiala had 
their intended eflect; she awoke as from a dream, and spiingins; from her attendants, lUshed to 
where the dead body lay. She fell upon the ghastly corpse, supposing it to be that of her lover, and 
exclaimed — 

** Ohi my Robnstos, there is one who will net desert you even in death !" 
• The corpse rolled over, and displayed the grim features of TjUcuHus ! Again the rush of emotiona— 
not of pain, but a strange mixture of delight and apprehension — overcame her, and she again fainted. 
Nature was now far exhausted ; she was home away nearly lifeless. The second recovery was more 
alow, but more certain than the first; and that evening Lema learned the result of the conflict. 
Imagine her feelings — her lover was the pride of Rome ! 

But the cup of pleasure ftequently conceals in its dregs the seeds of bitterness and pain. So it 
proved with Lema. She had quaffed the ineflablo draught of extncy only to receive the poison in 
its dregs. Hei emotions at the arena had diMsloaed the secret of her attachment, to a father who was 
the proudest among the patricians, and who vowed that plebeian blood should never degrade the grand- 
children of Siephano Reuddi. His resolution was at once taken, and he seized on the moment of 
popular favor to ensure the removal of Kobustus from Home, by procuring him on appointment 
in an- army than about to march into Gaul, and which the stem lawa of Cssar obliged him to ac- 
company, or forfeit his life. 

What took place after this separation of the lovers, shall be told in the words of the invisible 
mfntor Bt another' time. 



A WINTER GL££. 



BT XnWAIIS Q. MALLSnT, rH!LA1)XLPniA, 



HvBXA ! huzau ! the snow-kiog shakes 
Th>m his hoary brow the driHing flakes. 
The air is filled with their dances^liglit, 
The earth is hid 'neath a robe of whita. 
The honny moon, with her beamleta pale, 
Sfl^ms struggling to pierce the fleecy veil, 

Resolved to see 

How merrily wo 
The presence hail of the dreaded king; 

Hueza! hozza! huzza! 

Our mad steeds neigh 

As glides our sleigh 
With the spaed of the tempest^s wing. 

Huzza ! hnzza ! and faster still 
We skim thro' valley and over hill; 
Thfi forest trees are running away, 
The tumbling torrent seems to stay, 
The mountain echoes time do lack 
Qur many shout to answer back, 

Tho' ever around 

Floats the cheering sound 
Of oiusic our bells on the air do fling; 

Huzza! huzza! huzza! 

The faim dogs bay 

As glides our sleigh 
WjOl the ifetii o£ the tempeal'i wing. 



Huzza ! huzza ! swifl as the blast, 
Or Icvenbolt, from the cloud that's cast, 
A winged thought, or a fleeting dream. 
Or a glance from woman's eye doth gleam, 
W^e are shooting past the old homesteads 
Whose half-waken'd slumb'reis liA their haadl^ 

And pray in fear 

As the startled ear 
Catches the notes we gleesomely sing ; 

Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

Kre they can pi ay 

Past glides our sleigh 
With the speed of the tempest's wing. 

Huzza ! huzza ! on, and still on, 

We sweep 'till valley and hill are gone. 

And o-er the breast of the glassy lake 

Our unsUckcd course we fearlessly take, 

The waves shrink back from our courser's tieaa, 

And sounds each hoof-stroke hollow and dead ; 

On as we go 

In pleasure's wild glow 
To winter's lord we our ofTiings bring ; 

Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

'Till break of day 

Shall glide our sleigh 
With the.jipeed of the tem^«iii'%^^<niBi%« 



ADDITIONAL SKETCHES FRUM 



THE LOG OF OLD IRONSIDES. 



BT TBK AVTBOm OV « OLB imOlfSIBXS OJW A LXX IHOmX." 



Tour f lorioiu ttandftrd lavncli agtin. 
To meet another foe l^Ctrntft, 



PITCHINO A GUN OVERBOARD; OR, A NIGHT IN THE GULP. 

I^ the month of March, 1836, Old Ironsides, under the command of captain Jesse D. Elliott, left 
Ae port of New York for Havre, to bear thence Edward Livingston and fkmily, preparatory to a de- 
claration of war — which seemed inevitable — with Prance. 

The French minister, Mr. Semirier, had left for Brest three days previous, and it was considered 
all important for the Constitution to enter the English channel prior to the arrival of the Prench 
vessel at her port of destination. Accordingly all speed was made in depaiting from New York, and 
on the 10th when the blue summiu of the Jersey woodland sank astern amid the freezing glories of 
a north Aaster. she took her deparUue for Land's End, with her gun and berth decks lumbered up 
with provisions, cordage, plank, etc, while her weary master's-mate nodded in his unquiet sleep over 
the spirit-ioom hatch. 

It is a solemn thing to bid one's native land good night, even when the balmy west wind whispers 
from the shores, bathed in the glories of summer, and when the god-like stars look down in then 
majesty from the still vistas of heaven ; but when the wind roars amid the rigging, and the waves 
roll like tumbling mountains around you ; when the Mother Carey's chicken skips along astern 
and the white-capped billow curls over the sinking bows; when the winter's lightning, with its blue 
and hell-like blaze, flashes in uncertain quantities around the horizon ; and the splitting mizen top- 
sail makes the boldest and vilest look aloft; then it is not only a solemn, but it is an awfril task, a 
task which wrings the hardest heart, and damps the cheerfulnef s of the lightest spirit 

Night came early upon the ocean, and with it an increase of wind. The waves commenced 
rolling in a very uncertain manner ; we had what seamen call a cross sea ; and it was cross enough, 
God knows. The dead lights were now shut in ; the top-gallant yards sent down ; the guns housed ; 
and the topsails close reefed. The bonnet was taken from the jib, the spanker brailed up, and the 
foresail reefed. Onward the good ship swept over the raging flood ; and when the watch was called, 
she seemed to plough her way through waves of fire, while the red foam hissed upon her white 
hammock clolha, and shot up in fiery spray around her bows. 

A cold lain fell sparsely around. The thundei note of the breeze, as it rattled the slackening 
rigging, seemed fast gaining upon the roar of the agitated deep. The ship's stores were now nearly 
stowed, and the casks and banels that could not be put under hatches were lashed to the staunchions. 
A double allowance of grog was served out; a cold and scanty supper was taken by the weary sea- 
men upon the gun-d^k ; and then the hammocks were swung fore and aft, and sleep seemed at last 
about to end the toils of the first day at sea; but the first lieutenant seemed to have his doubts about 
the propriety of CHirying such a quantity of canvas in such a storm, and after several hurried visits 
to the spar deck, and as many returns to his state-room, he came to the ward-room hatch, and sung 
out to the midshipman of the watch, " Mr. Moffit, tell the carpenter to have axes placed by the main 
mast" — then turning into the ward-room he endeavored to eat his supper in quiet But no ; the 
well-filled cup of cold cofllee flew out of his hand, and followed the travelling sugar-bowl from one 
aide of the ship to the other ; while a puff of wind, as the mizen topsail shivered, put out his candle 
and left him to grumble over his ruined supper in darkness. 

That night was a busy one for the mariner ; the gale increased with every hour ; and the old firigmte 
skipped from wave to wave like a sheer-water dipping her wings in the foam as die past along ; 
while she creaked and groaned like spirits of the damned in torment. Her masts seemed ready to 
jfunp out of her ; her heavy bowsprit and sprit-sail yard buried her bows in the waves, and the canvM 
Am$ the carried seemed just ready to start from the bolt ropes. Ten o'clock came and the mastor at 



OLD IRONSIDES. 41 

trms had put out a]l the lights excepting the one in the ward-room. There a solitary candle gleam- 
ed from the sailing master's lantern, and lit up the countenances of the idlers of the mess, who had 
gathered in a knot to talk over the prospect of a swift passage and a speedy war. The tiibles were 
lashed to staples driven in the deck, and the chairs capsized, and lashed underneath to their legs. 
The ship leaked through her rudder casing, and hogshead after hogshead of sparkling water wa0> 
swabhed up by the ward-room steward, and the jack of the dust, from the purser's state room. 

The purser had a large box of stationery, whioh 1m had placed in the mess-room for safe keepings 
until morning. This box he placed athwart ships, with one end resting against the bulk-head of 
the state-room, and the other chocked by a cleat nailed upon the deck. Upon this box sate the 
purser, then myself, and then the veteran and scientific sailing master. Hanging on to the taUe» 
with both bands, stood the first lieutenant ; while the doctor, as he lay in his cot, grasped the side 
of it with almost supernatural power, and hinted that the light hurt his eyes, ergo it was time to put 
it out Some minutes had elapsed sinoe the last puff of wind, and we had all relaxed our hold. Jokes ' 
were passing like cents in the steerage ; and the dying notes of the old sea-dogs' song by the gallBy,. 
sounded with uncommon clearness. A heavy roar was now heard — a tumbling crash as though an* 
Alpine avalanche had descended upon the poop, immediately followed, and then the order of the 
lieutenant of the watch — •• Look out to windward !" — rung wildly around. Down to her bestings,. 
to leeward sank the ship-^ten feet strait ahead pitched the old sailing master and landed upon all 
fours — while forty feet through the middle air flew your humble soivant, who brought up, all stead- 
ing, against the lattice-work of the first lieutenant's state-room. The sailing master kept bis singular 
and unexpected position — the parser, like an old cruizer, hung on to the stationeiy ; and I, poor 
landsman, greenhorn, and lubber, neglected to watch the weather roll, and, before I could say Jack 
Robinson, flew with the velocity of a foot-ball, and landed, fax more scared than hurt, in the master's 
bunk, among chronometers, sextants, quadrants, hour-glasses, and tell-tale compiisses. A gale of 
wind destroys etiquette; and a heaving sea brings ^e sea sick admiral to a level with the cabiiv 
boy. 

A cry of distress now rung through the ship. The first lieutenant sprang up the ladder with the* 
agility of an old seanum. «< Silence," thundered the trumpet as he reached the deck, and the Toice* 
of man died upon the water. A heavy thump started all handa forward ; and a succession of jars, 
at the bows of the ship, soon gave evidence of the matter. A foiecastle gun had left its carriage, ■ 
and turned a somerset out of the port where it hung by its breechtng-rope ; and, as the old frigate - 
rolled upon the wave, it thumped against her iron-sides like the bettering ram of Titus against the* 
walls of Jerusalem. 

Qui flying jib-boom now snapped off like a pipe-stem, and flew to leeward like a feather thrown 
from a gray gull's wing. A tremendous sea again broke over the stern in its majesty, and the red 
torrent with its crest of lighter foam sparkled as it curled around the carronades, and hissed as it 
rushed through the lee-gangway. It stove in the commodore's gig, and sent the thin planks like- 
chips upon the water. As the wave rolled over us, I saw the black gun-wale of the gig, with the* 
word ** Constitution" in white letters upon it, riding triumphantly over the sea of blood, a type of 
our salvation in after time, and of our preservation amid the carnage of civil war. Another wave 
followed, and then the old fiigate, shaking herself like a water-witch, righted, and sailed along her 
course, but not without being endangered by the iron plum of four thousand pounds weight, that, 
hung at hex starboard bow. 

The captain now made his appearance— >a red kilmamock tipped his heod, and streamed out to 
leeward like the pennant of a bashaw of three tails. In a moment he saw the critical situation of.' 
the ship. The trumpet was put in requisition. 

** Stand by to cut away the starboard bow gun !'* rang above the full fury of the gale. 

*< All ready forward, sir !" — was the scarcely intelligible response of the carpenter's mate, who^ 
raised his voice to its utmost pitch ; and it was not a small one, either. 

**Cut! cut ! d — n you, cut away !" thundered the trumpet— a bright gleam of the axe was seen 
forward — a grating sound was heard — and then the iron mouth piece of the starboard bow went 
down to the plains of ocean to sleep in silence for ever. 

The cause of this accident was as follows : The gunner had been on the sick list all the way out ; 
and the raw yeoman that acted for him had neglected to key the gun to the carriage. 

The ship was now hove to. The gale still raged in its fury around her; but the laboring of the 
masts and timbers was over. She kept her bows to the wind, and, like a thing of life, sprang up to- 
meet the crest of the mount abi wave. 

The next day, when the storm had abated, a marine dieo, and was buried with the rites usual in 

ship of war. As the soldier's body went down to its last resting place, an old tar chucked over the 
rail a full allowance of pig-tail, and exclaimed to his messmates, while a tear skulked in the comer 
of his eye, " I say. Jack Adams, the soldiers are now right. Fifly-three guns — fifty-thiee marines— 
did'nt I tell you we had one more than our compliment, when the old bow chaser got a leave of 
absence, and went on a cruize to the bottom!" 

«* Aye ! aye f you're right enough, now," said a boatswain's mate in reply-—** I never knew • gUA 
to go without a small-arm man to watch it." 



42 ' burton's GBKTXEJfAN's MAGAZINE. 

*< Silence, forward !" growled the ma8ter*a mate. 
''^Plpe down/' thand^ed the deck truinpet. 

"Itoast beef!*' — ^played the drummer at the hamets-caak ;* and then the commodore went into his 
ctf>in, while the chaplain, with his pirayer^book, went below. 



THE OCEAN. 

iUatiwo w^tton thus kr in ny •katcbaii «i the Log of CMd Inmadaa, I trott I may bepardoned 
Int digreasing a little. We wiah toihnaw when weiaadof a battle* wfaero it wasfbugfat ; wkatrwaa 
ihefdiitingiuahiiig object in its vicinity ; wbdifaar a luiDedeoMle, a wmlled city, a burning hamlet, a 
fpmdiog tttlley, a purple bill top, .a liiTer lake, or a winding- wver. It would pot be strange, there- 
ibte,.if flooM landsmen should wiah to know something about the battle ooor« of Old Trunsides. 
For sucb I have sketched the followiag desciiption. Others may skip it if tb^ please ; or they may 
load it and curse it like true eeamen-^it is all the same to me. The Uuo believer needs no preaching 
'toiooDTittce him. ** Let fall the top-sails and sheet homo." 8fae feels her helm^the ripple ainga at 
•her bows and spaikles in her waki^good bye, Mr. Pilot. Rtader, the sketch ia before you. 

How mighty is the ooean !•— 4 have lode upon it, a thousand miles from land, when it waa as 
-calm as a sleeping miU-pond, while the nautilus and the Portuguese man-of-war spread iheir liny 
aaib upon its silver bosom, and naught waa to be seen but the great circles of iky and water, ming- 
ling jdmost imperoBptibly with cash-other ; when there was naughtabove but the btilliant heavens 
•and- naught around bat the stomqr petrel and the sporting whale. And I have been rocked by its 
;g;ig«ntic waves nearly a qnartei of a mile in length, aweUingllke broken difis £ir above the taffinil, 
^od have .plungsd- down thor.aides of black* and green, and dipped my hand in their snowy orasts, 
4H 1 0wept along, when, ooeasbnally, .the blant would flatten them aa though a scoop had past over 
-theii leaping summits, and the music of the gale would ring amid our bare poles like the whistling 
•of: ton thousand pbvar»-*Hvhen the gallant frigate would roll her hammock nettings in Uie foam, 
wid>ateggar on like a drunken sailor in a atiengeicity, andithe:nudahipman'8>ourse would ting above 
tke'ptping of the gale, as his locker and acaitt arockery ^ayed ihuttlecaGk with each other, and acnt 
ibagaudy fragmentsof the hitler in rich profiiaioB around ; when his-ooaked hat and qoadranttplay- 
^^bow^peep itomibehind atraveiliiig beer barrel, andihia muekle^whangar diaaed its biazen iheatli 
awnnd Ihe ataerage. How deep ia'tbaocBanl Whoihaa Athomad it 1 What -are iu inhafaiumts ? 
Who has seen them? Have its bounds been naicowed or enlarged? let the philosopher aaawer. 

IHia vast' steppes of Tartary pruve that an oeean onoavdlled itahillowa there;.and the Syrian and 
libyan desarta aeem to have beenooseied vdth aaline wavaa. When were those mighty shaets of 
water drainad away, and their springs >dffied upl Waa^it when the tatreatmg^ waves of the flood 
1)011 through the rooky barrier of the MediterTane8n,.and swallowed up the Isle of Atalantia in the 
"weatern ocean ?-^was it when the American was sepaieted from the eastern continent, and the 
iioiea waters of the north, and the silver billows of :die Pacific, mingled in hoarse comrnunaan at 
•Behring'a lonely Strait 1 The book-vrorm may aearch, and -the theortat may speculate, buttheiessans 
taught by the appearance of the sea-ahells upon the Blue Rtdgeof Yiiginia, and of countless-deposits 
«f booea of marine animals in tho'caves of western America, prove conclusively, to my mind, tiiat 
the ocean has rolled in awful majesty over a deluged world, and that the ark of Noah may have 
4bund apcaoeful resting place upon the peak of Ararau That the bed of the ocean is diversified by 
'InBs and mountaina is improbable, but that it stretchea out like the waste of Zahara from mountain 
-cliff to mountain cliff, a wilderness of slimy sand,. is highly probable. The bed uf the ocean ia un- 
«donbtedly formed ft>r such a vaat receptacle of water, and 'Um hidden springs and quick-sands are so 
«iany aluice^ways to let off the eurplus from an over deluged part, arid thus prevent it ftom over- 
sowing the dry land, agreeably to the vriil of him ** Who abut up 'the sea with doors when it brake 
ibrth as if it had issued out of the womb; vrhcn he made the cloud the garment diereof, and thick 
liaikness a swaddling band for it, and brake up for it his decreed place, and set bars and doors, and 
said hitherto shalt thou come and no faither, and here ahall thy proud waves be stayed." 

The inhabitants of the ocean ore but pattially known. What know vre of the inhabitants of a 
forest who never penetrate beyond its outskirts 1 The sea^nake may crewl in sliray grandaur at 
the bottom, and the kraken may lift its mighty form amid the giant depths of the woHd of waters, 
and yet be invisible to the eye of every mariner. The Leviathan is undoubtedly there, and there 
may stalk the monster Behemoth to drink up the volume of a lirer at a draught My opinion is 
that the continent and islands gradually or abruptly spring from the level sands of the ooean, as the 
■ mountains of the moon rise on the borders of Zahara, and as the pastures and hills of Syiia spring 
-up around the lonely waste of Zal Hammid. Now some people may call this speculation and haacy, 
let ns grant that it is both — and who is there that can offer any thing better ! 

* Note. — The harness-cask contains the beef and pork rations Ibr the crew ;.and, when the pusser's 
ataward b leachr to serva out, tiie drummer calis'the eooks of messes forward to the tune. of ^* roast 
beefr 



MONODY ON THE FALL OF POLAND 



BT •'BOBAB X. CVBBT-* BH^IO IT. 



*«Mi 



Thb w«r cry u hiiih*d, and tht conflict is done ! 

A nation has fallen—- oppreasion has won ! 

A nation hai AiUeD^^^t how noble th«t fldll 

Fame lives in her ruin, and glory's her pall. 

Her fiaUa, red witlt camag«, whew gdtf oA TtvBitt, 

GoodoUng with pit3^ that glory tMeiU, 

And iiuBM flUs hei ttump withno aomMrinffbrtalhy 

For viitiMPandi libitl^f triomphM in* doalii* 

aiMTOatiB- h>B faUm ! lamaottwahBrftito 

Wfaikt spititt indignanc no ranUing wHfa hale \ 

Though her aoiiB flew to annt^ and' manftiUf ftRight 

For the joal&oe ehe vainly in friendship had eough^ 

¥et the Antoerat'^ aabro their life-blood diitfelDi^ 

Andtfaflir mouldering bonee hafv whitea'd her plaiub 

Oh ! whei9 wia that aptrit wiiioh Ffmtc$ once dieptaj^d^ 

When the despots of Europe their (broes array'd 

To exdnguish • the flaming of Liberty's fire, 

That burst fnomitbe bosom in noble desire; 

To conquer a nation from lethargy woke^ 

That dared to be fVee**«piifning tyvann/s yokot 

That spirit whiob rush'd oVr the Alps in its woe^ 

And came like an- avalanche down on its foel*^ 

That spirit whieh. gave to tho Frenohman a nam»^ 

To the Coisican hero hie diaplet of fiune 1 

Oh! slumbsr'd it then, when the period had daiwn'd, 

When despaii nervod the heart and Libetty* moum'dl-*^ 

When <« Poland for evw," and " Freedom or Death,'' 

Came forth with moitality's ultimate breath? 

On an isle of the ocean, a deaelatespol, 

Where mcmorylingen^^that may ne'er be fergol— 

With no hope for iu future^ no joy but its pa«l| 

Ito present despair, that but promised to last, 

With a sigh for its home, though response was denied^— 

That spirit^ alas I in its agony died. 

The eagle is mourning hi# partner in flight 

Who stood with him high on 'the cloud-mantled height— 

A kindred in spiiil-^oofapanienin fiime— ^ 

Hie nature as free, and'ae lofty his aim. 

But vainly his screans may his anguish declare; 

As he beats with his piniena the serrowtng air ; 

Th%t imperial birdi ah ! no mote shoH behold 

A Marengo— -an AuMerlitz's glory unfold; 

For that power so mighty — that hope of tiie bravo" 

That *' tamer of tyrants" — hath sunk to the grave! 

Lo! the epoch is near, when the week shall arise, 

And Tyrants acknowledge the cause they deqnse ; 

The throne of the potentate crumble to dust. 

And eternal sueoeee crown the oause of the just 

Sarmatia shall rouse from her wearisome s l e ep 

Her children no longer in thtald^NB will weep; 

The champions of justice shall TUsh to her aid, 

And shell rise in Repubhean beauty amy^dt 

TOIL. rtr-V. i; B 2 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 

Bzure as Accoust of trs Fibbt Pasbaok acbosb tbx Rockt Moiibtaixs of Nobtb 

Amebic A iTxm achibt.jis bt Gitilized Man. 



CHAPTER I. — INTRODUCTORY. 

What we mast consider in unnsaal piece of good fortune has enabled as to present our readers, 
under this head, with a narrative of werj remarkable character, and certainly of very deep interest 
The Journal which follows not only embodies a relation of ihtfint successful attempt to cross the 
gigantic barriers of that unmense chain of mountains which stretdies from the Polar Sea in the 
north, to the Isthmus of Darien in the south, forming a craggy and snow-capped rampart through- 
out its whole course, but, what is of still greater importance, gives the particulars of a tour, beyond 
these mountains, through an immense extent of t^ritory, which, at thU day^ is looked upon as to- 
tally untravelled and unknown, and which, in every map of the country to which we can obtain ac- 
cess, is marked as ** on unexphrtd region." It is, moreover, the only unexplored region within the 
limits of the continent of North America. Such being the case, our friends will know how to par- 
don us for the slight amount of unction with which we have urged this Journal upon the public at- 
tention. For our own parts, we have found, in its perusal, a degree, and a species of interest such 
as no similar narrative ever inspired. Nor do we think that our relation to th^ papers, as the chan- 
nel through which they will be first made known, has had more than a moderate influence in be- 
getting this interest We feel assured that all our readers will unite with us in thinking the adven- 
tures here recorded unusually entertaining and important The peculiar character of the gentlemaa 
who was the leader and soul of the expedition, as well as its historian, has imbued what he has writr 
ten with a vast deal of romantic fervor, very difierent from the luke-warm and statistical air which 
pervades most records of the kind. Mr. James E. Rodman, from whom we obtained the MS., is 
well known to many of the readers of this Magazine^ and partakes, in some degree, of that tempe- 
lament which embittered the earlier portion of the life of his grandfather, Mr. Julius Rodman, the 
writer of the narrative. We allude to an hereditary hypochondria. It was the instigation of thia 
disease which, more than any thing else, led him to attempt the extraordinary journey here detailed. 
The hunting and trapping designs, of which he speaks himself, in the begirming of his Journal, 
were, as far as we can perceive, but excuses made to his own reason, for the audacity and novelty 
of his attempt There can be no doubt, we diink, (and our readers will think with us,) that he 
was urged solely by a desue to seek, in the bosom of the wilderness, that peace which his peculiar 
disposition would not suffer him to enjoy among men. He fled to the desert as to a friend. In no 
other view of the case can we reconcile many points of his record with our ordinary notions of hu- 
man action. 

As we have thought proper to omit two pages of the MS., in which Mr. R. gives some account of 
bis life previous to his departure up the Missouri, it may be as well to state here that he was a na- 
tive of England, where his relatives were of excellent standing, where he had'received a good edu- 
cation, and from which country he emigrated to this, in 1784, (being then about eighteen years of 
age,) with his &ther, and two maiden sisters. The £unily first settled in New York ; but afterwards 
xnade their way to Kentucky, and established themselves, almost in hermit fashion, on the banks of 
the Mississippi, near where Mills' Point now makes into the river. Here old Mr. Rodman died, 
in the &11 of 1790 ; and, in the ensuing winter, both his daughters perished of the small-pox, within 
a few weeks of each other. Shortly afterwards, (in the spring of 1791,) Mr. Julius Rodman, the 
flon, set out upon the expedition wbdch forms the subject of the following pages. Returning from 
this in 1794, as hereina^ stated, he took up his abode near Abingdon, in Virginia, where he mar- 
lied, and had three children, and where rnost of his descendants now live. 

We are informed by Mr. James Rodman, that his grandfather had merely kept an outline diary 
of his tour, during the many difficulties of its progress ; and that the MSS. with which we have 
heen furnished were not written out in detail, from that diary, until many years afterwards, when 
the tourist wss induced to undertake the task, at the instigation of M, Andre Mirhau^ the botanist, 
and author of the Flora BoreaU^AmericanOj and of the Histoire des Chines d'Ameriqut, M. Jtft- 
ehau, it will be remembered, had made an ofEei of his services to Mr. Jefierson, when that statesman 
first contemplated sending an expedition across the Rocky Mountains. He was engaged to prose- 
cute the journey, and had even ptroceeded on his way as far as Kentucky, when he was overtaken 
hj an order from the French minister, then at Philadelphia, requiring him to relinquish the design^ 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 45 

and to puriae elsewhere the hotankal inquiries on which he was employed by his government The 
contemplated andertaking then fell into the hands of Messieurs Lewif and Clarke, by whom it was 
snccessfiilly accomplished. 

The MS. when completed, however, never reached M. Michau, for whose inspection it had been 
drawn up ; and was always supposed to have been lost on the road by the young man to whom it 
was entrusted for delivery at M. M.'s temporary residence, near Monticello. s^rcely any attempt 
was made to lecover the papers; Mr. Rodman's peculiar disposition leading him to take but little in- 
terest in the search. Indeed, strange as it may appear, we doubt, from what we are told of him, 
whether he would have ever taken any steps to make pubHe the results of his most extraordinary 
tour ; we think that his only object in re-touching his original Diary was to oblige M. Michan. 
Even Mr. Jefierson's exploring project, a f roject which, at the time it was broached, excited almost 
universal comment, and was considered a perfect nooe//y, drew from the hero of our narrative, only 
a few general observations, addressed to the members of his family. He never made his own jour- 
ney a subject of conversation ; seeming, rather, to avoid the topic. He died before the return of 
Lewis and Clarke ; and the Diaiy, whifih had been given into the hands of the meMeenger far dc' 
Hvery to M, JUiehau, was found, about thiee months ago, in a secret drawer of a bureau whieh had 
belonged to Mr. Julius R. We do not learn by whom it was placed there— Mr. R.'s relatives ail 
exonerate him from the suspicion of having secreted it ; but, without intending any disrespect to 
the memory of that gentleman, or to Mr. James Rodman, (to whom we feel under especial obligap 
tion,) we cannot help thinking that the supposition of the narrator's having, by some means, repro- 
cured the package from the messenger, and concealed it where it was discovered, is very reasonable, 
and not at all out of keeping with the character of that morbid sensibility which distinguished the 
individual. 

We did not wish, by any means, to alter the manner of Mr. Rodman's narration, and have, there- 
fore, taken very few liberties with the MS., and these few only in the way of abridgment. The 
style, indeed, could scarcely be improved — it is simple and very effective ; giving evidence of the 
deep delight with which the traveller revelled in the majestic novelties through which he passed, day 
after day. There is a species of affeetionateness which pervades his account, even of the severest 
hardships and dangers, which Ictti us at once into the man's whole idiosyncrasy. He was possessed 
with a burning love of Niture ; and worshipped her, perhaps, more in her dreary and savage as- 
pects, than in her manifestations of placidity and joy. He stalked thiough that immense and often 
terrible wilderness with an evident rapture at his heart which we envy him as we read. He was, 
indeed, t/ie man to journey amid all that solemn desolation which he, plainly, so loved to depict His 
was the proper spirit to perceive ; Us the true ability to feel. We look, therefore, upon his MS. a» 
a rich treasure — in its way absolutely unsurpassed — indeed, never equalled. 

That the events of this narrative have hitherto lain perdtu ; that even the fact of the Rocky 
Mountains having been crossed by Mr. Rodman prior to the expedition of Lewis and Clarke, has 
never been made public, or at all alluded to in the works of any writer on American geography, (for 
it certainly never has been thus alluded to, as far as we can ascertain,) must be regarded as very re- 
markable — indeed, as exceedingly strange. The only reference to the journey at all, of which we 
can hear in any direction, is said to be contained in an unpublished letter of M. Michau's, in the 
possession of Mi. W. Wyatt, of Charlottesville, Virginia. It is there spoken of in a casual way, 
and collaterally, as ** a gigantic idea wonderfully carried out." If there has been any farther allu- 
sion to the journey, we know nothing of it. 

Before entering upon Mr. Rodman's own relation, it will not be improper to glance at what has 
been done by others, in the way of discovery, upon the North>Westem portion of our continent 
If the reader will turn to a map of North America, he will be better enabled to follow us in our ob- 
servations. 

It will be seen that the continent extends from the Arctic ocean, or from about the 70th parallel 
of north latitude, to the 9th ; and from the 56th meridian west of Greenwich, to the i68th. The 
whole of this immense extent of territory has been visited by civilized man, in a greater or less de- 
gree ; and indeed a veiy large portion of it has been permanently settled. But there is an exceed- 
ingly wide tract which is still marked upon all our maps as unexplored, and which, until this day, 
has always been so considered. Thin ti act lies within the 60th parallel on the south, the Arctic 
Ocean on the north, the Rocky Mountains on the west, and the possessions of Russia on the east 
7b Mr, Rodman, however, belongs the honor of having traversed this singularly wild region in 
many directions/ and the most interesting particulars of the narrative now published have refc" 
rente to his adventures and discoveries therein. 

Perhaps the earliest travels of any extent made in North America by white people, were those of 
Hennepin and his friends, in 1698 — but as his researches were mostly in the south, we do not feel 
called upon to speak of them more fully. 

Mr. Irving, in his Astoria, mentions the attempt of Captain Jonathan Carver, as being the first 
ever made to cross the cx>ntinent from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean ; but in this he appears to 
be mistaken ; for we find, in one of the journals of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, that two different en- 
terprises were set on foot, with that especial object in view, by the Hudson Bay Far Company, th» 



46 BURTON^B GBNTLBJfAN^e MAGAZINE. 

«ie itt 1768, Uie other as aarly a* 1749 ; both of which an supposed to hav« antizely failed,, aa bo 
ascoonts of the actual expediiioiis are extant It was in 1763, shortly aiier the acquisition oC the 
Canadas by Great Britain, inat Captain Carver undertook the journey. His intention wasio esasa 
the country* between the forty-third and forty-sixth degrees of north latitude, to the shores of the 
Pacific. His object waa to ascertain the breadth of the continent at its broadest part, and to datar- 
■m» upon some place, on the western coasts where government might establish a post to farilitate 
thr discoveiy of a noith-west passage, or a communication between Hudson's bay, and the Pacific 
ocean. He had supposed that the Columbia, then termed the Oregon, disembogued itself somewhefe 
ahen^ the stratte of Annian ; and it was hero that he expected the post to be formed. He thought, 
alea, that a settlement in this neii^hboi hoed would disclose new sourcea of trade, and open a more 
diieet oommunioation with China, and the British possessiona in the East Indiea, than the old zoote 
aflbided, by the Cape oi Good Hope. He waa baffled, however, in hia attempt to cross the moon- 



In point of time, the next impertant expedition, in the notthem portion of America, was that of 
Bamo et Heame, who, with the object of discovering ooppei mines, pushed north-westwardly duxiag 
tbe yean 1768, '?0, '71, and '72, from the Prince of Walea' Fort, in HudsonTa bay, as far ae the 
sheaeeef the Arctic oeaan. 

Wo harve, altet this, to record a second attempt of Captain Canrer'8» which was set on fiaoi in 
1724, and in whsdi he was joined by Riohaid Whitwortb, a member of Parliament, and a man of 
wealth. We only Botiae this enteipiize on aceount of the exteonive scale on* which it waa projeot- 
ed^f ht in iact it waa never carried into execution. The gentlemen were to take with them fi% or 
sixigr men, artificers and merinem, and, with these, make their way up one of the branchea of the 
Missouri, explore the mountains for the source of the Oregon, and sail down that river to its sap> 
peied mouthy nsar the straits of Annian. Here & fort waa to be built, as well as vessels for the pur- 
peee of fiurther discovery. The undertaking waa slopped by the breaking out oi the American le- 
vollitien. 

Aa early as 1775, the fur trade had been carried by the Canadian missionaries, north and weat to 
the hanks of the Saskatchawine river, in 53 north latitude, 102 west longitude ; and, in the begin- 
ning of 1776, Mr. Joseph Frobisher proceeded, in this direction, as far as 55, N. and 103, W. 

la 1778, Mr. Peter Bond, with four canoes, pushed on to the Elk river, about thirty n^es south 
of ita junction with the Lake of the Hills. 

We have now to mention another attempt, wluch was baffled at its very outset, to cross the broad- 
eat portion of the continent from ocean to ocean. This attempt is scarcely known by the public to 
have been made at all, and ia mentioned by Mr. Jefferson alone, and by him only in a cursory way. 
Mr. J. relates that Ledyard called upon him in Paris, panting for some new enterprise, af^er his suo- 
eeaeful voyage with C/aptain Cook ; and that he (Mr. J.) proposed to him that he should go by land 
to Kamschatka, cross in some of the Russian vessels to Nootka Sound, fall down into the latitude of 
the Miasouii, and then, striking through Ih-i country, pass down that river to the United Statea.^ 
Ledyard agreed to the proposal provided the permisBion of the Russian government could be obtain- 
ed* Mr. Jeflbrson sucoseded in obtaining this ; and the traveller, setting out from Paiis, arrived at 
8t. Petersbnrgh after tbe Empress had lefl that place to pas the vrinter at Moscow. His finanoea 
Bot permitting him to make unnecessaiy stay at St P., he continued on his route with a paasport 
lirom one of the ministers, and, at two hundred miles from Kamschatka, was arrested by an officer 
of the Empress, who had changed her mind, and now forbade his proceeding. He was put into a 
dose cariiage, and driven day and night, without stopping, till he reached Poland, where he was set 
down and dismissed. Mr. Jefierson, in speaking of Lwlyard'a undertaking, erroneously calla it ** the 
Jirai attempt to explore the western pert of our northern continent" 

The next enterprise of moment was tbe remarkable one of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, which waa 
proaecuted in 1789. He started from Montreal, pushed through the Utawas river. Lake Nipiasing, 
Lake Huron, around the northern abore of Lake Superior, through what is called the Grand Portage, 
thence along Rain River, the Lake of the Woods, Bonnet Lake, the upper pait of Dog-Head Lake, 
the aouth coast of Lake Wirmipeg, through Cedar Lake and paat the mouth of the S&skatchawine, 
to Sturgeon Lake; thence sgain, by portage, to tbe Missinipi, and through Black Bear, Primo's 
and Buffalo Lakes, to a range of high mountaina running N. £2. and S. W. — then taking Elk river 
to the Lake cf the Hills — then passing through Slave river to Slave Lake— around the northern ahore 
of this latter to Mackenzie's river, and down this, lastly, to the Polar Sea — an immense jonmey, 
daring which he encounteied dangers innumerable, and hardships of the severest kind. In the whole 
of his course down Mackenzie's river to its embouchure, he passed along the bottom of the eaatem 
deelivity of the Rocky Mountaina, but never crossed these barriers. In the spring of 1793, however, 
•tarttng from Montreal and pursuing the route of his first journey as far as the mouth of the Unjigah 
or Peace Kiver, he then turned off to the westwaid, up this stream, pushed through the Mountaina 
in latitude 56, then proceeded to the south until he struck a river which he called the Salmon (now 
Freaer'a) and following this, finally reached the Pacific in about the 40th parallel of N. L. 

The memorable expedition of captains Lewis and Clarke was in progresa during the yeara 1804, '5, 
tod '6. In 1803, the act for eatabliahing trading houses with the Indian tribes being about to expire. 



THE NIUHTINOALB. 



47 



■ome modifications of it (with an extension of its views to the Indians on the Missouri) were recom- 
mended to Congress by a confidential Message from Mr. Jeficrson, of January 18th. In order to 
prepare the way, it was proposed to send a party to trace the Missouri to its source, cross the Rocky 
Mountains, and follow the best water communication which ofibred itself thence to the Pacific ocean. 
This design was fully carried out; captain Lewis exploiing (hut notfirst ** discovering" as Mr. Irving 
relates) the upper waters of the Columbia river, and following the course of that stream to its em- 
bouchure. The head waters of the Columbia weie visited by Mackenzie as early as 1793. 

Coincident with the exploring tour of Lewis and Clarke up the Missouri, was that of Major Zebulon 
M. Pike up the Mississippi, which he succeeded in tracing to its source in Itasca Lake. Upon his 
return from this voyage he penetiated, by the orders of government, from the Mississippi westward- 
ly, during the years 1805, *6, and '7, to the head waters of the Arkansas (beyond the Rocky Moun- 
tilmrin iatitode 40 N.) passing along the Osage and Kansas rivers, and to the soutce of the Platle. 

In 1810, MV. David Thompson, a partner of the North West Fur Company, set out from MonlrMl, 
widl^ s strong pahy, to cross the continent to the Pacific. The first part of the route was Uutof 
Mkckenzie in 1793. The object was to anticipate a design of Mr. John Jacob Aster's — to wit^ tbe 
establishment of a trading post at the mouth of the Golnmbia. Most of his people deserted hiiii*«i 
fhe eastmn side of the mountains ; but he finally tuoceeded in eroasiDg the chain, with only^ eight 
fbHowera, when he struck the northern branch of the Columbia, and deeeended that river from< a'poiat 
modi nearer its source than any white man had done before. 

In 1*811, Mr. Astor's own remarkable enterprise was canted into effeet— «t least so for ■» the 
jonrpey across the country is concerned. As Mh Irving has already made all raader* well aeqnsinted 
with the particulars of this journey 7 we need only mention it in brief. The^ design we have- just 
spoken of. The track of the party (under command of Mr. Wilson Price Hnnt) was- from Montrioal, 
npthe UtawBs, through Lake Nipissinpr. and a succe^on of small lakes and rivers, to Michiliraaeid- 
nac, or Mackinaw — thence by Green Buy, Fox and Wisconsin riverS) to the Prairie du Gh i e H ' ' 
thence down the Mismssippi to St. Louis — thence op the Missouri, to the village of the Atickna 
Indians, between the 46th and 47th parallels of N. latitude, and fourteen hundred and thirty miles 
above the mouth of the river — thence, bending to the southwest across the desert, over the mountafais 
about where the head waters of the Platte and Yellowstone take rise, and, along the south branch of 
the Columbia, to the sea. Two small return parties from this expedition made most perilous and 
eventful passages across the country. 

The travels of major Stephen H. Long are the next important ones in point of time. This gentle- 
man, in 1823, proceeded to the source of St. Peter's river, to Lake Winnipeg, to the Lake of the 
Woods, etc., etc Of the more recent journeys of Captain Bonneville and others it is scAicely neees- 
sary to speak, ss they still dwell in the public memory. Captain B.'s adventures have been well re- 
lated by Mr. Irving. In 1 832, he passed from Fort Osage across the Rocky Mountains, and spent 
nearly three years in the legions beyond. Within the limits of the United States there is very little 
ground which has not, of late years, been traversed by the man of science, or the adventurer. But 
in those wide and desolate regions which lie north of our territory, and to the westward of Maekeo- 
zie*s river, the foot of no civilized man, with the exception of Mr. Rodman and his very small party, 
has ever been known to tread. In regard to the question of the fini passage across the Rocky 
Monntains, it will be seen, from what we have already said, that the credit of the enterprise should 
never have been given to Lewis and Claike, since Mackenzie succeeded in it, in the year 1798 ; and 
that in point of fact, Mr. Rodman was the first who overcame those gigantic barriers ; crossing them 
as he did in 1792. Thus it ii not without good reason that we claim public attention for the ex- 
traordinary narrative which ensues. Eds. 6. M. 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



Not farther hence than a young falcon's flight, 
In a lone valley stands an antique grove : 
Dusky it is by day, but when 'tis night 
None may tread rafely theie unlit by love. 
In lonelier days, it was my mood to rove 
At all hours there — to hear what mirth I might 
Of lofty-sbging laik, deep-biooding dove, 
And powerful tiinial^-^1 breathers of delight 



When night's drawn curtains darkened the deep 

vale. 
And the rich music of the day was ended, 
Outgushed a song of melancholy wail. 
Breaking the silence it with sweetness mended>- 
It was the voice of the waked nightingale 
Come thou and hear her solemn-sounding tale. 



A TURKISH SUPERSTITION. 



This fashionable beverage, aliuiist a necessary of life to the merchant, the politician, and the 
author, on its first introduction in Asia, caused a violent religious schism among the Mahometan 
doctors, almo«>t as early as the thirteenth century, although it was not till towards the middle of the 
sixteenth, that a cofiee-houae, propeily ao called, was cfitablishcd at Constantinople : its discovery was 
armounced by a miraculous legendary tale, which e^ich set relates in its own way. 

** A dervise,'' says a certain heterodox rational Mussulman, if such there can be, ** a dervise, over- 
flowing with zeal or with bile, was soiely troubled, on obberving that his brethren were not animated 
by a spirit active as his own : he saw, with concern, that they were listless and drowsy in the per- 
formance of their religious exercises, their ecstacies, their bowlings, their whirlings round, their ver- 
tigoes, their bellowings an^ laborious bieathings," in which, at a certain period, the Turkish priests 
equalled, or surpassed, the most enthusiastic of the followers of Barclay and of Fox. 

** The dissatisfied dervise, taking a solitary walk, to soothe his distuibed spirits, or cool his heated 
imagination, observed that the cattle became suddenly and remarkably playsome and lively, after 
feeding on a certain leaf; judging, by analogy, that the same effect might be produced on other 
animals, he gave his companions a strong infusion of it ; their heaviness and torpor were almost in- 
stantly removed, and they performed the parts allotted to them with exemplary activity and vigor ; 
the leaf, no powerful in its effects, proved to be the shrub from which cofiee berries afterwards were 
gathered." 

** Listen not to such piofane heresies,** says an ortliodox doctor of Mecca. " It was in the six 
hundred and fifty-sixth year of the Hegiia (about the middle of the thirteenth century of the Chris- 
tian »ra) that Abouhasan Schazali, on a pilgrimage to the tomb of our most holy prophet, sinking 
imder fatigue, extreme heat, and old age, called unto him Omar, a venerable Scheick, his friend and 
companion, and thus addressed him : — 

** ' Teacher of the faithful ! the angel of death hath laid his hand upon me : cleansed from my 
corruptions in the waters of Paradise, I hope soon to be in the presence of our prophet ; but I can- 
not depart in peace, till I have done justice to thy zeal, thy faith, and thy friendship ; persevere in 
the path thou hast so long trod, and rely on him, who drove the infidels like sheep before him, to 
extricate thee from all thy difficulties : farewell, sometimes think of Abouhasan, pity his errors, and 
do justice to his good name :* he would have spoken farther, but his breath failed, his eyes became 
dim, and pressing that hand he was to pre^s no more, he expired without a groan. 

'< Having performed the lost office of friendship, Omar pursued his way : but, a few days after, 
lost in devout contemplation, or overwhelmed witii sorrow, he wandeied from his associates in the 
caravan, and was not sensible of the danger of his situation, till involved in one of those whirlwinds, 
which, raising into the air the liandy soil of that country, generally piove destructive. 

*' Falling on his face, the fury of the bhist, and the thick cloud of sand passed over him ; almost 
suffocated with dust, notwithstanding the precaution he had taken, separated from the companions 
of his journey, without water to moisten his parched mouth, and fainting for want of sustenance, 
he gave himself up for a lost man ; the stream of life was |;ropelled with difficulty, perception and 
sensation began to fail, and believing himself in the agonies of death, he poured forth a mental 
ejaculation to Allah. 

*' An angel of light immediately stood before him ; waving his hand thrice towards the holy city, 
and pronouncing deliberately three mysterious words, a limpid stream suddenly gushed from the 
ground, and a luxuriant shiub sprung forth from the barren sand of the desert; bathing the temples, 
the eyes, and the lips of Omar, with the rcfieshing fluid, the celestial mes*»enger disappeared. 

" The cool stream, and the berries plucked fiom the miraculous tree, soon recovered the sinking 
man ; hf floured forth his soul in thanksgivinj, and sunk into a deep sleep, from which he awoke 
in full vigor and spirits. 

•' Omar, with renewed strength, soon rejoined the caravan, and relating the supernatural circum- 
stance, a mo8({ue was erected on the spot, by the zeal and contributions of true believers ; coffee, that 
wonderful shrub, the peculiar gift of our prophet, and more particularly the produce of his favored 
country, still continues the solace, cordial, and comforter of his devoted followers." 

[This singular specimen of Turkish superstition, in which the Mahometan appears to have en- 
croached on the prerogatives of the Vatican, is taken from a curious book, which, pievioua to the 
Gallic Revolution, was in the library of the King of France, and presented to Lewis the Fifteenth, 
by Said, an ambassador from the Poite to the court of Versailles.] 



THE BARQUE OF LIFE. 



As when upon a summer sea, 

Scarce ruffled by the breathing wind, 
A barque may quit the bay in glee. 

Some fairer port and land to find ; 
Where scenes of peace and plenty reign 
Along each green and flower-strewn plain. 
And disappointment ne'er is known 
To settle there her tear-worn throne : 
But pleasing hope in smiling grace, 
No more with fair illusion's face, 
Shall all her yotaries employ 
In gentle scenes of harmless joy, 
And banish with her waving hand 
Each thought of sadness from that land. 
Where ever 'neath spring's downy plume, 
Alone its sea-wash'd shores shall bloom, 
Dissever'd from earth's noisy strife — 
Haw like ihe Httk barque of Ufe! 

But when upon the trackless sea, 
Far distant from its native day. 

The breeze no more may gentle be. 
But lash old ocean in its play ; 



And tost upon its briny breast. 
The barque that fondly looked for rest 
May struggle with tWgiant wave 
That's after doom'd to be its grave. 
And seiied with every wild alarm, 
Yet fabely hope 'twill 80on be eabn — 
And then before the faVring gale. 

Far distant from this scene of strife. 
Again to stretch each wind-wom sail — 

How like the little barque of life' 



And when above the stormy main, 

At distance they behold that land. 
How every arm is stretched to gain 

A footing on its smiling strand ; 
But rocks and breakers lurking there, 

Of every ill and danger rife, 
Have dash'd it to that depth " despair^* — 

How like the little barque of life/ 



J. V. 



New York, I>ccember 5, 1839. 



FIELD SPORTS and MANLY PASTIMES. 



BY AN EXPERIENCED PRACTITIONER. 



SAILING. 



Wa are glad to observe that many Americans of fair means and leisure time are turning their at- 
tention to nautical practices, in the way of amusement or recreation. There is no country under 
the sun that affords equal advantages to the amateur sailor ; the broad and deep rivers that wind 
their gentle waters past the chiefesi cities — the rolling estuaries — the noble bays — the wide and sea- 
like lakes — and the long extent of coast, invite the attention of all persons attached to the art of sail- 
ing. We trust that this fashion will rapidly increase. The just fame attached to the skill of oar 
ship-builders has caused an American vessel to be looked upon as a model craft in all parts of the 
world ; the incitements of the wealthy, in affording the certainty of a reward for increased exertiona, 
would command a flotilla of pleasure vessels of superior build to the fancy yachts of England, and 
in the employment and nautical education of a number of men and boys, present a reserve of ex> 
pwienced sailors in aid of the country in case of war. 



50 burton's obntlbman's magazinb. 

the various yacht clubs of england 

Are of infinite eervice to the inhabitant* of the island aea-board; they maintain a large body of aie- 
fill aeamen and petty officers ; they are the means of attracting crowds of fashionable people to the 
Taiioos ports and wateiing places on the coast, to witness the regattas and sailing matches : they 
cause a pleotifol drcalation of the prc^cious metals, from the hands of the wealthy to the pockets of 
the tradesman, the merchant, and the ship builder. 

7%e Royal Yacht Club has nearly six hundred peisons on its lists, of which above one hundred 
are membons, and about four hundred and fiAy, honorary members. The number of yachts is one 
hundred and nine ; of which eighty-seven are cutters, or sloops, ten schooners, three brigs, four 
yawls, two ships, two ketches, and one lugger. The greater pat t of these vessels belong to Cowes 
and to SouthamplMi^; tha reat to other portSk. The shipping belongiof to the olub amooiilt tit m^ 
venty-two hondrrfajj^te tone* Nowv a vesnl of one hiindied> tons eeldon perhapa standa^lfae 
owner in less thaii>lRMK^p|to six tbooaand pounds, varying fiom that toten, acootdioglo cfaa^ir^ 
fusion of omamaotal pailMv intsrnai fittinti^ and other continsMdes. At tbia tate^ the* shipping 
of the club wookihave coat more thaitlhiiBa millions and arhalf of poimda etadi n^ ab o i > e mwah 
teen milliona at doUaralf— but it is impoaBibla:to speak decistvely on tbia paittl^ aa- tha fliat €0A:<if 
the yachts varisa>mueh, and the numwona. styles of rig are attaodsd with expoiasa ao widdy^ di^ 
farent. 

At a modamta computation, eaek.vasael bekxiging to the dnb eaifiea«teB mes, on an •fwagi; 
this gives the total number employed tan hundred and ninety. Dufiag the sommff monthly. lh«a» 
while regattas are celebrated, it may be said that the Royal Yacht Club akma ampioya mom tkfll 
eleven hundred men. Theftc, with some few exceptions, are diticharged on the approadiof wintefV 
and the yachts are laid up for the arason, rvtaining the master and one man in pay. The erawa tboa 
discharged obtain employment in roerohani-^essels, or otherwise, during, the winier ; and in the mi^ 
die of spring aia geneially re-shippcd' in the yachts in whiofa they have previously served. Oil 
these conditions, aoliva and industrious men of good character are generally sure of empk^ymeatin 
the club ; and many members justly pride themselves on the high discipline, manly lwaiing» aad 
crack appearance of their crewic The situation of master, in particular, is one of much reapoiMi- 
bility, and is on all accounts respeotably filled. In some of the largest craft, junior officers of the 
navy are found to accept the office. 

The sailing regulations of the Royal Yacht Club are as follows : ^ 

Firet — Members entering thoir yachts must send the names of them to the secretary ,. one wedi 
previous to the day of sailing, and pay two* guineas entrance at the same time. 

Second — All vessels starting or entering, roust be the hotiafidt property of members, as well as 
spars, sails, boats, etc. 

Third — Each member is allowed to enter one vessel only for all prizes given by the club. 

Fourth — Cutters (sloops) may carry four sails only, viz.: mainsail, foresail, jib, and gafif-topaail ; 
yawls, luggers, schooners, and all other vessels, in like proportion. No booming-out allowed. 

Fifth — No trimming with ballast, or shifting of ballast allowed ; and all vessels to keep their plat- 
forms down, and bulkheads standing. 

Sixth — Vessels on the larboard tack, mast invariabljr giw way for those on the starboard tv3L\ 
and in all cases where a doubt of the possibility of the vessel on the larboard tack weathering the 
one on the starboard tack shall exist, the vessel on the larboard tack shall give way ; or, if the other 
vessel keep her course, and' run< into her, the owner of the vessel on the larboard tack shall be com- 
pelled to pay all damages, and forfeit his claim to the prize. 

Seventh — Vessels running on shore shall be allowed to use their own anchors and boats actually 
on board, to get them ofi*, afterwards weighing anchor and hoisting the boat in ; but, upon receiving 
assistance from any other vessel or vessels, bcmts, or anchors, shall U>MX all claim to the prize. 

Eighth — ^That nothing but the hand-line be used for sounding. 

Ninth — Any deviation from these rules shall subject the aggressor to forfeit all claim to the prize. 

Tenth — If any objection be made with regatd t6 the sailing of any other vessel in the race, such 
objection must be made to the stewards within one hour after the vessel making the objection arrive 
at the staiting-post *- - 

Eleventh — ^No vessel shall be allowed to take in ballast, or take out, foi twenty^Cbur honra previ- 
ous to ataiting ; and no baUaat shall be thrown overboard* 

Twelftk^Vasaels shall atari ftom mooiingB laid down^at a cableJenglh distanoe, with their sails 
set; and every vessel not exceeding one hundred tons shall carry a boat not less than ten feet long ; 
and vessels exceeding one hundred tons, a boat not less than fburteen feet long. 

Thirteenth — ^There shall be a member, or honorary member, on board each veasel* 

Fourteenth*— The time of starting may be altered by the stewards ; and all disputes that may 
arise are to be decided by them, or such persons as they shall appoint 

The Northern Yaeht Club for Sootlaud and Ireland is a highly interesting society, although its 
plan is not so extensive as that of the Royal Club. It contains about three himdrod and fifiy 



.bw*, wliifiilT-tNohanonij BWiib««, ia addition 



f'thlM 



naf tha^ColkY 



khadtinlSSO, Mzt^Tuht^Bat eqaal is p n^iiliMi 
.U'dU'lanoacB ot tha Gown Clufa^ u ■oullsr *M»la wra wlmiMd. Hnjr^ X. C mta^mttbimi 
in iIm KonbocD Club. Xbna an man; fina vnaiL in tliia club. CutUn, m iloiifM, n'RM»l|iBi- 
xalia.BaDber; battbenuitiaui; olippor* in Itw wa; of ■nhoanen. 

Zb Gani Mmltr Club i> ana of. higbaM daaaaol, and ito RaKUla ia anjidag^ ilM'olto».«n Ae 
.Ungdoa. Il.iaanpparud hj matur at tha Sut luta in Inland, ud haa manylLndwana iwmI* in 
>ilaifl««. 

Pl^monlh, in England, hai on emllent Yichl Crub. lodrnd, sll along the aitgnt sf cnaM, B» 
l^ttabaad.SaiUax MatuhMere cooaUntlj "eomint off" botiwaD varioDi pkannii'bcBU,.tha:pnipCT- 
■tj of :H*Dtlaawo lotidiiig in tha vicinit?. 

Tha GhilLiB Clubs upon tbc Thuan oomprim the Rojal ThamB Yaahl Club, tha Rc^al Baibng 
Soaialf , tha ClaiBDca Club, the Bfitiah Yacht Club, tba RdjbI Yttiht Club, and.te«ial minor ano- 
eiations. Man; expcniiie cupa and priiei aie given throughoul the aaaian, ami tha tpiritgd aan- 
tMtaMiMBnrlba baautiful amall ciah nhich fonn thats fancj flnia ^^ hi^l; intenatinf^ The 
.■Ball* jirliti range from ail to lweDl;-aix tuna, and aro chiefl; of Iba colter or ■looprig. iD.aaitie 
{■Maof Bngtand, the litteen rig (two ahooldai-or-inuKoD uila, of enoimoiu brsadth and hcighl) 
maj be met with. 

At the loorest computalion, the number of uiling ve*wbi at piesenL emplojcd for pleature in Eng- 
land cannot be lesi than from three to fuur hundrrd, ranging in bulk from ti% lo three hundred and 
Bfl; lona. Tbeae are vaiiousi; diiitribuleil along the ihorai, omyia^ ttnir opulence inlo eveij port 
and hatbnr. Dul there ii another adiinlagc ariaing frum panht or Iwat cluba — namely, ihoy keep 
aliTe, in a very eminent degree, ihut national Bpirit vrhich.ia above all choice. 



New York boaila nf man; pleaaare yacbli, of supniar build. Wn hope lo give an aecoanl of 
aome of the worthiest befoie ne ilismiu Ihia luhject from our pages. Philadelphia, alao, can eihi- 
bil ver; choice tailing cnfl, of ihe alonp lig— the naulioBl aunleura of ibii cit; ma; bo juitl; prood 
of aome of their boats. We know nolhing rnpeclinq the aquatic apoili of Boston — and at Bald- 
more, although nnted for the ni«dlanaa of ihair veaala, nc an ignoiani of the ciiatcnce of a ain;1a 
pleaauto boat, and know not of tba ooaniTaiuw of a Bagatla fiu raanj yeara paaL 




THE BRITISH CUTTER, AS USED IN TH^ YACHT CLIIBS. 



Tbia kind o1 craft wa> orlginxlly called a cutter, 
Wo bave changed iU title here, with irapiopriety, 
wiaal of war of peculiar rating, and it mallera ni 



and ia known in Europe aolel; b; tbal name. 
in am ofnnion, for the term alnop ia applied to a 
t nbelhei ihe ia acbooner, biig. or ihip liggad. 



burton's GBNTLBMAN'S K&GAZINB. 

It tuhng qaalida of the abore rig, CDtton an empktjed hj ih* EimptaM m m- 
eta, imaKgien, and priTtUen. We IwTe rttniNid tlw ptinae " leremH enttar," 
altluni^ oat cniiMn darated lo that aerrice are gensnllf of the icfaaoDai build. Tba paitiafily of 
tha British may he accoontad for by theac TCaaeli' peculiar qoalitiaa of bealing well to windwatd, and 
woAing on ihort tacka, which Tender them remaikably adapted Ibi chaanel cnnmiK- The; an id 
■luoat aniTrraal naa tbrougfaoat Borope, ai pleaaoie leaaeli, whether on riten, or akrng tha ooaaL 

It will b* aeoi that tha jadu daba ^mad larger mm* on their Cfaft than anj other cbn ; tha 
^ of the abore cutter ia not b; an; meaiu oat of aiu, althoagh peeotiar to the below-bridga boata 
irf the *aiioiia jftcbt dnba on tha Thamea. 

A cotter, oi aloop, under one hundred torn, U auilicieDtlj handy; but when the ma inoeaaaa^ a 
-rery atrong crew ii naceaaT;, as the (pari are Tcrj hesTy , and a munber of men are reqniata to aat 
or aboiten aail. Borne of tha flrxat and the baleat aloope in the world are the property of the Bojal 
Yacht Clob, in England— aome of them moaanie nearly two hnndied tana, and carry a iftaad of 

The inconienient aiie of ihe boom and mainaail haa cinaed the intiadaetioa of a keldl lig,wfaidi 
by the addition of a miien, permita the boom to be diapenaed with and conaderatdy ledueea the m 
nil When the mizen atanda well, thia rig ie Tery elegant; and when Ihe »eai ' " -•--—•— 
win be Ibond to be very oaeruL 




The aboTo engravbg repiCMnU a doop ligged la juat described, with mainatii, tn 
foreaail, jib, and llying'jib. 



REVIEW OF WEW BOOKS 



Aidphronj a Poem. By Thonuu Moore, Esq., author ofLdUa Rookh, etc., etc. Carey and Hart, 

Philadelphia. 

Amid the vague mythologj of Egypt, the volaptaoua scenery of her Nile, and the gigantic myv- 
teriei of her pyramids, Anacreon Moore has foond all of that striking materiel which he so much d»- 
Ughts in working up, and which he has embodied in the poem before us. The design of the stoiy 
(for plot it has none) has been a less consideration than its facilities, and is made subservient to its 
execution. The subject is comprised in five epistles. In the first, Alciphron, the head of the Epi^ 
cnrean sect at Athens, writes, from Alexandria, to his friend Cleon, in the former city. He tells 
him (assigning a reason for quitting Athens and her pleasures) that, having fallen asleep one night 
after protracted festivity, he beholds, in a dream, a spectre, who telU him that, beside the sacred Nile, 
he, the Epicurean, shall find that Eternal Life for which he had so long been sighing. In the se- 
cond, from the same to the same, the traveller speaks, at large, and in rapturous terms, of the sce- 
nery of Egypt ; of the beauty of her maidens ; of an approadiing Festival of the Moon ; and of a 
wild hope entertained that amid the subterranean chambers of some huge pyramid lies the secret 
which he covets, the secret of Life EtemaL In the third letter, he relates a love adventure at the 
JPestival. Fascinated by the charms of one of the nymphs of a procession, he is first in despair at 
keing sight of her, then overjoyed at again seeing her in Necropolis, and finally traces her steps 
imtil they are loet near one of the smaller pyramids. In epistle the fourth, (still from the same to 
the same,) he enters and explores the pyramid, and, passing through a complete series of Eleusinian 
mysteries, is at length successfully initiated into the secrets of Memphian priestcraft ; we learning 
this latter point from letter the fifth, which concludes the poem, and is addressed by Orcus, high 
priest of Memphis, to Decius, a proetorian prefect 

A new poem from Moore calls to mind that critical opinion respecting him which had its origin, 
we believe, in the dogmatism of Coleridge — we mean the opinion that he is essentially the poet of 
fancy — the term being employed in contradistinction to imagination. ** The fancy,*' says the au- 
thor of the ** Auncient Mariner," in his Biographia Literaria, " tbe fancy combines, the imagina- 
tion creates.** And this was intended, and has been received, as a distinction. If so at all, it is one 
without a difference ; without even a difierence of degree. The fancy as nearly creates as the 
imagination ; and neither creates in any respect. All novel conceptions are merely unusual combi- 
nations. The mind of man can imagine nothing which has not really existed; and this point is sus- 
ceptible of tbe morit positive demonstration — see the Baion de Bielfeld, in his Premiers TraiU dc 
V Erudition Universelle. 1767. It will be said, perhaps, that we can imagine a griffin, and that a 
grififin does not exist. Not the griffin certainly, but its component paits. It is a mere compendium 
of known limbs and features — of known qualities. Thus with all which seems to be netv — which 
appears to be a creation of intellect. It is re-soluble into tbe old. The wildest and most vigorous 
efibrt of mind cannot stand the test of this analysis. 

We might make a distinction, of degree, between the fancy and the imagination, in saying that 
the latter is the former loftily employed. But experience proves this distinction to be unsatis&ctory. 
What vrefeel and know to be fancy, will be found still on\j fanciful, whatever be the theme which 
engages it It retainsfits idiosyncrasy under all circumstances. No subject exalts it into the ideaL 
We might exemplify this by reference to the writings of one whom our patriotism, lather than our 
judgment, has elevated to a niche in the Poetic Temple which he does not becomingly fill, and 
which he cannot long uninterruptedly hold. We allude to the late Dr. Rodman Drake, whose pue- 
rile abortion, *< The Culprit Fay,*' we examined, at some length, in a critique elsewhere ; proving it, 
we think, beyond all question, to belong to that doss of the pseudo-ideal, in dealing with which we 
Und ourselves embarrassed between a kind of half-consciousness that we ought to admire, and the 
certainty that we do not Dr. Drake was employed upon a good subject — at least it is a subject pre- 
dsely identical with those which Shakspeare was wont so happily to treat, and in which, especially, 
the author of" Lilian** has so wonderfully succeeded. But ihe American has brought to hu task a 
mue fancy, and has grossly failed in doing what many suppose him to have done — in writing an 
idesl or imaginative poem. Ther^ is not one particle of the true vomv-tt about "The Culprit 
Fky." We say that the subject, even at its best points, did not aid Dr. Drake in the slightest degree. 
He was never more than fanciful. The passage, for example, chiefly cited by his admirers, is the 
aeeoimt of the " Sylphid Queen ;*' and to show the dififiuence between the false and true ideal, wt 



54 BURTON^S GENTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

collated, in the review joit alloded to, thii, the most admired pauage, with one upon a nmilai i)pie 
bj Shelley. We shall be pardoned for repeating here, at nearly aa we remembei^ them, loma iMidi 
of what we then said. 
The desciiption of the Sylphid Queen runs thus : 

But oh, how fair the shape that lay 

Beneath a rainbow bending blight ; 
She seemed to the entranced Fay, 

The loveliest of the forms of light ; 
Her mantle was the purplo rolled 

Ai twilight in the west a£ur ; 
'Twas tied with thieads'of dawning gold. 

And buttoned with a sparkling star. 
Her face was like the lily roon 

That veils the vestal planet's hue ; 
Her eyes two beamlets from ihe moon 

Set -floating in the welkin blue. 
Her hair is like the sunny beam. 
And the diamond gems which round it .gleam 
Aie the pure drops of duwy even 
That ne-er have left theii^jiativc heaven. 

In the Queai Mob of Shelley, a Fairy is thus introduced : 

Those who had looked upon the sight, 
Passing all human glory. 

Saw not the yellow moon, 

Saw not the mortal scene. 

Heard not the night-wind!s suah, 

.Ueaid not an earthly sound, 

Sam but the fairy pageant, 

Heard but the heavenly atraina 

That filled the lonely dwelling—- 
And thus described — 

The Fairy's (rame was slight ; y^m fibraussdoud 
That catches but the palest tinge of even. 
And which the straining eye -can hardly seiie 
When molting into eastern twilight's shadow. 
Where scarce so thin, so slight; but the fair. star 
That gems the glitlering coronet of moin. 
Sheds not a light so mild^ «o powerful. 
As that whidiy burstinsr from the F air y*s form. 
Spread a purpurea! huiu round ihe scene. 

Yet with an undulating ntotion, 

Sutayed to her outline gracefully. 

In these exquisite lines the faculty of mere comparison is but little oxerciscd — that of ideality in 
a wonderful degree. It is probable that in a similar case Dr. Drake would have formed the fiue of 
the fairy of the ** fibrous cloud," hei arms of the ** pale tinge of even/' her eyes of the " fair atam," 
and her body of the ** twilight shadow." Having so done, his admirers would have congnlukd^d 
him upon his imagination, not taking the trouble to think that they themselves could at any inp- 
ment itnagine a fairy of materials equally as good, and conveying an equally distinct idea. TiMir 
mistake would be precisely analogous to that of many a schoolboy who admires the imaginatiooidit- 
played in Jack the GiantnKiller, and is finally rejoiced at discovering his own imagination to surpaai 
that of the author, since the monsteis destroyed by Jack are only about forty feet in height, and be 
himself has no trouble in imagining some of one hundred and foity. It will be seen that the faiiy 
of Shelley is not a mere compound of incongruous natural objects, inartificially put together, aad 
unaccompanied by any moral sentiment — ^but a being, in the illustration of whose nature some pl^- 
sical elements are used collateially as adjuncts, while the main conception springs immediate!^ «r 
tkus apparently springs, from the brain of the poet, enveloped in the moral sentiments of .graofl^ of 
color, of motion — of the beautiful, of the mystical, of the august— kn short, of the ideaL 

The troth is that the just distinction between the fancy and the imagination (and whifih is itill 
but a distinction ofdegru) is involved in the consideration of the myHic. We give this as anidba 
of our own«.altoget2ttr^ We have no authoii^ for our opinion— 4>ut do not the leia finaly holdit. 
Tho lerm mysiie is here employed in the aaoae of Aogustoa WiUiim SdU^fsl^and of >moii ^olfatr 



mcrfvw OF iv«w 3*00 r«. 5fr 

CtaoMreritieii Ttirapfplled by thsm-to thattlMt of e u m po d U p n in wfaidi Aero fiei benaift'the 
tMHpmnt upper cimviit of moBiitng'i an under or mtgge^Hfie one; *Wllet we*T8giiel3r term ttv 
nmnd of uy le utim e n t it itrmyitio or seeonJnry expreswrn. h has die Tsit fonee of an ncon- 
pmiment in mniic Thbviirifiei the air; that spintualixea tlieybfierfu/ conception, and fiftn it into 
tlhrwfeii^ 

Tliia'tbeory will bear, we think, te most ngorooa tests which can be made applicable to it, and 
wUl'be acknowledged as tenable hy all who are themaelvee imaginative. If we carefolly exmniiie 
thon poems, or portions of poems, or those prose romances, which mankind hiive been accnstonnd' 
to designate as imaginative^ (for an instinctive feelrog leads us to employ properly the term whoev 
fdl import we have still never been able to define,) it will be seen that all so designate^ are remark- 
able for the suggestive character which we have discussed. They are strongly myttie^m the pro- 
per aense of the woid. We will hero only call to the reader's mind, the Prometheus Vtnctus of 
jBiidiylus; the Inferno of Dante; the Destruction of Numantim, by Cervantes; the Comua of 
MUton ; the Auncieni Mariner y the Christabely and the Kubla Khan, of Coleridge ; the JVi^A/m- 
gttk of Keats; and, most especially, the Sensitive Pbmi of flfhelley, and the Vn^ne of De La 
Motte Fouqu^. These two latter poems (for we call them both such) are the finest possible exam- 
ples of die purely ideai. There is little of fancy here, and every thing of imagination. With each 
note of the lyre is heard a ghostly, and not always a distinct, but an august and soul-exalting edb. 
In every glimpse of beauty presented, we catch, through long and wild vistas, dim bewildering 
viflons of a for more ethereal beanty beyond. But not so in poems which the worid has alwaya 
penitted in terming /anei/u/. Here the upper current is often exceedingly brilliant and beantifbl ; 
hot then men fee! that this upper current w ali. No Naiad voice addresses themfivm below. The 
notes of the air of the song do not tremble with the according tones of the accomptnim'snt 

It is the failure to perceive these truths which has occasioned that embarraamentvrhidi our^cfitiv 
experience while discussing the topic of Moore's station in the poetic world«-4hat hesitatbu with 
wUch we aie obliged to refuse him die loftiest rank among the most noble. The popular voice, and the 
popular heart, have denied him that happiest quality, imagination — and 'here die popular voioe (fl^^ 
eauu for once it has gone with the popular heart) is tight — but yet only relatively se. Imaginadon 
IS not the leadmg feature of the poetry of Moore ; but he possesses it in no little degree. 

We will quote a few instances ftom the poem now before us — instanoer which will serve to eoE- 
emplify the distinctive feature which we have attributed to ideality. 

It is the suggestive force which exalts and ethercalizes the passages we copy. 

Or is it that there lurks, indeed, 
Some truth in man's prevailing creed, 
And that our guaidiarur from on' high, 

Come, in that pause from toil and sin, 
To put the senses' curtiin by, 

And on the wakeful soul look in ! 

Again — 

The eternal pyramids of Memphis buret 
Awfully on my sight — standing sublime 
Twixt earth and heaven, the watdi>^towers of time, 
From wfaoee lone summit,' when his reign- hath past. 
From earth for ever, he will look his laet. 

Is there for nan no- hope' but* tlus which dooms 
ffis only lasting trophies to-be tombs! 
But 'tis iiot'so'-«aitfa, heaven,, all natuve-shows 
He may become immoital, may undose 
The wings within him vmpc, and proudly list 
Redeemed- from earth ve ereature of the dues ! 

The pyramid diadows, streCdiing from die light, 
Look Ukertbe first eeleesal^supe of night, 
9taKdng'«eroas the^vaHey tO' invade 
The distant' hiHa of porphyry widi their shade ! 

There Btlence, thaaghtful- Gtxl, who loves 
Tile neighborhood' of Death, in groves 
Of aaphodel lies hid, and weaves 
ffie hushing spell aowpythala a ias , 

8ad& lines as these, we must admit, however, are not of frequent oeennanoe in tha po em the 
■I of whose great beauty is composed of the several sums of a world of mhior axedbneei. 



And again — 



kaA 



56 fiURTON^S GENTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

Moore has always baen renowned for the number and appoaiteness, as well as novelty, of his aiini- 
les ; and the renown thus acquired is strongly indicial of his deficiency in that nobler merit — tba 
noblest of them all. No poet thus distinguished was ever richly ideal. Pope and Cowper are re- 
markable instances in point Similes (so much insisted upon by the critics of the reign of Qoetn 
Anne) are never, in our opinion, strictly in good taste, whatever may be said to the eontrary, and 
certainly can never be made to accord with other high qualities, except when naturally arising firom 
the subject in the way of illustration — and, when thus arising, they have seldom the merit of no- 
velty. To be novel, they must fail in essential particulars. The higher minds will avoid their fie- 
quent use. They foim no portion of the ideal, and appertain to the fancy alone. 

We proceed with a few landom observations upon Alciphron. The poem is distinguished through- 
out by a very happy facility which has never been mentioned in connection with its author, bat 
which has much to do with the reputation he has obtained. We allude to the facility with which, 
he recounts a poetical story in a prosaic way. By this is meant that he preserves the tone and me- 
thod of arrangement of a prose relation, and thus obtains great advantages over his more stilted com- 
peers. His u no poetical style, (such, for example, as the French have — a distinct style for a dis- 
tinct purpose,) but an easy and ordinary Drose manner, ornamented into poetry. By means of this 
he is enabled to enter, with ease, into details which would baffle any other versifier of the age, and 
at which La Martina would stand aghast For any thing that we see to the contrary, Moore might 
solve a cubic equation in verse, or go through with the three several demonstrations of the binomial 
theorem, one after the other, or indeed all at the same time. His fadlity in this respect is truly ad- 
mirable, and is, no doubt, the result of long practice afler mature deliberation. We refer the reader 
to page 50, of the pamphlet now reviewed ; where the minute and conflicting incidents of the descent 
into the pyramid are detailed with absolutely fnore precision than we have ever known a similar il- 
lation detailed with in prose. 

In general dexterity and melody of versification the author of Lalla Rookh is unrivalled ; bat he 
is by no means at all times accurate, falling occasionally into the common foible of throwing accent 
upon syllables too unimportant to sustain it Thus, in the lines which follow, where we have itali- 
cbed the weak syllables : 

And mark 'tis nigh ; already t?ie sun bids — 

While hark from all the temples a lich swell 

I rushed into the cool night aii — 

He also too frequently draws out the word Heaven into two syllables— a protraction which it 
never will support 

His English is now and then objectionable, as, at page 26, where he speaks of 

lighted barks 
That down 8yene*s cataract shoots, 

making sfioots rhyme with flutes, below ; also at page 6, and elsewhere, where the word none has 
impropeily a singular, instead of a plural force. But such criticism as this is somewhat captions, 
for in general he is roost highly polished. 

At page 27, he has stolen his " woven snow^' from the ventum textUem of Apuleius. 

At page 8, he either himself has misunderstood the tenets of Epicurus, or wilfully misrepresents 
them through the voice of Alciphron. We incline to the former idea, however ; as the philosophy 
of that most noble of the sophists is habitually perverted by the modems. Nothing could be more 
spiritual and less sensual than the doctrines we so torture into wrong. But we have drawn out this 
notice at somewhat too great length, and must conclude. In truth, the exceeding beauty of " Alci- 
phron" has bewildered and detained us. We could not point out a poem in any language which, 
as a whole, greatly excels it It is far superior to Lalla Rookh. While Moore does not reach, ex- 
cept in rare snatches, the height of the loftiest quaUties of some whom we have named, yet he has 
written finer poems than any, of equal length, by the greatest of his rivals. His radiance, not al- 
ways as bright as some flashes from other pens, is yet a radiance of equable glow, whose total amount 
of light exceeds, by very much, we think, that total amount in the case of any cotempoiary wiiter 
whatsoever. A vivid fancy ; an epigrammatic spirit; a fine taste ; vivacity, dexterity and a mas- 
cai ear ; have made him very easily what he is, the most popular poet now living — if not the moat 
popular that ever lived — and, perhaps, a slight modification at birth of that which phrenologists have 
agreed to term temperament, might have made him the truest and noblest votary of the muse of 
any age or clime. As it is, we have only casual glimpses of that mens divinior which is aasoiedly 
enshrined within him. 



BBYIBW OF NBW BOOKS. 57 

A CanimwUum of ike Jdemairs of Charka Mathews, Comedian. Including his Correspondence, 
and an Aeafuni of his Residence m the United States, Two volumes. Lea and Blanehard, 
Philadelphia. 

Thk continuation is undoubtedly a good thing, but somewhat too much of a good thing. In ad- 
dition to the first series, we have now two closely printed volumes of more than three hundred pages 
each. This extensive amount of memorandum would be amply sufficient in regaid to the most con- 
spicuous character that ever existed. Still it cannot be denied that much and varied amusement is 
to be picked out from the mass of Bosweli-like detail with which Mrs. Mathews has overwhelmed 
us. ThoM who do not like the twad'ile, can skip it. In place ot saying any thing farther about 
the work, (which will be eagerly sought for and read,) we will devoto a page or two of our Review 
department, this month, to an extract ftom the first volume, which appears (we know not how, or 
why,) to be more full of mere fun than its successor. We can the better spare the space for these 
passages, as the book^publishing world and its concerns seem to be somewhat in abeyance just at 
present. We critics are beginning to have an idle time of it. If some poor devil authors do not 
soon turn up we shall die of inanition. 

<* My husband, on his way homewards from the north, just after assiie time, on entering the mail, 
was fortunate enough to find only two gentlemen, who, being seated opposite to each other, left him 
the fourth seat for his legs. This comfoit was a very unusual instance of good luck to my husband, 
who never entered a public coach without encountering either a baby in arms, a sick child, or a man 
in a consumption. The gentlemen passengers were very agreeable men. One, a Scotchman, al- 
ways a safe card. At the close of the evening, the latter encased his head and throat in an enor- 
mous fold of white linen, and then sunk back to sleep, looking like the veiled prophet; while the 
other, an Englishman, was characteristically satisfied with a ** comfortable.'" My husband, who was 
never a wrapper-up, sat prepared to receive the night as a friend rather than as an enemy, content 
and happy at the advantage already mentioned. 

Just as the trio had sunk into their first forgetfiilness, before the coachman or guard could " mur- 
der sleep " with the startling intimation of " Going no farther !" they were awaked by the sudden 
stoppage of the vehicle, a light at the door of an inn, and a party of rough discordant voices, bidding, 
however^ a cordial farewell to a large, bscoated, and portentous stranger, who in a broad Yorkshire 
dialect, wished his companions ** a good night," reminding them that he had paid his share of the 
reckoning, when, to the great discomfiture of our three itrndes, the door of the mail was opened, and 
the fourth passenger invited by the guard to enter without farther loss of time. 

Since the three gentlemen had ** dropped ofif," the weather had suddenly changed from frost to 
snow. A heavy sleet had fallen ; and the man we have mentioned quitted the open air, and enter- 
ed the coach with, appropriately enough, a frieze coat on, powdered all over with the efiects of the 
weather. All shrunk frum the damp stranger, who felt all the active embarrassment which attends 
the entrance into a daik carriage, amongst an uncounted party, in a total ignorance of the wheio- 
about of the vacant seal, and which no courteous hand directed him to. He was pushed, first by one, 
then the other, and at last my husband forcibly, in keeping him ofi'from his own person, lodged the 
huge, rough-coated animal into the space he was destined to fill. All were discontented at this in- 
trusion, and sufficiently chilled and disturbed to be in a very ill-humor with the odious fourth.-^ 
They, however, seemed tacitly to agree not to speak to the new comer, but endeavor to regain their 
before happy unconsciousncsH. But they had not been spending a jovial evening, as he had whose 
** absence" they would have ** doted upon.'* He was in any thing but a sleeping mood ; and after a 
minute's rustling about, in order to settle himself treading upon my husband's toes, elbowing his 
neighbor, begging pardon for his so doing, etc, all which was received with a sullen silence, he ask- 
ed, in a voice which seemed thunder to the sleepers, while he held the pull of the window in one 
hand — ** Coompany ! oop or down 1" Answer made they none. 

Again he inquired, still dubious of what might be " agreeable," and desirous to prove himself a 
polished gentleman, " Coompany! oop or down 1" Still receiving no answer, a smothered oath be- 
spoke his disgust at such an uncourteous return for that polite consideration for his fellow-passen- 
gers ; and, with some exasperation of tone, he repeated, ** Dom it ! — I say, Coompany — oop or-^ 
dawn .?" Still not a word ; and, with another " (2om," he allowed *' t'window" to remain down. 

It was clear to the half-perceptions of the drowsy travellers that he of the frieze coat had laid in 
enough spirit to keep him from chilliness, and they hoped the potency of his precaution would soon 
make him unconscious, as they were disposed to be. But, no ; still he was restless and talkative. 
All at once, however, a 

Change came o'er the spirit of his dream ; 

ha, it appeared, for the first time, perceived the alteration in the weather. His excitement at the 
doaor of the little inn, where he had left his friends, had caused him totally to overlook the snow ; 
mod Iia saw it now with all that stupid wonder with which such persona receive the most natoral 



58 DURTON^i aB^TIrSHAN'^ MAGAZINE. 

tnmwtloiw^.anil be ezolaimed, in audible aoliloqoy, «« Eh ! nm Ood! wbtt's Atil— wlmigh, the- 
whole-oountry's^coTertd wi' snow !— -eh ! il'e awful. Co^Ympany 1 wake-np and see V snow !— eh, 

they're ail asleep ! Good God ! whoigh it*s wonderful and awful ! — Good Lord, what a noigbt 

what a noight ! £h ! God presarve all poor cieters on the wentem coa«t this noight !" Then roar- 
ing out once raors, in inoreaaed vehemence of tone, *< Coompaoy ! wake, I aay, and see t* noighr! 
Eh ! they're dead, I ledum !— eh, nia God ! what a nmght !— awful, I reckon !" 

•In thk manner did he go on, until the patieiice of the -English gentleman was tired out, and'hr 
at kngth spoke. " I wish, sir, you'd i^w some feeling for us, and hold your tongne. We were 
all astesp when you came in, and youVe done nothing but ulk and disturb as ever since. You're 
a positive nuisance." 

««£h !" said he of the fiieze coat, " I loike that, indeed ! Oive as much right here, I jeokon, av 
otheie— dom ! awve paid my (are, ar'nt II" said he, his voice rising as he lemcmbercd his cfa^mi 
to consideration. *' Tm v respectable man^— my name's John Luckie — I owes nobody onydiing. I 
pay King's taxes — I'm a respectable man, I say. Aw help to support Churcti and State. I care lor 
nobody ; I'm a respectable man." Then looking again out of the window, and relapsing into his ejao- 
ulatory mood and stupid abstraction — '* Eh ! what an awful noight ! Lord be merciful to all man 
ners this noight ! Lord bo merciful to all poor souls on the western coast !" he hiccupped out, and 
agamithe gentleman assailed with a command that he would be silent John Luckie at this beeame 
every moment louder and more intolerable* At length hie -sense of oppression became so strong 
that liie- independence reached ita-cUniaz, and he declaiedthat he would not hold his tongue or be 
quiet—'* no, not for Baron HuUuck himoelf, nor if the great Mr. Brougham (or, as he pronounced 
tlMiiame Mr. Bruffum) himoelf was in t' coach." 

My husband, who found all tendency to sleep broken up by this obstreperous fellow, now coa- 
cerred a' desire to amuse himself with hie fellow^pessenger; and, just as John Luckie's Uat dedan- 
tios WBo uttered, Mr. Mathews Inuit forward to Mm, and in a half-whisper said, with affected eau- 
tiaB,'*<'Hueh ! you are not aware, but you have been speaking all this time to Boron Hullock him- 
self!" The drover seemed to quail under this intimation — ** Whoigh, you don't say so ?" ** Fact, 
I aarare you ; and opposite to him is Lady HuUoek !" The Scotchman with the white drapery 
owr his head began to titter at this. " Whoigh ! good God ! don't tell me that ! Eh ! what shall' 
I do 1 Good Loid ! what have I said ? Art thou sure ?"— ** I am mdeed," said Mr. Madiewe ; 
"tbey are Baron and Lady Hullock, and I am Mr. Brougham." — ** Eh !*' said the man in a tone of 
actual tenor, ** let me go^!''— <aiid struggling to open the coach door — *• let me go ! I'm no coom- 
panyibr sit^ gentiefolko ; aw've no book-laming. Let me get out here, guard ! Stop ! I woint 
roide here ony longer !" The guard was insensible to this ; and on want the coach, and still John 
Lueki^ struggled ; and in hk rough and clumsy movements a little of my husband's ventriloquy 
proved a ussful antiliary to urge hia welcome departure; and a child suddenly cried out as if hurt. 
** Bh ! myCied ! what, is there a bairn i' t' coocfa, too ! Eh ! my Lord Baron, pray forgive me, I 
manU no oflsme. My- name^s John Luokie. I Kud, eoompany oop or down ? I meant to be drU, 
Eh ! my Lady ttulloek, I hope I've not hurt thy bairn.'* The child's cries now increased. <« Elr! 
nuvkaim, where mi thee ? Dom ! what must I do ? Guard ! stop and let me out ! Eh f what a 
noight! €kiaid ! I'm not fit eoompany for Baron Hullock and Mr. Brujfem, I know. Let me 
oolp I oay !" At laet his veioe reached' the higher powers, and the- coach stopped, and as ooon oof 
roHed this po r pow e of a man, who again begging the Baron and ha Lady to overlook his rudeneai^. 
and asklMg pardon of « Mr. Bruflhm," he was with some difficulty hoisted upon the top of the moil, 
and off -it drove. 



7)ke CWemcot. Bythi Comnhnof Bkssmgton, Two volumes. Lea and BUmdiwrd^ PJUkC 

dtlphin^ 

We like the <* Governess" much better than any thing we have as yet seen fromthoipon (A Mr. 
WUlia' pet, the Countess of Blessington. The stery is pretty well told ; there are soma paasiqpa- 
of pathos, and aome of a good, broad, hearty humor, altogether foreign to what we coaaiderBd th»- 
nature of the Countess. In general this lady is only remarfcable for thmtranguiiUtif of her.«^yl% 
and should be put at the head of the school of the quietista. dha is never extravagant, never oo w 
powering — not she. She never startles a body to death. We never knew her, before this laot al* 
tempt, got out of the every-day, slow-and-sure, good-old-fadiioned, creepi«asy jpg-trot of the moai 
orthodox and commendable common-place. *• The (Sovemeaa" has exalted her no little in ow mA' 
mation. It will be received with favor, and read with interest. 



Take of the Grotesque and Arabesque. By Edgar A, Poe, Thvo volumes. Lea and Blanekard, 

Philadelphia 



L. and B. haov juit nsaed twuntj-fivebtief stories, hnviogtht above thte, which j»niQf 
win tafiealM their gOBoral dMnwiMr. 



ff 




wi? viU'TBT.i'iaiJfr 



ADRASTUS. 



:< 



4' 



BURTON'S 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN MONTHLY REVIEW. 



FEBRUARY, 1840. 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF JOHN M. VANDENHOFF. 



Abu ! the ft«tor nevtr can bequeath 
His raiioHB boiatiet to the etnbiro age ; 

Save what the painter or the poet breathe 
Upon the canvas and the powiag page. 



Draxatii memoirs, to be entertaining, most be either anecdotical or critical; the mere recital of 
engagements made and fulfilled, the play-bill enumeration of nightly performances, and the clippinga 
of newspaper critiques and treasurer's reports, make, easily enough, the contents of many a book 
which the reader has a right to expect would be formed of better stuf^ But the poor deTil of an 
author is not always to be blamed ; the befitting material cannot at all times be obtained ; some 
actors are proud, and refuse to impart the most entertaining portions of their progress, dilating strongs 
ly upon the dullest but most dignified periods of their lives ; others have a nervous horror of figuring 
in any forrn of type but that of a play-bill or a pufif, and resolutely mar the efforts of the scribe bj 
withholding the most necessary information ; others, again, desire that the public to whom they hava 
devoted their lives, should be intimate with the minutest particulars of their dull, every-day existence, 
and journalise for future Boswclls, their hours of rising and dining with as much exactness as the 
prompter marks the hour of rehearsal in the call-book — whilst others, like the weary knife-grinder, 
** have no tale to tell." Wo are not, in the present instance, exactly like the knife-grinder, but our 
tale is simple and soon told ; we have sat down with a determination to make this article an interest- 
ing one, but looking at our iniatory postulatum, we candidly confess our fears. We cannot on this 
occasion be very anecdotical, because we have not '* the fitting material,'* and it is not our place to 
be critical upon the merits of a performer ; but we may advance an independent opinion or two on 
matters connected with the stage which the public and the profession may do well to note. 

JOHN M. VANDENHOFF was born in the city of Salisbury, the capital of Wiltshire, in 
England. His father professed that creed, which, according to Sam Slick, is soon to be the establish- 
ed church of the United States ; and master John, being designed for the priesthood, was sent to the 
Jesuits' College, at Stonyhurst, where he received a very superior education, and distinguished him- 
self by various elegant compositions and a studious attention to the beauties of the classics. We 
know not whether he was inoculated with what Liston terms the caooethes aderuU by the provin- 
cial actors who visited his native city, or whether he caught the infection from witnessing the per- 
formances of John Kemblc, who was then in his zenith, but certain it is that the young Vandenhoff 
took the disease very kindly, and made his first bow to the many-headed monster in the character of 
Earl Osmond, in Lewis's play of The Castle Spectre. The people of Salisbury thought fit to approve 
of their young townsman's efforts; he, therefore, gave them another touch of his quality, and straight 
way enacted the mad Octavian in Colman's play of " The Mountaineers." The success which at- 
tended these performances induced him to decline all farther clerical pursuits, and give himself up 
to the study of the theatrical profession. 

An actor was not allowed in those days to tlunk of a situation in a metropolitan theatre, till he had 

learned the groundwork of his profession, and endured a severe apprenticeship in the jfrovinoea, 

where he was expected to play every thing at the shortest notice, and change his characters as often 

as he changed his dress. In consequence of this severe but necessary probation, every actor at a 

rot. Ti. — »o. 11. c • 



60 burton's GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 

principal ihealre was certain to be experienced and talented. But,now-a-dayh, thanks to the ♦* star" 
•jstem, an actor jumps ready made from behind the counter or a counting-house desk, and if he is 
capable of getting decently through a conspicuous part hefoic a tiiendly audience on a benefit night, 
he establislics himself as a star or at least as a piincipal actor, and scorns to play aught but the first- 
rate parts. Dowton relates a circumstance that ludiciously exeniplifies our position ; he wrote to 
Mr. Kims, the theatrical agent, and desired him to send a tiull company of ladies and gentlemen to 
Canterbury, for the sammcr. He, Dowton, was engaged at another theatre till the day bcfoie the in- 
tended commencement 9f his season; when he arrived at Canterbuiy, he summoned his company, 
and proceeded to cast the " Honeymoon" for the openin;:; pl^y- " ^i^/' s^^'tl he, " I had sixteen men — 
all gpreat actors, though I had never before heaid the name of any one of them in all my life — great 
actors, sir— could'nt play any thing but the principals — all of them weie first tragedians or first 
comedians. When I went to cast my play, I found that I had undertaken an impossibility — out of 
my sixteen men, I had nine dukes and seven mock dukes !" The duke Aranza and the mock-duke 
Jacques are the best parts in the play. 

In the United States, the same effects have been produced from precisely the same causes, with a 
few extra points of aggravation. That the star system prevents the gradual rise of the stock actor 
is well known to the members of the profession in America, although the public is not sufficiently 
interested in its truth to require a lengthy explanation here — but the imported or English actors who 
settle down as members of the stock companies, give themselves suck lidiculous airs, that they se- 
riously annoy the disciplinarian, and offer painful obstacles to the proper conduct of the theatre. 
Provincials, of mediocre talent, who have never undergone the ordeal of a London theatre, receive in 
the United States as many dollars per week as in England they received shillings — and yet the mis- 
called managers suffer these nothings to bounce and swagger in the exercise of their easy duties, and 
confuse the arrangement of ihe theatre with greater liberty than the heads of the profession dare to 
assume in the metropolitan establishments of Europe. Can we blame the young American actors if 
they imitate the favored foreigner ; and become equally careless, grand, and impudent ? This general 
inattention, scorn of discipline, and lack of experience in the members of nearly every theatrical com- 
pany in the United States, with the unavoidable evils of the star system, militate wcfully against the 
high standing which the drama ought to assume in our play-going community. 

For several years, Mr. Vandenhofi* pursucsd the Muse Melpomene and her lively sister through 
the gradations and degradations of a country actor's life — but practice perfected his conception, and 
experience fitted him for after triumphs. During his ruial progress, he became a fellow actor with 
the celebrated Kean, and the two tragedians have figured together as 8hacabac and Sehro, in the fairy 
tale of Blue Beard ; with comic dances, duetts, and other vagaries, laughable even in thought KeJBin, 
a creature of impulse, was removed from the very dregs of the provincial stage to the highest pinnacle 
of glory — a few hours changed him from the dejected poverty-stricken count] y actor to the star of the 
age, the drama's glory, the worshipped idol of the people — v^hilc Vatidenhoff in equal accordance 
with his temperament, pursued the noiseless tenor of his way, and w orkcd himself into popularity 
with a silent but resistless perseverance. 

In 1814, Mr. VandenhofiT connected himself with the theatre royal, Liverpool, making his advent 
in the character of Kolla ; he continued there for several years, enjoying the unlimited respect of a 
large circle of private friends, and lecciving pretty solid proofs of tlic pubUc's estimation of his 
abilities. The periodical visits of various of the London stars were rendered nugatory by his exces- 
sive popularity ; the most tremendous actor of the day could not shake the lieges of Liverpool from 
their belief in VandenhofTs superiority. Our tragedian, having candidly avowed that he had built 
his style of acting upon that of the late John Kemble, some of the underlings of the profession en- 
deavored to circulate the idea that Mr. Y. was but a mere imitator of the mannerisms of " glorious 
John.'' Imitation ! it is " the common cry of ours !" proceeding invariably from the refuse of the 
stage. If an actor is reaping the honest reward of untiring industry and talent, the viperous reply of 
some rival player is ever ready — ** Yes, its pretty fair, but it's not original /'* Jealousy is a green- 
room monster that invariably makes the meat it feeds on. Forrest was accused in this country of 
inutating both Kean and Macready, yet when he played in London, while every body acknowledged 
his talent, nobody discovered the resemblance to the other tragedians. Mr. Gates, of the Bowery 
theatre, has a striking resemblance to the English comedian Harlcy, not only in person, but in 
manners and peculiarities of acting — luckily for Mr. Gates, ho has never been out of America, and 
Mr. Harley has not yet visited the United States, or one comedian would most assuredly have been 
accused of " imitating" the other. This senseless method of deterioration does not even possess the 
charm of novelty. The eccentric Lewis was accused of copying the volatility of Woodward, while 
Jones is said to be a mere imitator of Lewis. Kemble has been vilified for following Hendeison, and 
Young and YandenholThave been called the followers of Kemble; Booth imitates Kean, Kean was said 
to have imitated Cooke, who in his turn, was accused of bonowing the beauties of Quin. Were we 
to listen to the inanities of the various theatrical reports, we should search in vain for original talent 
fiom the days of Shakspeare, who was accused of stealing his ** Instructions to the Players" in 
Hamlet from a conversation with Burbage. 

The low-bied members of the theatrical profession are invariably the source from whence proceed 



VANDBNHOPF. 61 

«1I coarse, deteriorating, and malignant reports respecting the popular artistes of the theatre. The 
envioas fools imagine that theie is bat one ladder to fame, and that all occupiers of distinguished 
stations on this ladder must be degraded before room can be found for the ascension of others. The 
trouble and ingenuity which many actors exert in the defamation of their brethren, tvould, if exercised 
in the honorable pursuit of their profession, enable them to raise a ladder of their own whereby they 
could pluck their share of *< honor from the pale-faced moon." 

In the month of December, 1820, Mr. Vandenhofi*, having resigned his provincial crown, dared 
the ordeal of a London tribunal, and appeared as Lear, at Covent Garden theatre. A debut before 
the metropolitan critics of England is, under any circumstance, a matter to agitate the stoutest heart, 
and pale a cheek of bronze; but Mr. Vandenhofi* had not recovered from the flurry of the heart which 
his first bow had created when he discovered that the lady cast for the part of Regan, one of Leai's 
ilaughters, was unable to appear, and that Mrs. T. Hill was to read the part at a minute's notice. 
An occurrence of this nature is sufficient to damp the energies of the most practised actor, and must 
perforce, violently afiect the nerves of a debutant. An actor cannot produce his desired effect with- 
out the co-operation of his compeers ; and when a lady is poring over the leaves of a play-book, it is 
impossible to engage her attention, or indulge in the usual bye-play and interchange of glances. 
There is a matter-of-fact appearance in the printed " book of the play," that destroys the workings 
of the imagination, and keeps every auditor painfully aware of the defects of the scene. Despite this 
▼ery serious drawback, Mr. Vandenhoff gained the suffrages of the play-goers, and the success of his 
opening night was decisive and complete. 

At the conclusion of the performance, Mr. Yandenhoff was " called out," an honor then but seldom 
confened upon the fortunate histrio ; indeed, we believe that Mr. V. was the fiist individual who 
received the compliment upon the occasion of a first appearance. The custom is now-a-days so 
general that it is ** more honored in the breach than the observance ;" every beneficiary, from the lamp- 
lighter or door-keeper to the top-most specimen of talent, must be called out to receive the huzzas of 
4he pittites, and bow, and cringe, and speak some dozen stereotyped lines of humble thanks for the 
high honor of the presence, and ths kind patronage of that public who nevei frequents the theatre on 
any occasion without expecting to receive the. full value of the admission money. The readiness 
widi which many of the most popular ** stars" beslabber the lieges with thanks and fulsome praises, 
which are always rewarded by the greedy public with shouts and applause, serve as inducements for 
fSbb continuance of this odious habit, acceptable only to the most vain of the second-rate wonders of 
our dramatic world. We received the custom from the EngUsh, who, in turn,, imported it from the 
French; by whom it is systematised with much tact, and practised with understood effect. At a late 
trial for a sum of money claimed from a manager by the leader of a band of claqueurs, or hired a'p- 
planders, at Paris, it was stated in evidence that an actor could depend upon being '< called out" for 
about seventy franca— if the honor was to be accompanied by the flinging of wreaths and bouquets 
on the stage, the expenses would be increased in proportion to the quantity of offerings. In Germany 
the enthusiasm of the audience runs into the extreme cf absurdity — a recent peiformance of a new 
opera wherein a certain cantatrice much exerted herself, caused a demand foi the appearance of the 
laidy at the end of each act, which appearance, with all its humbug of bows and grateful looks, she 
was compelled to submit to, seven times told, after the h\\ of the curtain. Carter, one of the beast 
actors, when " called out" at the Bowery theatre, very sensibly brought his tiger with him, being 
aware that the animal was entitled to the greatest share of the applause. Mr. Forrest deserves the 
thanks of the profession for the manly stand he has taken against succumbhig to the tyrannical en- 
forcement of this usage. 

Mr. Vandenhoff's success served him but little ; the management could not afford to play tragedies, 
in consequence of the rage for melo-drama spectacle, and Tom-and-Jeny burlettas, which were then 
gradually usurping the place of Shakspeare and common-sense. Our actor was therefore compelled 
to give bis aid in the performances of pieces beneath his talents, or quit his vantage ground and 
suffer certain loss; he wisely went with the stream, and played his engagement to its stipulated end. 
The charms of the legular drama induced him to resume his situation at the Liverpool theatre, but 
during his absence, Mr. Salter, a gentleman of considerable genius, had been sustaining the parts 
which Mr. Yandenhoff wished to regain, and the dramatic public divided their support between these 
two claimants to the tragic throne. The peace of the city of Liverpool was disturbed by the friends 
of the actors ; the walls were chalked and covered with inflammatory placards, and the theatre be- 
came a scbne of nightly confusion and disgrace. In the end, the old favorite triumphed ; Mr. Yan- 
denhoff was reinstated, and Mr. Salter, beaten and despairing, became melancholy mad, and ended 
his days in a mad-house ! 

The theatres in Scotland were visited by Mr. Yandenhoff about this time, with considerable profit 
and fame. The tragedian also bent his way to Ireland, where his usual success greeted his attempt, 
but he declined crossing the Atlantic, although Mr. Price endeavored to tempt him to the voyage. 

When Mr. Yandenhoff made his fiist appearance at Covent Garden, John Kemble had retired 
from the stage, Macready and Young were starring in the provinces, and Kean was Tisiting the 
United States. It was impossible for him to hare a clearer field — but the taste of the town was de- 
cidedly against the regular drama, and he wisely letired till returning reason and another opportunity 



62 



BURTON S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



invited him from his Liverpool beatitude. In 1834, the whole of his tragedy compeers, Macieady 
excepted, had shufiled od' the mortal coil, or had disused the donning of stage clothes; accordingly, in 
the June of that yeai, he appeared at the Uay market theatre, in the role of Coriolanus, and frequent- 
ly repeated that character and the part of Hamlet to some of the best houses of the season. 

In 1 837, Mr. VandcnhoflT visited the United States, at the instigation of Mr. James Wallack, whose 
liberality and excellence of management deseive the thanks of the play-goers. On Monday, Sep- 
tember 11th, Mr. V. made his first bow to the New Yorkers, and at once established himself as a 
sterling and talented acior. His •* Hamlet,^' played fur his first benefit, attracted the best hoose of 
the season. 

After travelling the u^ual round of the Atlantic cities, he returned to England in the May of the 
succeeding year. His visit was short, but sufficiently prosperous to induce him to resolve on a speedy 
letorn. He appeared at Covent Garden theatre, then under the management of Mr. Macready, in 
hb favorite character of Coriolanus. 

On the 29ih of September, 1837, Miss Charlotte Elizabeth Vandenhofif made her first appearance 
at the Hay market theatre in the character of Desdemona, with marked success. She was the original 
representative of Lydia, in Knowlcs' excellent play of T^ie Lave Chase, which had a run of eigfa^-aix 
nights in uhinteirupted succession. 

On the first of September, 1839, Mr. and Miss Vandenhoff sailed in the British Queen from 
England for the United States. Three days after their arrival in New Yoik, the National Theatre, 
their place of destination, was burned to the ground, the act of an incendiary who perpetrated this 
diabolical deed to pi event the gathering of the glorious harvest which Mr. J. Wallack*8 tact had pre- 
pared for the ensuing season. The Vandenhofis were included in the list of sufferers,, losing ward- 
robe, books, properties, etc., to the amount of two thousand dollars. Mr. Wallack's honorable attempt 
to continue the performances of his company at Niblo's new theatre in Broadway, with its fiufaire, 
are too well known to need a particular recapitulation. Mr. V. opened the National removed, in the 
character of Hamlet, and Miss Y. who appeared the next night as JuUa in the Hunchback, met with 
the most enthusiastic recrption. and deserved, by the superiority of her acting, the energetic praiaes 
of the audience and the encomiums of the press. 

Since the breaking-up of Mr. Wallack's establishment, which we confidently anticipate will not 
he long in posse, the Yandenhofis have appeared with marked success at Philadelphia, Baltimore, 
Washington, and New York, where the Park theatre opened its portals to receive them. We beliere 
that it is Mr. Y.'s intention to remain for some time in this country ; his professional talenta have 
ensured him thousands of well-wishers among the play-going public, but his private demeanor obtahia 
Ilim a host of warm and devoted friends. He is a pleasant companion, possessing a large portion of 
•conversational talent, with an extra share of wit and gentlemanly humor; the superiority of his 
education continues to ohed its influence ovei every portion of his. public and private life. 

Miss YandenhoiTs stjle of acting has met with general approbation wherever she has appeared ; 
she has also fiivoied tl.e public with several little poems of surpassing sweetness. Her personal 
beauty is of the highest, order. 

Mrs. YandonhofT accompanies her husband and daughter in their present visit to the United Statea, 
with a son, who has appeared upon the stage. Mr. YandenhofT, junior — the eldest son, we believe-^ 
whilom solicitor to the Dock Company at Liverpool, has lately thrown his legal pursuits aside, and 
turned his attention to the stage. He is now filling the chief characters in tragedy in various pro- 
vincial cities in England, with considerable success. B. 



SONG. 



Iir a lovely summer night. 

When the moon with mellow beam 
Streak*d the meads with lines of light, 

And with silver touch*d the stream ; 
When the pines upon the hill 
Stood like lofty pillars still, 
And the air was warm with balm 
And the woods were dumb and calm 

As a gentle maiden's dream. 
With my tender love I stray*d 
In the trembUng willows' shade, 
Where the warbling waters pby'd 

Of the winding Avon stream. 



'Twas the nightingale that near 

Where the sounding waters we)l. 
From the fragrant-breathing brere 

Broke the silence of the dell 
With the music of her song. 
Heart-eloquent and strong. 
As listening long we stood. 
In the path that winds the wood, 

To the tale she loves to tell. 
And until the dawn we stayed 
In the trembling willows' diade, 
Where the mingling moonbeams play'd, 

And the sounding waters well. 



ADDITIONAL SKETCHES PKUM 



THK LUG OF OLD IRONs^lDES 



BT TUB AUTHOB OV << OLD IBO:(A1DBS OFT A LEK HHtlRE." 



RUNNING THROUGH ICEBERGS. 

It was at the comraencemont of a dark evening, at the close of March, ^Co, when a gallant frigate 
andei stumped top-gallant masts^ with her courses furled, and her storm-mizen.jih, and Btayaails set, 
leaped along her solitary course, amid a wilderness of waters. Her broadsides hissed as they played 
with the feaiheiy waves, and her rigging echoed hack in shriller notes the music of the gale. At 
this moment, the cry of a man overboard, echoed wildly through the groaning ship— *< A man over- 
board*' — howled the otficeT of the deck, through bis trumpet, and ere the nLH;ei^ary orders could be 
given, the ship was put about, and the life-buoy cut adrift. One of the main-yard men bad got 
caught by the bow-line, and far to leeward bad been Ciast, by tlie sudden movement of the after guaid 
below. As all hands stood watching the scowling faco of the ocean* the wuich in the fore-top cried 
out — 'i There he is, dead ahead, making for the life-buoy/' Anxiously did we look forward, and fer^ 
▼ently did we ptay that the poor fellow might be spared tbe horrors of a seainan'^i death — when of a 
sudden, the cry — •< He has reached tbe buoy, be is safe" — thrilled to the soul of every listener. A* 
I watched ihe dim line of the boriEon giadually darkening into night, I saw the poorfellow boundini^ 
from billow to billow, while the little led flag of the buoy waved gallantly over his fated bead. Tbe 
storm had rendered it almost impossible for us to pick him up. Twice we changed our coune to get 
nearer to him, and twice his feeble cry sadly reached us over the thundoiing deep. I looked, and 
slowly the life-buoy settled in the waters; another wave, and a white band appeared beckoning ftom 
its daik bosom ; another, and the seaman who bad braved the battle's brunt, and whoeobody bore the 
scan of glorious warfaie, found a deep sea-grave with the slimy things of ocean. Witb melanoboly 
feelings we came upon the other tack, and the unmarked sepulchre of ihe mariner soon tank aatenu 

« Sail or* cried the watch. 

" Where away!" hailed the lieutenant. 

** On the weather bow, sir,." £untiy answered the look-out 

All cye» were now bent upon a blight mote, that twinkliyJ in the distance, and the feeling that we 
were not alone upon the ocean, seemed to cheer up the spirits o{ the droopors. A short bal^lisac 
past, and the spot bad become larger than a seventy-foui. 

^< Icebergs ahead !" shouted the watch, and icebergs there were lieforc us, sure enough. 

Old Ironsides, for such was the lonely frigate, above mentioned, now changed her course. A few 
dazzliniv spots were seen around her, but the berg nigh at hand presented a grand and magnificent 
spectacle. The sen bioke over the lower portions of it, like rollers over the white rocks of a tempeat- 
riven shore; and tlie pale blue light that flashed from the crystal mountain chilled us, while it riveted 
our curious gaze. 

" We must he careful not to graze those islands in the night," said the commander, as he looked 
anxiously to windward. 

'* Had we not better heave to, sir?'* said the deck ofHcer, touching his hat. The commander look* 
ed again to the Northward. The pale spots seemed thickening there, and the fog so common to hi^ 
latitudes seemed creeping like a shadow over tbe deep. 

*' Keep her away" — thundered die captain seizing the tiumpct — ** set the fuie and main top-eail» 
and reefed fore-sail." 

" Steady, quarter-master." 

** Steady, it is," growled the knight of the binnacle, and soon the broad sheets of canvas flapped 
and bellied to the gale, while the old frigate Van along to the 8outhwaid :it the rate of eleven, six. 

'* Have thermometers bung over tbe sides, sir," said tbe commodore, as the haze settled around ua 
like a fleecy cloud. 

" Aye ! aye ! sir," replied tbe ofHcer of the deck, and soon two master's mates were seen standing 
in tbe gang-ways watching the tell-tales of heat and cold. Every fifteen minutes the temperatnie of 
tbe ocean was reported to the captain, who answered, as he paced the quarter-deck, *' Very weU» 
cast again." 

At length the two reported a change of temperature that astonished all hands. 

*' Fiileen degrees difference, did you say 1" said the captain, with a serious look. 

** Aye ! aye ! sir," said both mates in the same breath, us they retumetl to their posts*. At tbia 
mooient a current of cold air se«emed to freeze oui cheeks and almost take away our bieatb. A snllett 
roar, as though a thousand breakers wete singing around us, struck the car. Blucish abadovav^^ 



64 burton's gemtlbman's magazine. 

mountain cliflk, passing swiftly to iee-ward, met the eye ; and then the temperature of the water wa» 
as high as before. # 

" Crack on all sail" — said the captain, in a voice of thunder — ** the only way to avoid danger i» 
to run through it !" 

Flap went the spanker to the breeze ; the reef was shaken out of the foresail; down the dark val- 
leys of ocean plunged the laboring vessel, and the icebergs weie astern. Weary with the excite- 
ment of the hour, and chilled by the cold from those wanderers from the pole, I sought my little 
state-room, seven feel below water ; and while the sea rushed past my pillow with hissing violence ; 
and while the marine paced in solemn march before the spirit-room hatch, I fell asleep. A gun now 
echoed over the waters, and roused me from my slumbers — I went upon deck — it was a beautiful 
morning, the breath of summer was around me — an English merchantman lay to, in the distance ; 
and the mountains of the western islands towered in majesty amid a cloudless sky. 

OLD IRONSIDES IN A QUANDARY. 

BT AN £T£ WITNESS. 

EvENiNo was slowly wrapping in her dusky mantle the Fortress Rock of Gibraltar, as the frigate 
Constitution under royals, glided aiound Europa point and squared her yards for the Balearic Isles. 

It was the 12th of September, 183.5, the breeze was favorable, and the harvest-moon rode up the 
azure sky in matchless splendor. The breeze gradually freshened as the night passed on, until at 
last it became necessary to reduce sail, not only' to save spars, but to prevent the possibility of run- 
ning over the little island of Alboran, which is situated midway between the shores of Spain and 
Barbary. 

At midnight, by the master's reckoning, the old ship was near the almost sunken isle, and a sharp 
look-out was kept by the watch for breakers on the lee-bow. Silence reigned throughout the ship, 
the nils that remained upon her, drew sweetly, the billows curled in gentle murmurs around her 
bows, and passed off in a frothy sheet behind. 

'* Sail O!" cried a voice from the forecastle. 

** Where owayV thundered the officer of the deck. 

** Dead ahead,'' WM the reply. 

" How does slw^iitcerl" cried the officer. 

** For our bo#8, sir," answered the forecastleman, and all was silent — we were directly tinder the 
moon, and fibia the course the stranger sail pursued, it was apparent that we were not perceived. 
As we were the largest ship, and a man-of-war, and had our starboard tacks aboard, it was proper for 
us to hold on our course, and for the stranger to give way, but this the brig, for such she was now 
perceived to be, had no idea of doing. At length she saw us, but still onward she came, as though 
desiioas to go down to the caves of the sea as quick as possible. A knot of officers gathered upon 
the ibrecastle — ^and the writer of this sketch, seated astride of a belaying pin, was watching the end 
of the eccentric stranger. She now seemed at a short distance from us. To give way to her might 
throw us upon Alboran, to pursue our course without a change upon her part, would efifect her de- 
etraction. Both vessels were now alarmingly near, and fearing lest I might be too small an object 
to be respected in case of a meeting between two such large bodies, going ahead at the rate of nine 
knots an hour, I made a sudden spring, without duly considering my friend, the belaying pin, and 
landed upon the deck, leaving a quarter of a yard of blue broad cloth, which I could bftve better 
spared from a better place, fluttering in the breeze. At this moment, when it seemed that a meeting 
could not be avoided, ^f we kept on our course, the officer of the deck, thinking the brig intended to 
pass to leeward, gave the order — ** Hard up your helm" — the stianger, however, continued on, and of 
course, approached still nearer to us, and just as I bad made up my mind to bear the crashing of 
speis and rigging, the shrieks of the drowning, and the gurgling sound of the whirlpool, as the gal- 
lant brig went down to her watery rest, the master's mate of the forecastle cried — " Hard down, sir,"' 
** Hard down," said the lieutenant of the watch, in a voice of thunder — << Hard dowi^" growled the 
old bruizer at the wheel, and hard down went our helm. The old frigate answered her helm sweet- 
ly, and the brig, like a Bash of light, dashed across our bows within a few feet of our flying jib-boom, 
and stoggered along her course, we having as she passed us, completely stolen her wind. When she 
came on, not a voice was heard, but that of the officers of the watch, giving the orders before men- 
tioned ; but when she had passed, a burst of feeling came from every breast, and the cry, << thank God 
she is safe," awoke the silence of the frigate's deck. As I looked out the bridle port, I saw the cap- 
tain of the brig standing speechless at the gangway, with a lantern in his hand, while beside him, a 
little boy was kneeling in the act of supplication. Who the captain was, or from what nation he 
sprang, I never could ascertain ; but one of our reefers, from the starboard cut head, gave him a part- 
ing homily, like that of commodore Trunnion's, well spiced with round grape and canister, which 
owing to the circumstances of the case, he never will forget. In a few minutes the moon went be- 
hind a cloud, and feeling confident that we bad passed the bugbear island, we shaped our conne for 
C^>e de Gatta. The next morning not a sail was in sight, the coast of Spain, in all its glorious 
beeu^, lay beside us; Cape de Gatta appeared ahead ; and the snow-capped mountains of Granada 
towered amid the clouds. 



THE EGLINTON TOURNAMENT. 



A MOCK H E R U I C BALLAD. 




WAITIXG FOR IT TO LEAVE OFF TO BEGIN. 



LiHT, all ye j^alFanU of the Inntl '. 

Unlo my musc'i slraiii ; 
Sbe lings of raighty ileciis of arnu 

By knights nbo nere not ilain. 

Exploits of lilt and [ouinpv gay 
M; faithful ibeme ilia J itrace; 

Pcribnn'J by knigbts nbo never ran. 
Though booilAil nf ibeir rjtc' 

The lists were held within a [lark, 
Both trees and knights were green i 

And lovely damee, array'd in ailka. 
All bluahing ihaca neie seen. 

Paiiliona gar thrit (ta^s J i splay, 

In contrut nith the trees ; 
The mob ate drooping for the /ray, 

The bannera for the brcr:e.' 

For scarce a breath dialurbs the leaves, 
While clouds are gath'ring thick ; 

And Sul conceals his gulden bemis 
Within their mantle thick. 



" Hon long these knights are '," yanning c 

One, wc4r¥ in tho throng ; 
A wit replies, " Nay — tuinmcr bnighh 

You know are never long!" 

A third replies — " To keefi their time, 

Certes they should not fail. 
For ev'ry steel-clad knight, my friend, 

You know cornea in hi» mail.'" 

" My heye !" > cockney rriei, " I think 
I As v. shall bate a storm; 
Thank goodness ! I've a hover coal, 

.\ltba' it's preshus vaim!" 

"Mv hum-berella I have left 
With Mister Vol'».hi»name." 

"You fool! — then if my lionnel's spiled," 
His rib cries, " you're lo blame 1" 

The mob are melting with the beat, 

But yet refuse to lun ; 
For they have come so many mitea, 
I .And all to see the "fun." 



66 



BURTON^S OBNTLfiMAN^S MAGAZINE 



And fan it was, in truth — for soon 

The rain began to fall ; 
And w^-dreaa'd belles began to find 

The honey tum'd to gall ! 

For silks and velvets all were drench'd, 
And feathers drooped and hung 

All weeping down their backs — ^in guise 
Muse never said, or sung ! 

Some fear'd the ** ihumatiz*' — and sooie, 
In thin sboes, fear'd the ** mumps*' — 

While all declared, with rueful pl^ 
The weather ** tried their pumps !*' 



»» 



« Yell, ril be blcss'd if this here ain't, 

Ciies one, " a tig'ler go ! 
I take it they von't find me soon 

Agin at sich a show ! 



•* My ducks is vet ! — my beaver, too— 
Vich four-and-nine-pence cost — 

Is flabby as a bit o' tripe — 
My silk-vipe, too, I've lost! 

** O ! Valter Scott, vot have you not 

To answer for — these rigs ! 
But my own precious child, my Bill, 

Shan't read you — please the pigs !" • 

. A trumpet-note cuts short his speech, 

The crowd 10 alialife; 
'And necks are stretch'd, and there's a hum 

As from a busy hive. 



A hum indeed— 'twas all a hum — 

For presently appeared 
A mounted knight, y'clad in steel, 

Who round the lists career'd. 

And o'er his head, (the blushing muse 

Records it with regret,) 
A silk umbrella bore the knight, 

To shield him from the wet ! 

"Fair dames and gentlemen," he cried, 

*« My lord requests — I'd i»ay — 
The weather is so bad — in dct — 

'Twill be * no go* to-day. 

<< The knights are bold and stalwart knights. 

And full of martial fire; 
But they are all such polished blades. 

No wetting they require. 

** The steeds are ready for the fray, 

(To doubt it were a sin,) 
They are in truth upon the rackj 

And 'gainst their will, rained in. 

'< To-morrow, if the sun should shine. 

To please, we*ll try our best ; 

To-day, alas ! we fain must keep 

Our lances in the rest/" 

• • • • 

The morrow dawned — the anxious crowd 
Swarm'd in the sunny rays, 



Like flies from swanks — and trudg'd betimes 
Along the muddy ways. 

Slish ! slosh ! they go— and puddles wade, 

Bcspatter'd to their necks ; 
But petty troubles, such as these. 

Could neither damp nor vex. 

For, flapping on the tower's height, 

llie flag curls in the breeze ; 
And martial strains of music pierce 

The agitated trees ! 

They press around the saw-dust lists, 

And trumps and keitle-drums 
Proclaim aloud to all ihc crowd. 

The knightly pageant comes ! 

" The cry is still they come," and soon 

The cavalcade appears; 
A dazzling host, all silk and steel, 

With bows and shining spears. 

The Queen of Love and Beauty came. 

Fair as a morn in spring, 
All on a palfrey richly clad. 

And ambled round the ring. 

A train of female archers formed 

The lady's body-guard ; 
And sure, to find an archer set. 

Or fairer, would be hard ! 

Trim squires range about the lists. 

To pick up knights when spilt, 
And hardy Scots, in tartan plaid, 

To Uke care of the " kill/'' 

*< The circus isn't nothink like 

This rig," cries Jem, •» you know." 

** Circus ! my eye !" exclaims old Sniggs, 
" It bangs the Lord May'rs show !" 

The Queen appears upon her throne ! 

And throws into the shade 
The gioup who flutter round her there, 

Rigg'd out in masquerade ! 

The Herald of the Tournament 

(He doesn't fight, you know) 
Now told his trumpeters to give 

The gallant knights a blmv/ 

The noble Knight of Gael defies, 

With him to break a lance. 
Him of the Golden Lion, hight ! 

And forth the heroes prance. 

The tnimjict sounds — away they fly, 
Lnfe sparks from penny squibs — 

Midway tlicy meet — and poke — and poke 
Each other in the ribs! 

Oh ! truly 'twas a pleasant sight 

To see them at tlic fun — 
The Golden Lion's lance was snapp'd 

All in the gallant run. 



THE TOURNAMENT 



67 



Another lance was soon supplied, 

They ran another coarse ; 
And •' Go it" — ciied the mob aloud, 

And ctied till they were hoarse. 

But no ; they niiss'd — and tried again — 

Alas ! it would not de ; 
'Tis true, the gallants ran themsoWet — 

But not each other through ! 

And next appeared the Griffin knight 

Upon the saw-dust lists; 
Against the Lion Black to try 

The strength of fists and wrists ! 

Two gallant youths in sooth were they, 

By few in raien surpass'd ; 
The fair a benediction breath'd— 

The trumpets gave a blast/ 

On — on — they spurr'd their snorting steeds, 
And shiver'd both their speais ; 

But twice again they tried in Tain, 
Amid the people's cheers ! 

The young lord of the Tournament 

Next gaily galloped forth ; 
A nobleman by nature, and — 

A noblcmun by birth. 

Rich, noble, brave, romantic, and 

Of excellent report; 
The men all praise his hock — the domes 

All blushing praise his port/ 

The Knight of the Red Rose he calls, 

By sound of herald's trump. 
To meet him in the lists, and try 

Hb skill at thrust and thump ! 

Of course he licks him ! — for no Knight 
Can match him at the sport — 

The shine he would have taken out 
Of half King Arthur's Court. 

Ofa ! had he lived in Edward's reign — 
Hold, Muse ! what hast thou said ! 

A lord — alive and kicking now— 
Is worth a hundred dead ! 

Amid the plaudits of the throng. 
And smiles from beauties' eyes. 

He vanish'd from the lists— just like 
A meteor from the skies. 

** A A7/0— rfiV/o"— (as they say,) 

" Of quality less fine ;" 
Followed this tilt — and some were spilt — 

And lost some of their shine. 

And then all tilted at the ring 

Suspended in the air ; 
In which the spruce esquires and 

The gentlemen did share. 

And all was gleesome sport and mirUi, 
And peals of laughter rang — 

TOl. TI. 5<». I». B 2 



Tliroughout the lists — and mellow'd down ' 
Of warUke anns — the clang. 

The nieny jester shook his bells — 

Then crow'd aloud with glee— 
And cried — *' My lord deserves all laud ,• 

Cock of the walk is he ! * 

" A man of wax — whose ready whacks 

Make all his rivals wince ; 
His striking arguments, in sooth. 

The stoutest Knights convince. 

** With lance unseating them — with such 

Dexterity and grace — 
As I with ten-foot pole would knock 

A gas lamp out of place ! 

" Each lance is gleaming like a flash 

Of light and ready wit — 
Their lines are like satiric rhymes — 

Where ev'ry stroke's — a hit!— 

** So m^ny paints in such few lines, 

Few wits in sooth could cram ; 
It seems to my poor thinking — quite 

A martial epigram f 

*< A marble bust of any lord's 

Thick block is very fine— 
But heads in platster wou'd ye 'scape 

The conflict pray decline !" 

The sports concluded ;— and they all 

Right glad dispersed to feed ; 
The noble host had truly proved 

Himself a Knight in-deed/ 

The bani^uet was a rich display. 

So elegant and chaste ! 
The hungry guests the viands seized. 

And warmly praised-^- the taste/ 

The birds — and Knights were all well-dressed. 

As well as beef and veal — 
The knives were sharp— and so the Knights 

Had no need of their steel. 

Of all the puddings at the board-— 

'Tis true, upon my word — 
The doughty Knighiwvho'd fought so well. 

The batter still preferr'd. 

Of aU the fish the feast display 'd, 

(Sure never was the like !) 
The gallant lancers, one and all — 

Inclined most to the— pike/ 

The days of chivalry are gone. 

The moderns loud complain ; 
The days — what are the days to us ? 

While Knights like these remain. 

Long live the Tourney, and the tilt, — 

Long may it be our task 
To sing how gallant Knights wassail. 

When they have tapp'd a casque. 



T H \ V M A T T T R G I A 



IN TWO PARTS.. 



BT WILLIAM £. BUBTOX, PHILABELFUIA 



Felix qui potuit mmm cogxKMcere eautat, 
Atque metof omiiet et intrxorabile fatum 
Snbjectt pedibm, strepitumque Acheronth av*iri ! 

VtrgWt Second Georgic, 



PART FIRST. 

THE YANKEE IN HELL. 

It was His Majesty^s biith night t 

We are speaking of a potentate whose familiar name is ieklom mentioned in the presence of ear* 
polite. He is known to hb friends by various appellations — His Majesty delights in an alias. Zo- 
roaster, the reputed inventor of magic, regarded him as Arimanius, the genius of evil ; he was wor- 
shipped by the child-roasting Ammonites in the form of the iron Moloch ; he is notorious as the 
Serpent of Eden ; as Bel, the dragon of- Phoenicia ; or Baal, the Assyiian giant ; or Beelzebub, the 
Chaldean God of Flies, whose breath scattereth pestilence ; as the Babylonian Lucifer, <* the light 
bearer or dweller in fire ;*' as Belial, the Hebrew " good-for-naught ;" as Diabolus, the accuser ; as 
Satanas, the adversary ; as Mephistophiles, the subtle ; as Apollyon, or Abaddon, or Asmodai, the 
desolator {le diable hoiUux, who is also the prince of marriage — a strange compliment to the vots- 
ries of Hymen !); as the Indian Mozazoi, or Nirurdi of the Hindoo pantheists; as Zamiel, or 8a- 
ma^l, the deceptive pestilence (Samiel, or Simoom); as the Egyptian Typhon ; as Davy Jones, by 
the seamen ; as Old Harry and Old Nick, by the old women ; and as Pluto, by the classicists, the 
^ing of the Latin Tartarus and the Greek Hades — the husband of the beauteous Proserpine, who 
is frequently termed by the Grecian poets, the lady, par excellence^ ^trroivAt domina, — for which 
^ason the modems denominate her husband, the gentleman — either as " the old gentleman/' or 
« the gentleman in black." 

Perhaps some dogged, common-school, anti-nous sort of reader may here exclaim, ** Who the 
devil does he meanV' We merely say, ** Exactly so !" for the question answers itself — therefore d 
no9 mouions/ It was His Majesty's birth night The halls of Pandemonium were crowded with 
guests, assembled to partake of the hospitality of the prince'of Eblis. The invitations, although 
numerous, weie confined principally to the monarch's personal favorites — the subjects of a warm 
friendship formed during many ages of intimacy in the realm of purgatory. A feur detenus of im- 
mense celebrity and moderate sentences, were considerately invited by His Majesty, who was never 
known to look cool upon a criminal of consideration. Several of the loveliest ladies south of Ache- 
ron and Styx's line were included in tlie list, with certain well-known bon-vivants, singers, joken^ 
laughers, listeners, and other boon companions, necessary to all well-regulated feasts. Half-a-dosen 
sages, from the environs of the Elysian Fields, who cherished a recollection of ancient symposiums, 
and sighed for the company of various of His Highncss's handmaids, obtained a day's furlough from 
St. Peter, and joined the merry party below. 

A strange mixture was tUs same infernal soiree — something like a modem fancy bell, without its 
usual vulgar insipidity. The sons and daughters of every clime, <* from the East to Western 
Ind," — of every age, from the days when the first murderer bore his curse in solitary flight over the 
young grass of the new-made earth, to yesterday's arrivals on the wharves of Lethe. The Roman 
conqueror, garnished with the trappings of an ovation, handed hot whiskey punch to a Benedictine 
nun ; a Chinese bonze of the first century chopped metaphysics with a Kantean professor from Got- 
tingen. A half-naked alma or dancing girl from the banks of the Hooghley, linked arms with on6 
of the popes; a cannibal savage took snufifwith the polished courtier of the aneien regime; Oliver 
Cromwell flirted with Medea, the Colchian sorceress ; and a member of the swell mob, ahas a Lon- 
don pickpocket, took wine with the Khan of the Calmuck Tartars. A stalwart crusader in a coat 
of mail, *^ a round, fat, oily man of God" from the conventicle, an ascetic monk of the holy Inqui- 
sition, and a mummified Pharaoh, sat down to a comfortable rubber at whibt ; whilst a nigger wood- 
sawyer, whose Ethiopian lyrics had won the heart of his Satanic majesty, leaned upon the shouldeis 
of the Emperor Nero, who was overlooking the players and betting golden dlaboluses with Caths- 
rine of Russia and an English professor of the noble science of thimble rig. 

But although this democratic level prevailed amongst the countless thousands of His Majesty's 



T H A U M A T U R G I A . 69 

subjects, he wielded a desi>otic .^coptre, and the immediate and personal circles of his court boasted 
a recherche connection well pra».'iiscd in all the retinonients of a polished aristocracy. A select and 
cosey party of some twenty assembled, in His Majesty's snuggeiy at the close of the soiree^ to par- 
take of a pctiic ioupcr, and finish the giiflies of the day. 

The monarch sat at the head of liis wcil-plenished table, attiied In a fashionable suit of the beat 
black cloth. His *' breeches of blue, with the hole behind for his tail to come through," had for 
some time been laid aside, and a well-fitting, ir.odern-madc pair of regular unwhisperables adorned 
hia regal extremities. SSuch is the triumph of modern taste that the caudil appendage of His Ma- 
jesty was nowhere to be seen ; the royal tail was positively invisible — snugly concealed in the folds 
of the broad cloth, without displaying an extra wrinkle. 

His Majesty's horns were cut to the lowest possible point, and a regular use of Grandjean's com- 
position had produced a poetical exuberance of black curly hair, wherein the odious horny stumps, 
were perfectly imbedded and concealed from sight An aggiavator, or love curl, of a delicate round- 
ness, hung low upon the imperial forehead, and covered the indelible bruise made by Luther's ink- 
stand, when, during his captivity in the castle of VVartburg, the bold reformer defied the tempter's 
power. A close observer could also distinguish the scars on the regal nose, caused by the applica» 
tion of the red hot tongs of St. Dunstan, when the Glastonbury monk resorted to violence, in an* 
swer to His Majesty's proposals for a closer acquaintance, but we need scarcely say that any mention 
of either of these \\W\e fracases is considered ungentlemanly and personal by His Majesty, who is sure 
to administer a fiery reproof to the offender. A black satin vest and stock, a well starched collar, 
and minutely-plaited luffle, gave His Majesty the appeanmce of a be I esprit lawyer, or a peripatet- 
ic professor of phrenology. 

The company was composed of individuals of distinction, capable only of the most ** gentlemanly^ 
vices." John Wilmot, carl of Rochester, sat croupier to His Majesty, over whom he exercised con-^ 
siderable sway ; he sang a good song, and drank his two bottles steadily, and his opinions on all 
matters of taste were paramount in the precincts of purgatory. Jogurtha, the warrior king of Nu- 
midia, doomed to endure some few thousand ycais of scorching for the murder of bis cousins, ex- 
hibited his black and brawny limbs in the scant attiic of his sunny land, and occupied a seat near 
the EngUsh earl — ^he w.i-? a powerful wrestler, and a good hand at sword exercises; especial recom- 
mendations among the <i>!Ulren of Baal. The first *' defensor fidei," fat Hariy the Eighth, of Eng- 
land, sat by the side of his r >yal brother, Nebuchadnezzar, learned in the usages of" all fours," and 
experienced in salads ; and Zenobia 8eptimia, the resolute queen of Palmyra, who was expiating a 
strong suspicion of connivance at tlic deaths of hct husband Odcnatus and her minister, the celebra- 
ted Longinus.* This lady completed the list of the crowned heads in the party — His Majesty's do- 
minions are well supplied with potentates. 

Between the two suicides, Cato of L'tica, and Apicius, the renowned epicure, one clothed in a 
simple toga, the other gurnir^hed with puiplc and tisi>uc of cold, sat a bullet-headed, beetle-browed, 
down-looking fellow, dressed in an untanned sheepskin shirt, fastened round his waist by a string of 
twbted weeds. That man, despite his pooi attire, was the most especial favorite in the court — merit 
will make its way. He vvas the antediluvian EIrach, who, when engaged as herdsman by Noah,, 
contrived to secrete some half di)zen wine skins in the aik. unknown to the patiiarch. Upon his 
restoration to land, in the joy of his heait, he invited Noah to a jollification. The result is welf 
known ; the admiral got thr.e sheets in the wind, and Erach established his claims to the kind con- 
sideration of His Infernal Majesty as the first promulgator of drunkenness adct the purification of 
the earth. 

His Majesty likes a friendly game of chance — »i little innocent dabbling with the dice — and ac- 
cordingly patronised nn extensively-whiskered Spaniard, versed in all the mysteries of monte, and 
the arcana of faro and hazard — crowds of unhappy ghosts in the halls of punishment attested his 
skilL \ fellow in a tuiban also rejoiced in the sunshine of royalty's smiles — he was a Scotchman, 
and had made an enormous fortune by twice or thtice changing hia religion — His Majesty loves free- 
thinkers. 

Diana of Poictiers, who w;ts mistress both to father and son, and Tarpiia, the vestal, who sold 
her country for gold, were endeavor inc; t<) cajole an old man out of a handsome diamond ring that 
graced his little finger. The withered anatomy, just arrived from the world ahove, had passed his 
days in amassing wealth, and his ni.:h:s in counting it ; he suffered his daughter to perish in tha 
streets for the want of a millionth pail oi* his yellow god ; his wife died broken-hearted ; and his 
son, driven to desperation by the death of hia sister and mother, planned the robbery of his father, 
and a fUght to other lands. The old mun caught him at his gold — he denounced his son, and call- 
ed for help^the young man sta!>bed him to the heart. Of course. His Majesty invited the indus- 
trious old gentleman to his private table, as a niaik of personal esteem. 

A pubUc defaulter, whose little peccadilloes had ruined a hundred widows and orphans, with our 
fat friend of the conventicle and his partner, the holy Inquisitor, finished the party, excepting the- 
amie intime oi His Majesty, who sat upon the right hand of royalty. This was no other than Lady 

• See Bayle, versus Gibbon. 



70 iii']tro\*s gentleman's biagazine. 

Hamilton, (Hy^'ia,} wli..-* .1 ,<^ devotion to the interests of Pandemonium Jc&crvcd the honor she 
experienced ; alili'>nj;li s.- md il . d hint that her l>eauly — but, n^'unporte ! 

Midnight hml j .«^t. iii tti.* quests xverc somewhat bla^y. His M.ijcsiy took wine with the 
philosophic teIo.«!f-H . .lui •••ii.i^i mented the Holy Inquisitor upon his new method of illuminating 
the saloons o^ tin iiif>iiiil /tu! .««*. The Dominican piofesscd to Ik; an amateur in blazes, from the 
midnight myitcii«s •»t" tli** l'iM-i.».ture, to the wide-spread glory of an auto-dn-fc ; he had recently" 
discovered thst u ^ rll-lMiUfi^d l.^llchman, when dipped in a dish of naptha, burnt with more intense 
brilliancy than thr- .tid i'j.shi<)ii(*.i ignition of an oil-soaked Spaniard, stuck on a three-pronged fork, 
and placed in t'lo :uMid.« of •* 'i'ltonic image in the centre of the room. The ascetic's yellow face 
blushed purple ««l i)»" yxwW of lus "new lit^ht" by the king of fire; and, with a courtier's tact, he 
bowed to His >Uiiii\*.-? i-^.Mii.-. he lascivious "Queen of Health," and requested the honor of a 
hob-nob. The b- 'i'-*vri ot « ' .\xi\ » loU accepted the challenge, and drained, with a sigh, a pint goblet 
of the rum in wbi<-i! hr-i iiiiiuoii.i! Nelson had been embalmed. 

"Kochester, nwx n^ -i 1^m>* inuiilian," said His Infernalness, after a distressing pause. 

His Maje^uy ^p1•k^ in ttit Kn^^lish tongue, which had become the fashion^ible, indeed, the only 
language used lu ih' a- dm .•( ji^^rgatory; this regulation was established in consequence of the 
prevalence of thai t«»ii,;M^ ii> »iiM.)>i every part of the globe, the result of the prepondeiating infla- 
cncc of the An^jlo-.'^uvtMi i.*.-*- ; and also to prevent a recurrence of that indescribable mixture of 
languages, which, t'oi n\M\\ i'«'iii\.ries, had rendered the lower regions as confused a scene as the 
tower of Babel on :i }»;ty .ii\. 

*<Sing us a XtM*'«:h <ii-<<Iijii " >:rK. His Infernalness. 

'*Not I, I faii'i,* J" 'id »'i' ll« 'ii-cd favorite. »* A song of mine would be tlirown away upon ye 
dullards and doi.'.id> ji^ v>>u hi*-. Cvcn the ladies are bhnking like a newly plunged defunct, un- 
used to the llarc ot om JMiKM;<'ih.>ii. Let Erach sing the diluvial howl, wherewith he was wont to 
rouse his brolhc; l»^«j»ts. .Iii,c2> my black prince, smite the gong for some more cigars, and pull 
Apicius by the n«'^«' : ho ha-ilon.- naught but sleep since we removed him from that delicious dish 
of broiled bono*. l>Iii«y. iii> p-, shall we lip the crystal together ! Parson, ask the Turkish 
Caledonian to ij».«k- « l"tu tnn 'ud pusslhe wine across that specimen of royal obesity, who is too 
drunk even to b«»:«t 'h..- vim.mi^. Governor, your port is as licry as the harbor of Hades. What 
the devil — beg pmmIimi I .-ms.- tli «c caco-demons, they have left the door open.'* 

A cm rent ol!»ril|»;uji.Mi» - ip-'i u.shed through the open portal, bearing on its cloudy stream the 
follovs'inj; exqni»'"V s.>iiiMU. .i(h\. .?d with a nasal drawl, and ;i most. indcjunJcni disrep-.ird of time 
and tune. 

\ in: c' doodle, doodle, dand\ , 
C'»i I -talk luni, right slick and handy ; 
ln«i^. » 1 pudding, and green peach j)ic, 
\«i«». ' takes mo to make the fried claiass fly ! 

At the end ui iJi*- ^ ms^. . ^i A.iijTe lunky fi;»ure appeared in the doorway, and after a moment's 
survey oi th<s piit\, st:inM«i in. . the room, and ]daced himself before one of the tire-places, re- 
moving the dexti I iii«j .«iiii«<*<' .ails of his coat, that his seat of honor might enjoy the grateful 
warmth. A pnir •»« Mu- roii . trowsers, rather short in the legs — a coat of ancient make and 
liberal fulness— i wcMd riiunit •! traw hat, with long sandy hair streaming from under, small cun- 
ning looking eyo •>( i^siUsx Sii;i. incy, high cheek bones, large ears, and an extensive mouth, made 
up the component j»iit- ••! ihi- n (.expected visiter. 

"How d'ya d ^s, I'.ilL*,** ^ti*: mo stranger, puffing away at a long cigar; ** is the boss devil to 
huml" 

His Majesty iookt'd sid|>lMi< jix sbltpetre at the intruder. " Reptile !*' he exclaimed, in a voice of 
thunder, that ru.i*i>lcd und le^t'ii^ rateil in the depths of a pit without a bottom; " who are you, that 
you dare intiudf' w\*%^\\ oiu .>*ri»'; privacy?" 

" Whew," Bin.! th»' fif^n:;*!. - tlon't tear your shirt ! why, what on airth m the use of your goin' 
ofTat half cock in th:«i.4-\viiy \ What dn you jump for afore your spurred 1 there aint setch an al- 
mighty occasion i»i von to y<'t ^our dander so awfully riz, jist as if you was goin' to burst your 
biler. Seein' that muii rjim.itr'^ rather of the warmest, it would only be doin' the civil thing if 
you jist said, Mlm«m. too v our mok, and take ymir bitters." 

" Worm! hcnt«' to yo.jr ippon.ted place in the yawning gulf! there, in the hottest flame — ^' 

" Waell, I gU'» li'^i .'** di:i»% ko out the man, with imperturbable calmness. " Pvc got my ticket, 
mister, from the M»i;M:ir m^^wx. «ijii I don't choose a berth so nigh the enjine." 

His Majesty foniMNl ;ti t!f moi th as he rose from his chair, and there was a strong smell of brim* 
stone. But the lo^^ly irlict ot li.e Neapolitan ambassador threw herself into one of her most cap- 
tivating attitudes (in tin* \xa\. -^ lie was the original inventor and performer of the living statues) 
and with fascinatin; rnd(>Hiinri>i , requested " the gentleman in black" not to agitate bis guesti, or 
expose his tempf), on th*- r\fni.).> of his natal day. His Majesty acknowledged the power of the 
conqueror, and ^ ith \ hiiiiiin: '.hI-s. promised to accede to her request. 



THAUMATURGIA. 71 

"Take olT youi hat, my fi ion 1, and stand fiom before the fire/* gaid Lady Hamilton, in her 
blandoct tone. " You arc in the presence of His Majesty, the sovereign of ihcse i calms/' 

** Wacll, its all right. I desitay, if you say so ; but, to hum, where I hail from, xvc i:int been brought 
up to be afcaid of n.ajcstics, no how you can fix it. And now, that tl»e boss has cooled off a bit, 
jistto let him see that I'm not proud, I don't care if I tlo lickcr somr, for I'm powerful diy, now I 
tell you. Here, you sir in the sheet, hand us ovei the old rye." This order was addiessed to Cato, 
who sat behind a dccantei of the real aurum potabilct a present to His Majesty from his friend 
Vulcan. 

**I've drinkcd better stuff than that, I swan, at a three center in Besting, before the striped 
swine cut up his shines — and now," said he, slapping the king of Numidia on his back, "and now, 
you nigger, get me some fire for a cigar." The olfonded potentate dashed his brawny fist into the 
stranger's bread-basket with a force that drove him the whole length of the saloon, and brought him 
np on his beam ends, against the black marble wall of the mansion. 

" liook here, boss ; do you sanctify your niggers in setch didoes ? I don't know the latitude of 
this place, but I guess by the heat its rayther too far south for you to go the abolition ticket: tbeie- 
foro if the nigger is a' free nigger, and any feller here can certify that the nigger can plank up it 
he's cast, I'm darned if I don't streak it to the Squire's, hot foot, and sue the nigger right out — if 
I don't I wish I may be skinned." 

The parson and the gambler hastened to pick him up, and a whisper from tlie latter cooled the 
stranger 'rf wrath. 

*' Why, deu tell I another majesty, eh ? — King o' the niggers ! Waell, my daddy taught me the 
▼ally of that old say in', " When you're at Rome," you know, and if the darkey's good enough for 
you, I recking he*ll dew for me too. So, let'^ lickcr again any how. Look here, mister, hand ui 
that there calabash, will you 1 it seems full of somethin' good, that's a fact.*' 

Rochester handed him an oval drinkiii!; vessel, holding nbout half a gallon ; U was ihe skull of 
the Jird f mi field f. ! the mo:»t valuable and the most ancient of His Majesty's jewels. This pre* 
cious tup was curiously carved, and limmed with goK', embossed with sparkling gems; but in the 
centic of the bone, u t»pot of livinfj firo outshone tlie lustie of the rubies, and told the doom of the 
first borij. anJ the origin of the infrrsud );ower ovo» the sons of the earth. 

'J'lio flranufi lifted l!>e l»«)wl to hisiij): it wa.s l^rimtning with a:lorious Madeira {^^^f^fire. wine,) 
and pToposf'l the followinsx Hcntiincnt — "May llie present moment be the woist in our lives." 
" What news do you brini; from the world above us?" 

" Waeli, things arc kinder dullish; coding's down some, and spcet'hy j)Owcrful short, now I tell 
you. But 1 icckiiijjj you've a right smart chance of Icarnin' what's goin' on up stairs, for I squirmed • 
off in setch a plaguy hurry, that I fetched this mornin's }x;nny paper aion^ in my pocket." 

"A i)onn} paj)ei !" r^aid Rochester, lecol lectin,' '*the Public Intelligencer," the first paper pub- 
lished in England, \\w scheme of his lirolhcr courtin, Sir Roj;er L'Estrange. 

" A ri:>Nr ."ATha ! a newspaper for the people, arrd sold for a penny.'* exclaimed the Inquisitor, 
looking over the journal. — ** The ruinous effect of general education ! I foresee a moral revolution, 
if this matter is allowed to proceed. Had wo permitted our believers a knowledge of letters, the 
holy office would not have continued long in existence. May it please your Majesty to cast your 
royal eyes this way ; I grieve to utter the aflHicting tidings — posterity has invented a penny pren^ 
devoted to the spread of knowledge, advocating tlie cause of the many, and opposed to the prescrip- 
tive rights of our choicest friends. 

<< We are aware of that matter. Sir Dominican, and I confess that at first, the scheme gave os 
some uneasiness, as threatening destruction to our interest. But we have taken means to counter- 
act the effect for a while ; we have sent our clients into the arena, and placed them at the head of 
various cheap papers of our own advocacy, — this will somewhat disgust the terrenes with the penny 
press, and advance our tenets meanwhile. We have been strangely linked wilh the press from 
its earliest existence," continued His Majesty, with an infernal smile. *' When Faust of Mentz dis- 
seminated the discovery, made by Koster of Hn}rlem, the monks foolishly asserted that the printer had 
formed a covenant with ourself— that we had instructed him in the art of redupliciiting copies. The 
idiots ! they were so irate at the printer's interference with their monopoly of manuscripts, which 
his invention rendered useless, that they forgot in their wrath that we were not the person likely to 
assist in the circulation of the unmentionable book, — on the contrary, knowing that each cieaJc of 
the press weakened our influence with mankind, we have been exceedingly severe with every typo- 
graphical convict assigned to our charge. Besides, our Faust, the metaphysician, was a student at 
Wittenberg on the Elbe, not a tradesman at Mentz upon the Rhine. And it certainly was a great 
mistake in our friends, the Monks, to imagine that we were originally the printcm^ devils 

Every body laughed at this infernal joke, as in duty bound; and Lady Hamilton playfully tapped 
the Satanic cheek. 

" Why, this is an American paper," said Rochester, to the stranger. " You are a native of the 
United States, I suppose 1" 

<< The rael grit, by jinks ! I was hatched in Washington county, Varmount, and raised all about 
the green mountings thereaway." 



72 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

" Your lillle place is getting on pretty well, considering, is it not 1" said the Inquisitor. 

'< A Icctlc place ! waell, you dew mnko short metre of the universal Yankee nation, by gosh ! I 
kelkilate that the United States U about the tallest kind of country the hull world ever did see, and 
its agoin to bo greater than she ever will see ! Why, its first chop! it would puzzle a Philadelphia 
lawyer to pint out the latitude of eny thing like it in all creation ; and I reckon the hull thousands 
o* books in the old Harvard aint got no ancient history of no place, thats not actilly a meic flea bite 
to our glorious land of liberty, rale complete." 

" Saciilegious bxawler," said Cato, " insult not the ashes of past ages ! The human eye will not 
again behold the equal of old Rome!*' 

**' Can your newly built cities vio with the glory of the wondrous Tadmor of the Desert, the splen- 
did Palmyra 1*' said Zenobia, with a sneer. 

" Will their fortifications compete with the walls of Tioy ? Can their commerce rank with that 
of Carthagcl'* enquired Tarpeia, who claimed a descent from iSneas. 

" Is Babylon nothing ? is Tyre nothing? is Jerusalem nothing?" asked Nebuchadnezzar, indig- 
nantly, mixing another jug of punch. 

*<Have you any thing as pretty as Naples, the city of enchantment 1" lisped His Majesty's fair 
friend^ 

" Or delicious Paris !" sighed the French lady. 

** Or, old Rochester V* said the English earl ; ** with my bluff castle overhanging the rapid streaoi 
of the Medway — a ch«urming bit for an artist, parson, I assure you." 

** Waell, I'm darned if we can't accommodate the hull en ye," said the Yankee. " Why, folks, 
w^ve got a Rome, and a Palmyra, and a Troy, and a Carthage tew, I guess ; and a Babylon, and 
ft Tyre, and a Jerusalem, and a Naples, and a Paris, and a spioand-span new Rochester, by gauly. 
You thought to fix my flint by calling out your confounded Hg names, and I'll be swizzled if Uncle 
Sam aint got the keownterparts on 'em in one state alone, — York state, tew ; now, if we can beat 
all creation, both old and new, with one state only, Fd like to make an innquirry what we can't do 
with twenty-six on 'cm, and three tarrytcrrics 'most as bigl" 

The guests stared at one another with surprise, but no one ventured to contradict the Yankee. 

" Does your land revel in the glad beams of the red sun as potently as the brown fields of Nu- 
midial" enquired Jugurtha. 

** Or, has it the advantages of the cool mountain breezes of old Scotia?" said the apostate. 

'' Or, can it boast of the genial clime of Estrcmadura?" said the Inquisitor. 

*• Jist whichever you choose to pick out, folks, now, that's a fact ; for there's every kinder sorter 
climate in Uncle Sam's country, if you only know where to dip for it." 

" HaTk*ee, my friend," said Apicius, with a dcnti-scalp delicately poised between the right thumb 
and forefinger, while with the left arm, he lazily lifted himself Hp from the couch, «*how do you 
exist in that new world? Have you any thing decent in way of a/u//a .? Have you the exqui- 
site woodcock, which some call the attagena of Ionia? have you the white-breasted turkey of 
Phrygia, the gallus Nurnidica? have you the mushroom, or boletuSf which my friend Nero truly 
called the relish of the gods ? do you send to Ravenna for asparagus ? to Anglia for the delicate 
oyster?" 

" Waell, I guess not^ we grow the hull biling of those fixins you've named, and what don't grow 
pretty clever, wo mannyfacter." 

"Have you the luscious murcna or lamprey ? the Mclian crane, or the Ambracian kid ?" 

" We've shoals of shad, hull rafts of canvass-back ducks, and no end of tarrapins." 

" Do your Senators, as in old Home, present at their feasts dishes of peacocks' tongues and 
nightingales' brains ? do they quafl* the old Folemian wine, cooled in golden vases, with rosebuds 
floating on the vinous sea, gathering and giving odors rare ?" 

" Why, our senators go the big figger on fried oysters and whiskey punch. There would soon 
be a pretty considerable muss of a tea party, if you asked any of oar folks to sup ofi setch a stupid 
matter as nightingals brains! but for eatin' and- drinkin' it happifies mo to aay that wo bang' the 
bush ! Look at our venison, and black-fish, and white-fish, and lobsters, and soft crabs, and grouse, 
and other game — and what in natur' can ekil our mint julap, which grows spontaceously from 
Maine to Georgia. I never yet saw the feller that did not like a mint julap. Gosh, the tears are 
streakin' down the comers of my mouth now at the very thought !" 

*< By the great Bacchus, sire, you must import these necessaries for yaur friends ! or, stay, give 
me a furlough of a month, and let me visit, in a modern shape, this new imperial world, and revel 
in the joys of its untasted wonders." 

" I too," said Cato, " would roam once more on earth, to observe the manner of these modem 
tribes, — these chosen sons of liberty, whose rapid progress in the rank of nations excites a universal 
wonder." 

" And I — and I — and I — " resounded through the room. 

His Majesty who had been toying with the representative of Hygeia, suddenly rose in his 
place, and bent a diabolical glance upon all who were sober enough to meet his gaze. '* Why do 
you insult my hospitality by desiring impossible things ?" 



FEBRUARY. 



73 



" What is impossible 1" responded the s>iacy Rochester. " It is now a matter of history that 
individuals of divers nations have been allowed to quit your dominions, and return to the earth; it 
matters not whether they came voluntarily or no, the fact is still the same. Here are some three 
or four of your most intimate and personal friends desire a few days holiday ; why should yoa 
tyrannically deny them the liberty which you have pieviously granted to strangers? Come, come, 
your Majesty, no damned nonsense now ! I waut to go, for Tm tired of this eternal infernal 
■tewing at home — and a holiday will do me good." 

His Majesty smiled at the impudence of his favorite, and of course the whole party then burst 
into a roar of laughter. When the cachinnation had subsided, His Infernalness said, — ** In olden 
times, when our dominion was not so extensive as it is now, we were compelled to admit the visita- 
tions of various terrenes, to our decided disadvantage. That fellow, Orpheus, made a fool of him- 
ielf— to be sure, he must originally have been rather soft to think of voluntarily coming to hell in 
the fiist place, and for the very stupid purpose of fetching back his wife, in the second place. In' 
the third place he was foolish enough to violate our injunctions, and thence was torn f pieces. We 
don't mean to say that we regret his death, because he has made a capital leader of our quadrille 
hand ever since— but we mention his case to exhibit the dangers of a passage back from our do- 
minions. Ulysses and Mneu, to be sure, behaved very well, but they brought letters of introduc- 
tion from my relatives: but Pythagoras, who wished to retmn for a few years for the pitpoee of 
establishing his metempsychosis, told some ungentlemanly tales of various of our boarders of good 
worldly repute. Then again, our friend Hercules, who is, in fact, our nephew, did not do the civil 
thing in stealing away our pet dog ; if he had not returned Cerberus to his post at our gate, we 
should have given him a thirteenth labor lather harder than the whole of his other twelve. That 
fellow, Dante, too, was allowed a peep, promising to write our nation's history ; but his book did 
us an injury by frightening people into the narrow path. It was strange that we never could estab- 
lish a claim to that old blind friend of yours, Rochester, — that severe scoundrel, Milton, who scrib- 
bled so many bitter things about us and our connections. But to your request; if we give permis- 
sion, we cannot accompany you, for the number of arrivals daily exceeds our present means of 
disposal. There are, too, some individuals in this party, that we dare not trust out of sight — our 
friend, the renegade, will excuse us. Erach, and our loyal brothers, are too drunk to understand 
the question ; — we cannot spare our reverend friends, nor the faro dealer, for we must have oar 
usual game at whist every evening, and we perceive that Queen Zenobia is the only lady possessing 
enough . curiosity to dare the dangers of the subterranean trip. To her, then, and to our lord of 
Rochester, to our royal brother Jugurtha, to the Roman philosopher, and his Sybaritish countrymen, 
we giant a fortnight's furlough, reminding them that if they exceed that time, they will be warmly 
reprimanded for their deficiency." 

** Look here, boss ; I guess your friends don't know the travel of the United States, unless they've 
got me for a guide, they'll be wracked, stock and fluke — now I'll tote them all abeout, if you'll 
jist pay my expenses and rig me out in a new suit of clothes." 

His Majesty, seeing that it was the general wish to include the Yankee in the party, gave con- 
sent, consigning him to the care of the king of Numidia, who was to be responsible for his reap- 
pearance in Hades. 

" Ere you retire, the respective characters of modern date, which it is necessary for you to assume, 
must be appointed, and means provided for your trip. We have several friends in the various 
, banks throughout the States, who will gladly cash our check. Farewell, then, for the night To- 
morrow at noon, we shall personally inspect your departure in Charon's boat for New York, by 
the wet passage of Hell Gate." 

E^rn OP PART FIBST. 



FEBRUARY. 



The robin now, by hungry want made bold. 
Flies the bare fields of grainless, leafless dearth, 
For where fat plenty doth unloose his girth ; 
The wood-owl hoots from his obscure, lone hold ; 
The cattle moan and tremble in the fold ; 
The dog, that crouches on the blazing hearth, 
Shivers to hear the bellowing winds' wild mirth; 
The snows melt gradually ; the rains beat cold, 



Yet soften the froze soil for farrowing plough ; 
The faint, love-breathing voice of young-eyed 

Spring 
Calls to the Nymphs, who stir in their oaks now 
At the first woodlark's wilder carolling; 
And Culture prunes the old and youngling trees, 
Whether excrescent, rude, or maimed by snow or 

breeze. • 



THE METEMPSYCHOSIS. 



BT It. S. LLLlOTTf £Sa» OV HARRISHVRG, lA, 



No. II. 



Tflc invisible narrator continued. Kohuslus left Home with contending feelingg in Lis heart : re- 
gret at Icftving his Lema behind him, and joy at having un oppoitunity of adding to his stock of that 
baablc — military glory — for Tvhich men of all ranks, in all ages, have sought with an enthusiasm so 
intense as to put even that of the Alchymist to shame. 

Already our beio was the acknowiedgetl su}.)eiioT of the empire a5 a gladiator. His lecent chefcT- 
OBUvre had capped the climax of his fame in that science, and no farther laurels could be won in it; 
like the persevering sailor who has toiled to the topmost point of the mast, he could ascend no 
higher. •But another kind of fame was before him, the green avenues to which were open, inciting 
him to tread therein, and distinguish himself by a bearing in the field equal to his skill and courage 
in the arena. 

The prospect was indeed dazzling ; but as the brilliant visage of Sol himself is not without its 
spots, so also was the path of Robustus partially cloude<). He could not leave Rome without bidding 
farewell, perhaps for ever, to his beloved Lema. Coarse as was the character of his love for the 
patrician's daughter, siill love it was, sprung from the same common source with the more refined 
passions of more cultivated gallants; and he could not abandon her with indifference any more than 
he could rrfu:<e to leave Konic with impunity, under thecircum.slanres»in vhich he was then placed. 

Robustus was attached, in the march into Gau!, to that famous body of Caesar's troops, theTEATO 
Lbgiox, with which he dceiored liim^^elf rendy to niarcli n^ainst the whole, (lerman army of Ariovis- 
lus, at a time when exngaeraled reports by the GauU cnncernins; the ferocity and jiiowess of the 
Gonnan barbaiians had stricken a |);inie \o the v<ry heart of the Roman army, and promised almot-t 
its dismemberment ; which was only ilit^sipated 1 y tho bold and decided conduct and impressive 
eloquence of Caesar; who, at ihe head of his lioups, marched against the enemy, and after some 
mancpuvres, forced the German prince to come to an actitm, in wliichhc u»uled his whole army with 
terrible slaughter, eighty thousand (Jernians fallinij. and Ariovistus himself escaping wiih great diffi- 
cultv. 

Robustus had Iven promoted to tlic post of a eeuturion in the Tenth Legion, and his good be- 
havior soon won distinction. He bore a conjspici uus |>ait in the battle with the Belgians at the 
Axona, showing great address in his plans for intiTceptiug the march ot iheenemy when in unfavor- 
able situations. In the tremendous slaughk-r succeeding ihatenca<ien)ent, when the enemy were in 
full flight, each division towards their own home, the f)osition of Robui^tus foibudc his participating, 
or he would no doubt have performed liis hill shaic of that severe but strictly war-like labor. 

The next march of our hero, (says the narrator.) was into the country of the Amluani, who sub- 
mitted at once on the approach of the Roman Eagles. I3ut tlic Nervians, against whom the Roman 
arms were then turned, submitted not so easily. They were a hardy race, and ringular in their habits, 
allowing no resort of merchants to their cities, nor the importation of wines and other articles tend- 
ing to promote luxurj* ; ao that they were I'litirely unacquainted with the refinements of the age, 
but were men of warlike spirit. Expecting the march of the Romans, they had placed all their 
women and such as were unfit to bear arms, in a place of safety, inaccessible by reason of the marshes 
that iiurrounded it; and had been joined by several bands of neighboring trilies. Having posted 
themselves on the bank of the Lambrus, opposite to the side on which the Romans were approaching, 
they awaited the issue, with their main force concealed in a wood which crowned the top of the 
gentle ascent from the river, and a few troops of horse onl)/ exposed to view. 

The Roman camp was laid on the other side of the river, on ground similar to that occupied by 
the Nervians and their allies. But before the camp was properly occupied or the fottificationsprejiarcd, 
the enemy, encouraged by the reports of some spies, marched to the attack. Then Caesar displayed 
the qualities of an able general in a manner sufficient, if he had never fought another battle, to em- 
balm his name in the hearts of his people. Consummate ability was necessary, all the parts of a 
general being thrown on his hands at once : to erect the standard, which was the signal to fly to arms ; 
to proclaim the battle by the sound of trumpet ; to draw off the soldiers from the works; to recall 
those sent on various errands ; to encourage his men and give the word of onset. These duties were 
performed as only a CaBsar could have performed them. 

Running to encourage his men, the Roman general fell in with the Tenth Legion. Exhorting 
tiiem to exert their wonted bratery, and sustain the assault as became Roman soldiers, he gave the 
ugnal to engage. So great was the impetuosity of the Ner\ians, however, that much confusion pre- 
yailed among their invaders, and many soldiers had not time even to put on their armor. The 
Ninth and Tenth Legions of the Romans were particularly distinguished in the action, and their 



THE METEMPSYCHOSIS. 75 

^eMlrmined resistance to the enemy and bravery in returning their attacks, bad much influence in 
turning the fortune of the day. Having driven back the Atrebatians, (the division with which it was 
their fortune to engage,) they slew gieat numbers as they attempted to cross the liver, and even 
when the remnant, having reached a place of comparative advantage, attempted resistance, they were 
■gain obliged to fly. 

Other parts of the field were more hotly contested, and the conflict lasted several hours ; but at 
length the victory was completely gained by the undaunted and persevering valor of the Homans— 
among whom none had shown more bravery and address than Robustus, who, as mankind pay more 
veneration at all times to those who are famous for destroying their race than to the benefactora of 
it, vras admirably calculated to be an idol, especially among those who were his compainions in tur> 
moil and slaughter. A circumstance occurred during the tight, which, coming to Caesar's ears, 
brought our hero at once into the notice of his general There was in the same legion with Robus- 
tus a man named Yarcnus,* who thirsted to measure himself in war- like conduct with our hero, as 
LucuIIus had to meet him in the arena. He and Robustus were perpetually disputing \^ith one 
another the pre>eminence in courage. In the heat of the battle, Varenus said to Robustus, " what 
hinders you now, or what mtire gloiious opportunity would you desire of signalizing your bravery 1 
This, this is the day for deciding the controversy between us." At these words, he rushed amidst 
the thickest of the Gauls ; nor did Robustus decline the challenge ; but thinking his honor at stake, 
followed at some distance. Varenus darted his javelin at the enemy, and transfixed a Gaul who was 
coming forward to engage him, and who falling dead, the multitude advanced to cover him with 
their shields, and all poured their darts on Varenus, giving him no time to retire. A javelin pierced 
his shield and stuck fast in his belt. This accident entangling his right hand, prevented his drawing 
his sword, and gave the enemy time to surround him. But Robustus flew to his assistance, when 
immediately the Gauls, quitting Varenus, fancying the dart had despatched him, all turned on Ro- 
bustus. He met them with his swoid drawn, chaiged them hand to hand, and having laid one dead 
at his feet, drove the rest back ; but, pursuing with too much eagerness, stepped into a hole, and fell 
down. Varenus in his turn hastened to extricate him, and both together, after having slain a mul- 
titude of Gauls, received the applause of their legion at the close of the battle. 

That evening Cssar was in his tent, surrounded by his most trusty followers. It was then he first 
put on the cloak he wore when Brutus* dagger pierced his heart, *' even at the base of Poropey's 
statue," as the Avon bard has it ; the cloak of which Mark Antony said in his lamentation : — 

You all do know this mantle ; I remcmbei 
The first time ever Caesar put it on; 
'Twas on a summer'it evening in his tent; 
That day he overcame the Nervii. 

If ever C(esar*s heart throbl>ed with that love a military commander fccis for his followerp, it waa 
on this occasion. Never had men borne themselves with more fortitude, courafie, and ener^. The 
Ninth and Tenth Legions particularly had attracted bis attention, and he had li.ntened with pleasure 
to the relation of the rivalry of ]\obustus and Varenus. Ordering them b<ith to his presence : 

" Friends,'' said he, <^ it is by rewarding merit that your general seeks to attach his men to their 
duty. I have not been displeased to hear of your dispute and exceedingly noble bearing. You shall 
feel my confidence. You, Varenus. shall have a po»t near my person ; and you, Robustus, I com 
mission to bear this packet to the senate at Rome I" 

Never were tw(» indiviiiuais better plei«ed with theii fortune. Robustus was delighted with the 
prospect of a-^ain, perhaps, meeting his Lema; and Varenus had arrived at the summit of his aibhi- 
tion. 

RecciTing the charjfe with a profound reverence, Robuvtus prepared to set oat on his journey ; but 
those who witnessed the smile with which Cscsar reached him the packet, might have seen in it an 
expression of supreme contempt for the body to which, with the dissimulation of corrupt ambition, 
he addressed a friendly letter, apprising ihem of the success of the Roman arms. 

To say that Robustus flew on the wings of love would be to use a most common expression; but 
what other will convey an idea of the haste with which he bore th<? gencrars despatch to Rome ? 
We cannot compare his transit to that of the whistling locomotive ; for they hud none of those 
engines in that day and generation. Suffice it to say, that the time occupied by the lover, (for as 
such we must now consider him,) bore about the same proportion to that usually tiken for the 
journey, as the famous letter of Cs.sar some years after — " Veniy vidi, vlci" — did to the usual length 
of a military bulletin. Arrived at Rome, the commission of his general was at once executed, when 
the attention of Robustus was turned to a meeting with Lcma. 

The garden of the wealthy and proud patrician was reached soon after the shadea of evening had 
descended to wrap their sable fold« around the last gleams of daylight, and enshroud them in the pall 
of a counterfeit of death, until Aurora should come tripping from the east again to set them at liberty. 

* This anecdote is authentic, but the circumstances occurred at a subsequent battle. The parties 
were T. Pulfio and L. Varenus. 



76 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

Robuatus stood by tbo wall, and his heart, which had never changed a throb In the death scenes of 
the arena or the mcIee of the several battles, or even in the still more unnerving presence of his 
general, almost misgave him. But to retreat were misery, and with a leap like that of the young 
steed, when he first plays on the green sward of spring, he cleared the wall, and in a stride or two 
reached the summet -house well known as the favorite rcsoit of Lema. A female form reclined pen- 
sively in the arbor, gazing listlessly out at a sparkling fountain whose silver-drops, cast from the 
beaks of a hundred birds, and the mouths of a hundred serpents and a hundred fishes, sculptured of 
the finest marble, danced a perpetual holiday of mirth, and wero now rendered beautifully transpa- 
rent by the rays of Luna which fell upon them from the eastern sky, in the calm and stillness of an 
Italian night. 

A rustling in the shrubbery disturbed the thoughtful maid, and, looking round, she espied the in- 
truder. Her first impulse was to scream for assistance, but ere she could articulate a word she knew 
her lover, and the next moment was in his arms. Soon his story was told; but hope seemed to be 
as far from them as ever ; and afler lingering long, perhaps longer than was prudent, they separated, 
with an understanding that the next night should witness another meeting, but without having 
formed any plan of consummating their wishes. 

But that second meeting never took place, as the lovers had arranged. As Robustus leaped from 
the garden, the slave who was closing the great gate discovered him, and gave pursuit, in which Ro- 
bustus was soon overtaken by the superior swiftness of his more agile pursuer. Little did the slave 
gain by the chase, however, as one blow of Robustus' hand felled him to the earth ; but ere be could 
resume his flight a band of several slaves arrived, and by their numbers overpowering him, conveyed 
him to the luxurious residence of the patrician. 

With an unrufHcd countenance and unstricken heart the warrior-lover was dragged before the 
stem father of his lady-love. The patrician was seated on a rich cushion of velvet and gold, dress- 
ed in robes that royalty itself might have worn without derogating from its dignity ; but he knew 
not who was the prisoner before him, nor how deep the wounds the act of his punishment would in- 
flict on the heart of his daughter. 

" Minion," said Stephano Reuddi, *< how earnest thou in my garden 1 How darest thou to tread 
that forbidden ground V* 

" I scorn a falsehood," said the prisoner ; ** and thou ehalt know the truth, proud man ; be aasured, 
then, that I am the most perfect gladiator in Rome, and the chosen and trusty messenger of Cssar !" 

« What, Robustus ?" 

" The same — the lover of thy daughter !" 

Darker and darker was the frown that lowered on the brow of the patiician, and sat there as a 
brooding owl perches on some rough rock that overhangs the mountain*s side. 

" Did'st thou dare, slave, to meet my daughter in the garden 1" 

" The heart of a true lover will brave any danger lo meet the object of its cliaxte and holy regard." 

" Bind him, menials!" exclaimed Reuddi, in a toweling storm of rage — " bind him, and to the 
dungeon instantly." 

" Back, back," said Robustus — " approach at your peril !" 

But what could one single and unarmed man do against the odds of the horde of slaves who were 
now armed to take charge of him ? He was powerless, and the domestic lictors were surrounding 
his symmetrical and muscular limbs with cords, when a sudden change came over the scene. 

Seizing a weapon, Robustus violently struggled to regain his liberty. One of the slaves he killed 
instantly ; but the rest, simultaneously drawing their weapons, rushed on him at once, and he was 
borne to the feet of the patrician, when a sword pierced his light tunic, and penetrating his body, 
opened a huge passage for the escape of the vital spirit. The blood flowed freely, and Robustus was 
near his last breath, when the door of the apartment burst open, and Lema rushed in ! 

Pale were her features, and agonized their expression, but a peculiar fire lighted up her dark, ex- 
pressive eyes. She stood a moment at the entrance to contemplate the scene, as if she could scarce- 
ly realize iu horror, when gazing on her father and then on the half-bound and dying lover, the full 
and dread reality crowded on her mind. But she fainted not, as at the arena. The superabundance 
of horror nerved her heart, and casting a withering look at the patrician, she s|)rang, with the bound 
of the tigress in defence of her young, to the body of Robustus. 

The father was horror-stricken and speechless, and would gladly have called back to life the dying 
■ man before him. 

Robustus knew that his love hung over him, and a faint smile illumined his features as he drew 
his last breath, with his breast leaning on her own. A shriek from the lips of Lema, when she knew 
the warrior's heart was still, rang through the palace of the patrician. But her light was gone oat, 
and the world was dark^ — too dark for her longer to remain in it, the victim of a proud and tyranni- 
cal father; and ere the slaves could interfere, she had grasped the sword which had put to death her 
lover, and plunged it to the heart on which his image was indelibly impressed ! 

So ended the tragical history of Robustus and Lema, and the narrator was again, according to the 
very true theory of the Metempsychosis, left to wander in seaich of a bosom in which to instal itself. 
The farther narration of its adventures is deferred to another number. 



FABLES IN RHYME. 



FROM THE POLISH OF ARCHBISHOP KRASICKP 



BT THOMAS D U X 31 SXOLISH, M. D 



THE TALLOW-CANDLE AND THE TORCH. 



A TALLow-cA3rDLs and a torch 

Both in a narrow place 
Were lighted, when the first began 

To speak, with fancied grace. 
** Fear not the dark, my glimmering brother, 
My light shall all the darkness smother." 



« Fool !" said the torch, " and thinkest thou 

That all the world are blind 
That thy pretensions will deceive 

A sensible mankind 1 
Or that they do no dificrence know, 
'Twixt my bright light, and thy faint glow !" 



THE FOOL AND THE SAGE. 



A fool one day a wise man asked 
What good there was in learning, 

If it improved one's happiness 
And aught diminished mourning ; 

E'er mended coats, or broiled a goose ; 

In short, what was its aim or use ! 



At first the sage refused to speak. 
But for a long time pressed. 

In angry words, yet courteous tones 
This answer apt expressed : 

** It becomes us, this its chieftest rule, 

To gite no answer to a fool !" 



THE TORTOISE AND THE MOUSE. 



A tortoise crawling o'er the plain, 
Bearing her shelly house, 

Met, 'fore sho long had travelled, 
A fat and pompous mouse. 

Who said ** I pity one past telling. 

Who hath to carry such a dwelling." 



" Reseive your pity, pray my friend," 

The tortoise calm replied, 
" And hie you to the palaces 

Of man, to bloat your pride ; 
Though mine is formed of clumsy bone» 
And is not handsome — 'tis my own." 



THE HAUGHTY RAT. 



Upon the altar, during mass, 
One Sabbath mom there sat. 

Surrounded by admiring friends, 
A consequential rat. 

** For me," said he, ** the incense floats. 

And peal yon swelling organ-notes." 



E'en as he spoke, the incense-cloud, 
Borne by the summer-breeze. 

Came curling o'er the altar-top. 
And made his rat-ship sneeze. 

Hearing the sound, a wary cat 

Leaped up— adieu ! my haughty rat ! 



THE CAT AND HOUND. 



A pussy who in comer sat. 

Devouring dainty mice. 
Was by a mighty stag-hound asked, 

Why lived she not more nice 1 
Said he, ** I eat no mice-like gear. 
But seize and slay the stately deer." 



I 



The cat replied with modest look, 
" I grant my mice are small. 

But please my ftiend to recollect, 
That / consume them all ; 

Preferring for myself a mouse, 

To better for my master's house." 



SHAKSPEARE'S JEST BOOK. 

\ 



We have in our poBseseion a singular " ly tel bulLCi" of great rarity and value, originaUy pnb- 
liihed in the time of king Henry the Eighth, entitled 

% CTales, anti qufctie anstocrcSt ber; mcr^, anti pleasant to rctic. 

The only known copy of the original edition is now in the collection of the Marquis of Bland- 
ford, who obtained it at the dispeision of the celebrated Roxburghe Club of bibliographers. One 
modem edition, and that a limited one, was printed in the year 1814, not for public circulation, but 
merely as a literary curiosity. The editor of this edition, which bore the name we have prefixed 
to our atticlc, affirms that the work in question was generally known in Shakspeare's time, under 
the title of " The Hundred Merry Tales ;" in reference ta^he number of stories and jests which it 
originaUy contained. He also contends, and with great plausibility, that this little volume is the 
one from which Benedick, in " Much Ado about Nothing," accused Beatrice of stealing all her 
*< good wit." The analysts of the text of our bard, the paltr)^ minds who arrogated the office of 
explaiaers and annotators of the master spirit, affirm that Shaks^are meant Boccaccio^s *^ Decame- 
ron," or « Les Cent Nouvelles," when he alluded to the " Hundred Merry Tales." 

**They are not sources from whence the lively Beatrice could have derived herparcastic quips and 
lively repartees, as they consist principally in amorous stories ; many of them, in the latter, termi- 
nating tragically. Neither does it appear that either of these works appeared sufficiently early in 
an English dress. Shakspeare would of course refer to a book of jests then in the hands of every 
one; and it must be confessed that the ptesent collection was a more probable source for Beatrice 
to obtain her * quips and cranks' than either the * Cent Nouvelles* or the * Decameron.' " 

It is curious that diis little volume should have escaped the diligence of the many editors who 
have presumed to giye the world their opinions of the text of Shakspeare — it is a wonderful evi- 
dence of its rarity. 

In looking through its pages we recognise many an old acquaintance, the originals of various 
farces and excellent stories, generally reputed as the work of well-known authors. We shall con- 
tent ourscif with copying a few of the ** Mer^'e Tales," in the present number of our Magazine, in 
way of sample, promising to refer again to this pleasant bit of antiquity. Excepting the substitu- 
tion of the Koman character for the old black letter, we shall present a fac-simile of the quaint 
language, faulty construction, and miS'Spelling of this curious and unique collection of jests, which 
professes to have been 

OG" Smprfntcti at lonDon fn J^letr Strete fn tt)c jjousc of CTljomas Bcrtljelct nere to tlic 

€:ttn'Drtc, at ttc swjjnc of Hucrcre. % Cum prfuflcflfo. 

The reader, unaccustomed to antique orthography, will observe that the letters U and V are in- 
difierenily used in each other's places ; and that y generally fills the place of i, which letter in its 
turn frequently displaces the simple consonant j. — 

^ Of mayster Vauaaour and Turjnn his man, 

^ Matstf.ii A^auaaour sometyme a iudge of Englande hadde a seruaunt with liym called Turpin : 
whiche had done hym seruyce many yeres, wherfore he came vnto his mayster on a tyme, and 
sayde to hym on this wyse : ^yr 1 haue done you seiuice longe, wherfore I pray you gyue me 
somwhat to helpe me in myn old age. Turpin, quod he, thou sayst trouthe, and hereon I haue 
thought many a tyme : I wyli tell the, what thou shalt do. Nowc shortly I must ride vp to Lon- 
don, and if thou wilt beare my costes thether: I wyll surely gyne the suche a thing, that shall be 
worth to the an hundred pounde. I am conCente, quod Turpin. So all the waye as he rode Turpin 
payd his costes, tyll they came to theyr last lodginge : and there after souper he cam to his mayster 
and sayde : Sir I haue bom your costes hitherto, as ye badde me : nowe I pray you let me se, what 
thynge hit is, that shulde be worlhe an hundred pounde to me. Dyd I promise the suche a thinge, 
quod his maistcr 1 ye forsoth, quod Turpin. Shcwc me thy wrythinge, quod maister Yauasour. I 
haue none, sayde Turpin. Than thou arte lyke to haue nothinge sayde his maister. And leme 
this at me : whan so euer thou mabest a bargayne with a man, loke that thou take a sure wrytjnaga* 
and be well ware howe thou makest a wrytynge to any man. This poynte hath vayled me an 
hundred pounde in my dayes : and so hi^ may the. Whan Turpin sawe there was none oth«r re- 
medy, he helde him selfe contente. On the morowc Turpin tarycd a lytelle behynde his ma7«tsr 
to reken with the hostes, where they laye : and of her he borowed so moche money on his mayiteni 
skariet cloke, as drcwe to all the costes that they spente by the waye. Mayster A^'auasour bad nat 



shakspeare's jest book. 79 

ryden past ii. myle but that it began torayne: wherforc he calledde for biscloke: his other ler- 
uauntes saidei Turpin was behinde and had hit with him. So they houedde* vnder a tre t^Hr 
Turpin over toke them. }Vhan he was come mayster Vauasour all angcrly sayde : Thou knaue, 
why comest thou nat awcye with my cloke. Syi and please you, quod Turpin, I haue layde hit to 
gage for your costes al the waye. why knaue, quod his mayster, diddisie thou nat promyse to beare 
my charges to London. Dyd I quod Turpin 1 ye, quod his mayster that thou diddest. Let ae, 
shew me your wr^tiiige therof quod Turyin. wherto his mayster I thinke answered but lytell. 

^ Of the fryer that hraydt in his scrmcn, 

^ A FRTKR that preached to the people on a tyme, wold otherwhyle crie out a loudc (as the maner 
of some fooles is) whiche brayenge dyd so moue a woman that stode herynge his aermone, that ahe 
wepte. He paiceyuyng that, thought in his mynde her conscience being pry eked with his wordet, 
had caused hei to wepe. wherfote whan his sermon was done, he called the woman to hjm, and 
asked what was the cause of her wepynge, and whether his wordcs moucd her to wepe or nat. 
Foraoth mayster (sayde she) I am a poure wydowe : and whan myne husbonde dyed, he lefta me 
bat one asie, ^idiiche gotte parte of my lyuynge, the which asse the wolues haue slayne : and nowe 
when I hard your hyghe voyce, I remembred my asse, for so he was wonte to braye bothe nygfate 
and daye. And this good mayster caused me to wepe. Thus the lewde brayer, rather than 
preacher, confuted with his folysshenea, wente his waye : which thinkynge for his brayenge lyke an 
aaee to be reputed for the beste preacher, deaerued well to here hym selfe to be compared to an aase. 

* For truely one to suppose hym selfe wyse 
Is vnto fuiysshenes the very fyrste gryce.f 

T Of hym thatprofered his daughter in mariage, 

^ There was a man vpon a tyme, whiche profered his doughter to a yonge man in mariage, the 
which yonge manne refuse her, sayenge, that ahe was to yonge to be maryed. I wys, quod har 
foolysshe father she* is more able than ye wenc. For she hath borne iii. children by our paiyaihe 
clerke. 

Lo by this tale ye se, that folea can nat telle what and whan to speake, therefore it were best for 
them to kepe always silence. 

The next selection will remind the leader of Caleb Balderstone's maneeuvres, in <* the Bride of 
Lammeimoir.** It is not saying too much, when we surmise that Sir Walter, a member of the 
Rozburghe club, had seen the little book before us, and borrowed the incident " for the nonce." 



% Hovje a chaplain of Louen deeeyued an vsurer, 

^ Iv the towne of Louen was a chaplayne called Antonye, of whose raerye sayenges and doynges 
is moche talkynge. As he mette on a daye one or two of his acqueyntannce, he dcsyred them 
home with him to dyner : but meate had he none, nor money. There was no remedy, but to make 
a shefte. Forth he goth, and in to an vseiers kytchynne, with whome he was famylierr and pri- 
ueilye vnder his gowne be caryed oute the potts with meate, that was sod for the vsurers dyner. 
whan he came home, he putte oute the meate, and made the pot to be scoured bryght, and sente a 
boye with the same pot to the vserer to borowe ij. grotes theron : and bade the boye take a byll of 
his hande, that suche a brasse potte he delyuered hym. The bey did as he was bydde : and widi 
the money that he hadde of the vsuier, he bought wine for theyr dyner. whan the vsurer should 
go to dyner, the potte and meate was gone, wheifbre he all to chydde his mayde. She said there 
eame no bodye of all the daye, but syr Antony. They asked him: and he sayde he bed none. At 
length they sayde in emeste, he and no man els had the pot. By my fayth (quod he) I borowed 
•ache a potte vpon a tyme, but I sente hit home agayne : and so called witnes to them, and sayde : 
Lo howe peryllous it is to deale with men nowe dayes withoute wrytynge : They wolde lay 
thefte to my charge, and if I had no wrythinge of the vsurers hande. And so he shewed oute the 
wrytinge. And whan they vnderstode the disceyte. there was good laughynge. 

^ Of Demosthenes and Phocion, 

5 Demosthekxs sayde to Phocion : If the Atheniens falle ones in a madnes, they woU slee the. 
To whom he answered : ye surely, if they waxe madde they woll slee roe, but an they waxe ones 
wyse, they wyli slee the. For Demosthenes spake moche to the peoples pleasure, and spake thyngda 
zatfaer deniable than holsome. 

• Houedde, hovered, flocked. -f Gryce, step, > 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 

Beiho af Account of thi Fibst Passags acboss the Rocrt Mourtaixs of Nobth 

Amsbica £teb achibted bt Citilized Main. 



CHAPTER II. 



Afteb the death of my father, and both sisters, I took no farther interest in our plantation at the 
Point, and sold it, at a complete sacrifice, to M. Junot. I had often thought of trapping up the 
Missouri, and resolved now to go on an expedition up that river, and try to procure peltries, which 
I was sure of being able to sell at Petite Cote to the private agents of the Northwest Fur Company. 
I believed that much more property might be acquired in this way, with a little enterprise and cour- 
age, than I could make by any other means. I had always been fond, too, of hunting and trapping, 
although I had never made a business of either, and I had a great desire to explore some portion of 
our western country, about which Pierre Jundt had often spoken to roe. He was the eldest son of 
the neighbor who bought me out, and was a man of strange manners and somewhat eccentric turn 
of mind, but still one of the best-hearted fellows in the world, and certainly as courageous a man as 
ever drew breath, although of no great bodily strength. He was of Canadian descent, and having 
gone, once or twice, on short excursions for the Fur Company, in which he had acted as voyageur, 
was fond of calling himself one, and of talking about his trips. My father had been very fond of 
Pierre, and I thought a good deal of him myself; he was a great favorite, too, with my younger 
sister, Jane, and I believe they would have been married had it been God's will to have spared her. 

When Pierre discovered that I had not entirely made up my mind what course to pursue after my 
Other's death, he urged me to fit out a small expedition for the river, in which he would accompany 
me ; and he had no difficulty in bringing me over to his wishes. We agreed to push up the Missouri 
as long as we found it possible, hunting and trapping as we went, and not to return until we had 
aecured as many peltries as would be a fortune for us both. His father made no objection, and gave 
him about three hundred dollars ; when we proceeded to Petite Cote for the purpose of getting our 
equipments, and raising as many men as we could for the voyage. 

Petite Cote* is a small place on the north bank of the Missouri, about twenty miles from its 
junction with the MlMitwippi. It lies at the foot of a range of low hills, and upon a sort of ledge, 
high enough above the liver to be out of reach of the June freshets. There are not more than five or 
six houses, and these of wood, in the upper part of the place ; but, nearer to the east, there is a chapel 
and twelve or fif^n good dwellings, running parrallel with the river. There are about a hundred 
inhabitants, mostly Creoles of Canadian descent They are extremely indolent, and make no attempt 
at cultivating the country around them, which is a ridi soil ; except now and then when a little is 
done in the way of gardening. They live principally by hunting, and trading with the Indians for 
peltries, which they sell again to the North- West Company's agents. We expected to meet vrith no 
difficulty here in getting recruits for oar journey, or equipments, but were disappointed in both par- 
ticulars ; for the place was too poor in every respect to furnish all that we wanted, so as to render 
our voyage safe and efficient 

We designed to pass through the heart of a country infested with Indian tribes, of whom we 
knew nothing except by vague report, and whom wc had every reason to believe ferocious and 
treacherous. It was therefore particularly necessary that we should go well provided with arms and 
ammunition, as well as in some force as regards numbers; and if our voyage was to be a source of 
profit, we must take with us canoes of sufficient capacity to bring home what peltries we might 
collect It was the middle of March when we first reached Petite Cote, and we did not succeed in 
getting ready until the last of May. We had to send twice down the river to the Point for men and 
supplies, and neither could be obtained except at great cost We should have failed at last in getting 
many things absolutely requisite, if it had not so happened that Pierre mot with a party on its return 
from a trip up the Mississippi, and engage<1 six of its best men, besides a canoe or piroque; pur- 
diasing, at the same time, roost of the surplus stores and ammunition. ' 

This seasonable aid enabled us to get fidrly ready for the voyage before the first of June. On the 
third of this month (1791) we bid adieu to our friends at Petite C6te, and started on our expedition. 
Our party consisted in all of fifteen persons. Of these, five were Canadians from Petite C6te, and 
had all been on short excursions up the river. They were good boatroen, and excellent companions, 
as &r as singing French songs went, and drinking, at which they were pre-eminent ; although, in 
truth, it was a rare thing to see any of them so far the worse for liquor, as to be incapable of attttid- 
ing to duty. They were always in a good humor, and always ready to work ; hot aa hunters I did 
not think them worth much, and as fighting men I soon discovered they were not to be depended 

* Now St Charles— Eds. G. M. 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 81 

upon. There were two of these five Canadians who engaged to act as interpreters for the first five 
or six hundred miles up the river (should we proceed so far) and then we hoped to procure an Indian 
occasionally to interpret, should it be necessary ; but we had resolved to avoid, as far as possible, any 
meetings with the Indians, and rather to trap ourselves, than run the great risk of trading, with so 
small a party as we numbered. It was our policy to proceed with the greatest caution, and expose 
ourselves to notice only when we could not avoid it 

The six men whom Pierre had engaged from aboard the return Mississippi boat were as different 
a set from the Canadians as could well be imagined. Five of them were brothers, by the name of 
Gieely (John, Robert, Meredith, Frank, and Pomdexter) and bolder or finer looking persons it 
would have been diflUcult to find. John Greely was the eldest and stoutest of the five, and had the 
reputation of being the strongest man,, as well as best shot in Kentucky — from which State they all 
came. He was full six feet in height, and of most extraordinary breadth across the shoulders, with 
large strongly-knit limbs. Like most men of great physical strength, he was exceedingly good- 
tempered, and on this account was greatly beloved by us all. The other four brothers were all strong 
well-built men, too, although not to be compared with John. Poindcxter was as tall, but very gaunt, 
and of a singularly fierce appearance ; but, like his cider brother, he was of peaceable demeanor. All 
of them were experienced hunters and capital shots. They had gladly accepted Pierre*s offer to go 
with us, and wc made an arrangement with them which ensured them an equal share with Pierre 
and myself in the profits of the enterprise — that is to say, we divided the proceeds into three parts ; 
one of which was to be mine, one Pierre's, and one shared among the five brothers. 

The sixth man whom we enlisted from the return boat was, also, a good recruit. His name was 
Alexander Wormloy, a Virginian, and a very strange character. He had originally been a preacher 
of the gospel, and had afterwards fancied himself a prophet, going about the country with a long 
beard and hair, and in his bare feet, haranguing every one he met. This hallucination was now 
diverted into another channel, and he thought of nothing else than of finding gold mines in some of 
the fastnesses of the country. Upon this subject he was as entirely mad as any man could well be ; 
but upon all others was remarkably sensible and even acute. He was a good boatman and a good 
hunter, and as brave a fellow as ever stepped, besides being of great bodily strength and swiftness of 
foot. I counted much upon this recruit, on account of his enthusiastic character, and in the end I was 
not deceived, as will appear. 

Our other two recruits were a negro belonging to Pierre Junot, named Toby, and a stranger whom 
we had picked up in the woods near Mills' Point, and who joined our expedition upon the iiutant 
as soon as we mentioned our design. His name was Andrew Thornton, also a Virginian, and I 
believe of excellent family, belonging to the Thorntons of the northern part of the State. He had 
been from Virginia about three years ; during tlie whole of which time he had been rambling about 
the western country, with no other companion than a large dog of the Newfoundland species. He 
had collected no peltries, and did not seem to have any object in view, more than the gratification of 
a roving and adventurous propensity. He frequently amused us, when sitting around our camp 
fires at night, with the relation of his adventures and hardships in the wilderness — recounting them 
with a strait-forward earnestness which left us no room to doubt their truth ; although indeed, many 
of them had a marvellous air. Exfierience afterwards taught us that the dangers and difficulties of 
the solitary hunter can scarcely be exaggerated, and that the real task is to depict them to the hearer 
in sufficiently distinct colors. I took a great liking to Thornton, from the first hour in which I saw 
him. 

I have only said a few words respecting Toby ; but he was not the least important personage of 
our party. He had been in old M. Junut's family for a great number of years, and had proved him- 
self a faithful negto. He was iither too old to accompany such an expedition as ours; but Pierre 
was not willing to leave him. He was an able-bodied man, however, and still capable of enduring 
great fatigue. Pierre himself was probably the feeblest of our whole company, as regards bodily 
strength, but he possessed great sagacity, and a courage which nothing could daunt His manners 
irere sometimes extravagant and boisterous, which led him to get into frequent quarrels, and haB 
once or twice seriously endangered the success of our expedition ; but he was a true friend, and in 
that one point I considered him invaluable. 

I have now given a brief account of all our party, as it was when we left Petite C6te* To carry 
ourselves and accoutrements, as well as to bring home what peltries might be obtained, we had two 
large boats. The smallest of these was a piroque made of biich bark, sewed together with the fibres 
of the roots of the spruce tree, the seams payed with pine resin, and the whole so light that six men could 
carry it with case. It was twenty feet long, md could be rowed with from four to twelve oars ; 

* Mr. Rodman has not given any description of himself; and the account of his party is by no 
means complete without a portraiture of its leader. *' He was about twenty-five years of age," says 
Mr. James Rodman in a memorandum now before us, ** when he started up the river. He was a 
remarkably vigorous and active man, but short in stature, not being more than five feet three or four 
inches high—strongly huilt, with legs somewhat bowed. His physiognomy was of a Jewish cast, 
bis lips thin, and his complexion saturnine." — Eos. G. M. 



82 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

drawing about cightcnn inches water when loaded to the gunwale, and, when empty, not more than 
ten. The other was a keel-boat which we had made at Petite Cute (the canoe having been pur- 
chawd by Pieire from the Mississippi party.) It was thirty feet long, and, when loaded to the gun- 
wale, drew two feet water. It had a deck lor twenty feet of iUs length forward, forming a caddy- 
cabin, with a strong door, and of sufficient dimensions to contain our whole party with close crowd- 
ing, as the boat was very broad. This part of it was bullet- pioof, being wadded with oakum between 
two coatings of oak-plank -, and in several positions we had small holes bored, through which we 
could have fired upon an enemy in case of attack, as well as observe their movements; these holcf, 
at the same time, gave us air and light, when we closed the door ; and we had secure plugs to fit 
them when necessary. The remaining ten feet of the length was open, and here we could use as 
many as six oars — but our main dependancc was upon poles which we employed by walking along 
the deck. We had also a short mast, easily shipped 9nd unshipped, which was stepped about seven 
feet from the bow, and upon which we set a large square sail when the wind was fair, taking in mast 
and all when it was ahead. 

In a division made in the bow, under deck, we deposited ten kegs of good powder, and as much 
lead as we considered proportionate, one tenth ready moulded in rifle bullets. We had also stowed 
away here, a small brass c%nuon and caniage, dismounted and taken to pieces, so as to lie in littU 
compass, thinking that such a means of defence might possibly come into play at some period of our 
expedition. This cannon was one of three which had been brought down the Missouri by the 
Spaniards two years previously, and lost overboard from a piroque, some miles above Petite Cote, 
A sand-bai had so far altered the channel at the place where the canoe capsized, that an Indian dis- 
covered one of the guns, and procured assistance to carry it down to the settlement, where he sold it 
foT a gallon of whiskey. The people at Petite Cote then went up and procured the other two. 
They were very small gims, but of good metal, and beautiful workmanship, being carved and orna- 
mented with serpents like some of the French field pieces. Fifty iron balls were found with the 
guns, and these we procured. I mention the way in which we obtained this cannon, because it per^ 
formed an important part in some of our operations, as will be found hereafter. Besides it, we had 
fifteen spare rifles, boxed up, and deposited forward with the other heavy goods. We put the weight 
here, to sink our bows well in the water, which is the best method, on account of the snags and 
sawyers in the river. 

In the way of other arms we were sufficiently provided ; each man having a stout hatchet, and 
knife, besides his ordinary rifle and ammunition. Each boat was provided with a camp kettle, three 
large axes, a towing-line, two oil-cloths to cover the goods when necessary, and two large sponges 
for bailing. The piroque had also a small mast and sail, (which I omitted to mention,) and carried 
a quantity of gum, birch-bark and watape, to make repairs with. She, also, had in charge all the 
Indian goods which we had thought necessary to bring with ue, and which we purchased from the 
Missisippi boat. It was not our design to trade with the Indians; but these goods were ofiered us 
at a low rate, and we thought it better to take them, as they might prove of service. They consisted 
of silk and cotton handkerchiefs ; thre-ad, lines and twine ; hats, shoes, and hose ; small cutlery and 
ironmongery ; calicoes and printed cottons ; Manchester goods ; twist and carrot tobacco ; milled 
blankets ; and glass toys, beads, etc., etc. Ail these were done up in small packages, three of which 
were a man's load. The provisions were also put up so as to be easily handled ; and a part was de- 
posited in each boat. We hud, altogether, two hundred weight of poik, six hundred weight of buiscuit, 
and six hundred weight of pemmican. This we had made at Petite Cote, by the Canadians, who 
told us that it was uschI by the Northwest Fur Company in ail their long voyages, when it is feared 
that game may not prove abundant. It is manufactured in a singular manner. The lean parts of 
the flesh of the laiger animals i<3 cut into thin slices, and placed on a wooden grate over a slow fire, 
or exposed to the sun, (as ours was) or sometimes to tlie frosL When it is sufficiently dried in this 
way, it is pounded between two heavy stones, and will then keep for years. If, however, much of it 
is kept together, it ferments upon the breaking up of the frost in the spring, and, if not well exposed 
to the air, soon decays. The inside fat, with that of the rump, is melted down and mixed, in a boil- 
ing state, with the pounded meat, half and half; it is then squeezed into bags, and is ready to eat 
without any farther cooking, being very palatable without salt, or vegetables. The best pemmioaa 
is made with the addition of marrow and dried berries, and is a capital article of food.* Our whisky 
was in carboys, of five gallons each, aixl we had twenty of these, a hundred gallons in alL 

* The pemmican here described by Mr. Rodman is altogether new to us, and is very difierent from 
that with which our readers have no doubt been familiarised in the journals of Parry, Ross, Back, 
and other northern voyagers. This, if we remember, was prepared by long continued boiling of the 
lean meat (carefully excluding fat) until the soup was reduced to a very small proportion of its origi- 
nal bulk, and assumed a pulpy consistency. To this residue, many spices and much salt ware added, 
and great nutriment was supposed to be contained in little bulk. I^'hc positive experience of an 
American surgeon, however, who had an opportunity of witnessing, and experimenting upon, the 
digestive process through an open wound in the stomach of a patient, has demonstrated that ifulk i% 
in itself, an essential in this process, and that consequently the condensation of the nutritive property 
of food, involves, in a great measure, a paradox.*-£ns. G. M. 



THB 40UBNAL OF JULIUS RODHAN4 8SF 



WImb evoj tluDg wa« weU <m botl^, wHh oM whole eompany, inelodi^ Thornton's aog, iM 
found that there was hut little room to iptre, except in the big cabin, which we wished to preserw 
frte of goods, as a sleeping jdaoe in bed weather ; we had nothing in here except aims and aramiuii- 
tiMi, with some beaTer-traps and a carpet of bear-skins. Oor crowded state suggested an expedient 
which ought to have been adopted at all events ; that of detaching four hunters from the party, to* 
coarse along the riyer banks, and keep us in game, as well as to act in capacity of scouts, to wain 
us of the approach of Indians. With this object we procured two good honea^ giving one of them* 
in charge of Robert and Meicdith Greely, who were to keep upon the sooth bank ; and the other 
in charge of Frank and Poindexter (Greely) who were to course along the north side. Dy means 
of the horses they could bring in what game was shot. 

This arrangement relieved our boats very considerably, lessening our number to eleven. In the 
small boat were two of the men fiom Petite Cote, with Toby and Pierre JunoL In th6 large one 
were the Prophet (as we called him) or Alcxandor Wormley, John Greely, Andrew Thornton, 
three of the Fetite C6te men, and myself, with Thornton's dog. 

Our mode of proceeding was sometimes with oars, but not generally ; we most frequently pulled 
ouiselves along by the limbs of trees on shore ; or, where the ground permitted it, we used a tow- 
line, which is the easiest way ; some of ns being on shore to haul, whUo some remained on board, 
to set the boat off shore with poles. Very oflen we poled altogether. In this method, (which is a 
good one when the bottom is not too mnddy. Or full of quicksands, and when the depth of water is 
not too great) the Canadians are very expert, as well as at rowing. They use long, stiff, and light 
polee» pointed with iron ; with these they proceed to the bow of the boat, an equal number of men 
at eeeh side ; the face is then turned to the stem, and the pole inserted in the river, reaching the 
bottom ; a firm hold being thus taken, the boatmen apply Uie heads of the poles to the rixouklery 
which is protected by a cushion, and, pushing in this manner, while they walk along the gunwale, 
the boat is urged forward with great force. There is no necessity for any steersman, while using the 
pole ; for the poles direct the vessel with wonderful accuracy. 

In these various modes of getting along, now and then varied with the necessity of wading, and 
dragging our vessels by hand, in rapid currents, or through shallow water, we commenced our even^ 
fnl voyage up the Missouri river. The skins which were considered as the leading objects cf the 
expedition were to be obtained, principally, by hunting and Crapping, as privately as possible, and 
without direct trade vrith the Indians, whom we had long learned to know as, in the main, a treachenm^ 
raoe^ not to be dealt with safely in so small a party as ours. The furs usually collected by previooa 
adreoturers upon our contemplated route, included beaver, otter, marten, lynx, mink, musquash, bear, 
fox, kitt-fox, wolverine, racoon, fisher, wolf, buffalo, deer, and elk ; but we proposed to confine ouit- 
selves to the more costly kinds. 

The morning on which we set out from Petite C6te was one of the most inspiring, and delicious ; 
and nothing could exceed the hilarity of our whole party. The summer had hardly yet oommeno^, 
and the wind, which blew a strong breeze against us, at first starting, had all the voluptuous softnese 
of spring. The sun shone clearly, but with no great heat The ice had disappeared from the river, 
and the cunent, which w^ pretty full, concealed all those marshy, and ragged alluvia which disfi^^U^ 
the borders of the Missouri at low water. It had now the most majestic appearance, wariiing up 
among the willows and cotton-wood on one side, and rushing, with a bold volume, by the sharp cKffir 
on the other. As I looked up the stream (which here stretched avray to the westward, until tlie 
waters apparently met the sky in the great distan<Se) and reflect^ on the immensity of territory through 
which those waters had probably passed, a tenritority as yet altogether unknown to white people, and 
perhapt abounding in the magnificent works of God, I felt an excitement of soul such as I hadnev^ 
befoie experienced, and secretly resolved that it should be no slight obstacle whidi should p re ve itt 
my poshing op this noble river farther than any previous adventurer had done. At that moment I 
seeined possessed of an energy more than human ; and my animal spirits rose to so high a degkee 
that I could with difficulty content myself in the narrow limits of the boat. I longed to be with the 
Gieelys on the bank, that I might give full vent to the feelings which inspired me, by leaping aikd 
running in the prairie. In these feelings Thornton participated strongly, evincing a deep interest lA 
onr expedition, and an admiration of the beautiful scenery around us, which rendered him froni that 
moment a particular favorite with myself. I never, at any period of my life, felt so keenly as I then 
did, the vrant of some friend to whom I could converse fh^ely, and without danger of being misun- 
derstood. The sudden loss of all my relatives by death, had saddened, but not depressed my spirits, 
which appeared to seek relief in a contemplation of the wild scenes of Nature ; and these scenes and 
the reflections which they encouraged, could not, I found, be thoroughly enjoyed, vrithout the society 
of some one person of reciprocal sentiments. Thornton was precisely the kind of individual to whom 
I ooold unburthen my full heart, and unhurthen it of all its extravagant emotion, without firar of in^ 
earring a shadow of ridicule, and even in the certainty of finding a listener as impassioned as myself. 
I never, before or since, met with any one who so fully entered into my own notions respecting 
natural scenery ; and this circumstance alone was sufiicient to bind him to me in a firm friendship. 
We were as intimate, during our whole expedition, as brothers could possibly be, and I took no steps 
irithoot consulting him, Pierre and myself vrere also friends, bat there wae not the tie of redprooil 

TOL. TId — so, II. s 



84 BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

tkoDght between ua — that ttrongeit of all mortal bonda. Hia nataie, although aensitiye, waa too 
▼olatile, to comprehend all the deTctional fervor of my own. 

The incidentf of the firat day of our voyage had nothing remarkable in them ; except that we had 
tome difficulty in forcing our way, towards nightfall, by the mouth of a largo cave on the tiouth aide of 
the river. Thia cave had a very diamal appearance as we passed it, being situated at the f.>ot of a 
lof^ bluff, full two hundred feet high, and jutting somewhat over the strO'im. We could not distinct- 
ly perceive the depth of the cavern, but it was about sixteen or seventeen feet high, and at least fifty 
in width.* The current ran past it with great velocity, and, as from the nature of the dilf, we could 
not tow, it required the utmost exertion to make our way by it ;. which we at length eflfccted by getting 
all of us, with the exception of one man, into the largo boat. This one remained in the piioque, and 
anchored it below the cave. By uniting our force, then, in lowing, wc brought the largo boat up 
beyond the difficult pass, paying out a line to the piroque as we proceeded, and by this line hauling 
it up after us, when we had faiily ascended. We passed, during the day, Bonhomme, and Osage 
Femmo Riversi, with two small creeks, and several islands of little extent. We made about twenty* 
five^milcs, notwithstanding the head wind, and encamped at night on the north bank, and at the 
foot of a rapid called Diable, 

June the fourth. Eaily this morning, Frank and Poindoxtcr Greely came into our camp with 
a Sai buck, upon which we all breakfasted in high glee, and afterwards pushed on with spirit. At 
the Diable rapid, the current seta with much force against some rocks which jut out from the south, 
and render the navigation difficult. A shoit distance above this we met with several quicksand bariy 
which put US to trouble; the banks of the river here fall in continually, and, in the process of time^ 
must greatly alter the bed. At eight o*clock we had a fine fresh wind from the eastward, and, with 
its assistance, made rapid progress, so that by night we had gone perhaps thirty miles, or more. We 
passed, on the north, the river Du Bois, a creek called CharitiS,-}- and several small islands. The 
rive^ waa rising fast as wo came to, at night, under a gioup of cotton-wood tiees, there being no 
ground near at hand upon which we were disposed to encamp. It was beautiful weather, and I felt 
too much excited to sleep ; so, asking Thornton to accompany mo, I took a stioll into the country, 
and did not letum until nearly daylight The rest of our crew occupied the cabin, for the first time, 
and found it quite roomy enough for five or six more persons. They had been disturbed, in the night, 
by a strange noise overhead, on deck, the origin of which they bad not been able to ascertain ; aa, 
when some of the party rushed out to see, the disturber had disappeared. From the account given 
Af the noise, I concluded that it must have proceeded from an Indian dog, who had scented our freak 
provisions (the buck of yesterday) and was endeavoring to make off with a portion. In thia view I 
-felt perfectly satisfied ; but the occurrence suggested the great risk we ran in not posting a regular 
watch at night, and it was agreed to do so for the future. 

Having thus given, in Mr. Rodman's own words, the incidents of the two first days of the voyage, 
we forbear to follow him minutely in his passage up the Missouri to the mouth of the Platto, at 
which he arrived on the tenth of August. The character of the river throughout this extent is ao 
well known, and has been so frequently described, that any farther account of it is unnecessary ; and 
the Journal takes note of little else, at this portion of the tour, than the natural features of the 
country — together with the ordinary boating and hunting uccurrences. The party made three 
oeveral halts fur the purpose of trapping, but met with no great success ; and finally concluded to 
posh farther into the heart of the country, before making any regular attempts at collecting peltriea. 

* The cave here mentioned is that called the <* Tavern" by the traders and boatmen. Some 
grotesque images are painted on the clifis, and commanded, at one period, great respect from the In^ 
'dians. In speaking of this cavern. Captain Lewis says that it is a hundred and twenty feet wide, 
twenty feet high, and forty deep, and that the blufis overhanging it are nearly three hundred feet 
high. We wish to call attention to the circumstance that, in every point, Mr. R.'s Account fatb short 
of Captain Lewis's. With all his evident enthusiasm, our traveller is never prone to the exaggeration 
of facts. In a great variety of instances like the present, it will Iw found that his statements respecting 
quantity (in the full sense of the term) always fall within the truth, as this truth is since ascertain* 
ed. We regard this as a remarkable trait in his mind ; and it is assuredly one which should entitle 
hifl obaervations to the highest credit, when ihey concern regions about which we know nothing be- 
yond these observations. In all points which relate to effects, on the contrary, Mr. Rodman's peculiar 
tenipeiament leads him into excess. For example, he speaks of the cavern now in question, as of a 
dismal appearance, and the coloring of his narrative respecting it is derived principally from the 
aombre hue of his own spirit, at the time of passing the rock. It will be as well to bear these dis- 
tinctions in mind, as we read his journal. His facts are never heightened ; his impressions from these 
fiicta must have, to ordinary perceptions, a tone of exaggeration. Yet there is no falsity in this ex* 
■ggeration, except in view of a general sentiment upon the thing seen and described. As regaids 
ilia own mind, the apparent gaudiness of ccior is the absolute and only true tint, — Ena. G. M. 

f La ChanUef Du Bois ia no doubt Wood riv«r^— Eds. G. M. 



THE TOITNO TEAK 



85 



Onlj two erents, of moment, are recorded, for the two months which we omit. One of theee 
the death of a Canadian, Jacques Laazanne, by the bite of a rattle-snake ; the other was the en- 
coonteiing a Spanish commission sent to intercept and turn the party back, by order of the commandant 
of the province. The oiiicei in charge of the detachment, however, was so much interested in the 
expedition, and took so great a fancy to Mi. Rodman, that our tiavellers were permitted to proceed. 
Many small bodies of Osage and Kanzas Indians hovered occasionally about the boats, but eTinoed 
nothing of hostility. We leave the voyagers for the present, therefore, at the mouth of the rWer 
Platte, on the tenth of August, 1791 — their number having been reduced to fouiteen. 



THE YOUNG TEAR 



T lO 



8 . D V BO && 



KoT for the gifts thy sparing hand bestows— 
Not for the smiles thy ductile checks disclose- 
Not for the hopes thy flattering lips betray — 
(All, but the visioned semblances of truth !) 
I sing of thee, bright youth ! 
I would not bid thy nimble pinions stay ; 
Nor cease, though irksome, thine imperious sway : 
Thy garb of mingled misery and crime, 

Offspring of Time ! 
Were robbed, aUs ! of many a lovelier hue, 
Since good, as well as ill, were ended too ! 
I would not bid thee stay thy wild career ! 
Though sorrow come obedient to thy call, 

SUU, life is dear ! 
It hath a thousand ties ! It is not all 
One sad, unvarying, spirit-wounding, sphere : 
It hath its changes, and its calms, like Uiose 

Which nature knows, 
When the rough tempest lulls, and seeks repose. 

Tes, life is dear ! even in its stormiest hours — 
Who Would not live, e'en though to live were vain ? 
Oh! who would die, (death is not strewed with 

flowers!) 
And seek perchance unutterable pain 1 
Ev'n death's own chosen, see ! they linger here, 
Choosing earth's bitterness — its galling chain 
Of linked-up toil and anguish — as in fear; 
Seeking, yet shunning, that eternal clime, 
Whose mighty wings o'ershadow human time. 
Still, thou canst bring us little here but wo ! 
The heartless, hopeless, reckless, idiotrthrong, 
They of the wine-cop, of the feast, the song, 

The revel, and the dance— 
They may look moveless on thy changbg brow : 
They may not quail beneath thy thrilling glance. 

Nor heed thy warning tone: 
Spring's maiden blush, and sammer*s rosy prime. 
Autumn's rich breath, and winter's hoary clime- 
No seasons differ to the heedless eye ! 

Well! well! pass on I 
They who will live like brutes, so let them die. 

But there are more for whom thou hast no frown ! 
The gay, light, laugh of chiMhood, mocks thy 
power: 



Thou canst not cast thy chilling shadow dowv 
Upon its golden moments, for its hour 
Of sinless merriment though brief, is one 
Voluptuously happy ! Like the sun. 
It is all brightness ! Dimless, glorious all- 
Care cannot mar, nor grief its beauty pall I 

Tet thou'rt an eloquent monitor t Thy birth 

The dreamy past now vividly recalls ! 

Its prurient hopes, its triumphs, and its mirtl^ 

Love's rosy hours and joyous festivals— 

They steal upon the memory as falls 

The timid twilight o'er the quiet earth, 

So dimly, yet so pleasingly ! Alss ! 

That aught unlovely should its limning btight ; 

But lo ! upon the retrospective glass, 

What hideous objects meet our quivering sight ( 

What ill-spent moments— murdered talents, pass I 

What sins innumerable— black as night! 

Till sick and std, the humbled spirit moume. 

And from the faithful picture, shuddering tnioib 

Oh ! thour't a neacherous Tiiiter to man t 
Thy futile promises how fair they seem ! 
Thou hast for all some mighty scene began. 
Of glory, love, of honor ! And we deem 
(Though now deceiyed, and cheated, o'er and o'er,} 
Each new creation perfect as before ! 
Aye ! thou art treacherous. Thy face was joy— 
Thy birth-day smiles the brightest thou hast worn. 
And the fond heart leapt gUd, when thoa waet 

born — 
Say! most inconstant boy. 

Is my heart lighter 1 

Are my hopes brighter 1 
Are any happier than they were that mom ! 
Few, ah ! how few ! But hast thou scathed nonet 
Crushed passions — broken pledges — are around. 
Disease, misfortune, penury's sad moan — 
Are not these poisoning attributes thine own 1 
Thou'rt not too merciful, alas! to wound: 
Well, thou art young ; thou hast a brave career; 
Thou mayst improve, perchance, then : yet I feer 
That they who deemed themselves in thee so Ueet 
Will find thee litUe better than the rest! 
Pluladslphb, Janaarj if, lUa 



THE LEARNED DUNCE. 



B^&0« T«B llkXSieK. 



I wcfrr some time since, in company "with an intimate friend, to a aoirwc, held aome d i ilma » 
frofl»Plirie, at the house of a mutnal friend lately manied. When we entered, three ladiea wei« in 
the aH of executing a trio. The husband introduced us to his wife, a pretty looking penoD«ga» Ut 
whom I expressed my regret that I had not been able to pay my respects earlier. 

" I must scold your husband for keeping you so secluded from the woild," said I. 

" It is true, monsieur, that wc lead a very retirad. life ; but I love solitude, for indeed the gay 
world hath but little charms for me." 

I looked at my friend, who said, in a low tone, ** This is a woman of genius." 

*' If I mistake not, we have missed some very fine music." 

" You have, indeed, gentlemen; you have missed an exquisite trio of Beethoven's. Oh, what a 
genius was Beethoven ! What soul ! How mystical is his harmony ! How his modnlationa seem 
to embody themselves with each other, and to plunge the soul into strange reveries.*' 

My friend looked at me with astonishment 

" This woman is indeed a genius," said I, in a low tone. 

" No ! Germany has not produced Beethoven's equal," continued the lady. 

" MMla»e forgets Mosart and Weber." 

*' Were they German compoeen ?" 

I was stttpifkd; How ! she knows Beethoven, and 

A very animated* diseuasion oanried on between two amateur paintera at this moment attnclsd'th* 
attention of the lady to another anbjeet. They were speaking of arabeaqnea. 

" Arahenipea or moi«aqiie8,"'sakl' the lady ; ** l admire those ornaments of acolptiire^paintiiii^ 
and of architecture formed of ibliage of leaves, of figures of animals, of plants, or ofiroaginaiy beingik. 
Have 3Poa nMDarked» gentfenien, that in the houses of the Mahometans,. the mcnresquea never otm- 
tain the figures of animals 1" 

*«But ■■■ ■■■ . " ' 



**liiB tiue-, geatlemeR, for the lew of Mahomet expressly forbida the employment of h 
beasts, or of aninMted beinga in arabesques." 

' My surpriw wee eetreme. Mf friend stared with wonder, and it waa with great difficollj that 
we could disguia^ our tfaonghta ; bat seme one asked just at the moment her opinion of fieecoea* 

*<■ Vfeaoeeel' what ere they 1 Are they the ancients 1" 

I was dumb wsth Barpriae. How eould this radango of education and ignorance be •eooanted' 
fof t ' IHdrshe dt»^ it wttfoHy 1 Win it from some feminine malice, to servo some private porpoee of 
het* ossnl 

The converaetion then took an hietorical turn. They spoke of the ancient Greeks and Atheniani. 
Some oaenamsdAepesia. 

**>ffe«) women," ahe aaid, *« couM boast of exercising such infl^ience over a people. Goortenm. 
and philosopher, she numbered among her pupils and bvers, Socratea and Alcibiadea. Stack waa 
the powe< she^hed over the heart of Peridea, that he repudiated his wife to espouse the fidr HUmip 



ese." 



Mysotfian^ friend ageift loeked at eacd> odier with astonishment 

<« Yes," replied I, *44he waea woman with talents of the fltat order. Then her popalarityythv 
elo^ocBoe. All the youth of Athens cerae to the classes of Aspasta, when she delivered thah^ 
langoes of DemosCheflesw" 

^Banmthme$J*' ciied the lady, *« who was she?^ 

Music now broke up the conversetioD, my friend and I. not knowing what to think of the ao» 
complisbmantsand ridiculous mistakes of our fkir hostess. What was the meaning of thia fikmi- 
liarity with certain names, and her entire ignorance of certain others. The enigma had someUuDC 
piquante about it, and I reftscted upon it during the remainder of the evening. 

The next day my friend entered my apartment, and cried, ** The problem is solved;" Thave joal 
returned from our friend's house ; he has bought a pocket Cyclopedia, which his wife ia committing 
to memoiy, and it is extremely natural for her to commence at the commencement ; ahe haaatudied 
A, dM'AroktBquet, AMpottia, and the others ; but of course as yet she knows nothing of Demodh> 
nef , nor Fracoegf nor Mozarit no* y^eber, for the wife of our friend is receiving her education ia 
aiphabetieai order." 

Thia wae the truth. 

Some days after I again visited the foraele scholar ; the discourse turned upon.potitica. She he- 
raqgued with much energy upon the talents of Dantorif the revoIuUomst It appeared ahe had ar- 
rived at^thelstler D. 

NovB^-^We think from what we have seen of the above named Dictionary^ that in about filteeii 
yeais from this time tbelu^ aeholer will be eUe to disoooiae upon tibe merita of Zpo/io^y and of the 
(alentfl of Zoroaster, 



PETER PENDULUM, 



THE fiUSINBaS MAN. 



BT SOSAB A. POE. 



Kt iiMM U IVaJBtini Piiwr Pftndikm. I mb « bufineM bimi. I am a metlioAioal ffiin. M»- 
tbod ti /A« ihnif, after all. Bat (heie ai« na peoplt I iiicipe WcartHy ^ .i pia e thnn ymnr aceeMrklbaib 
w^o pralc aboQt aathod 'Wttkoat Dn^tiMtAding it; anandiiif iMrklhf lo ka fHter, and naMftf its 
spirit Theae feUowa are always domg Che moat ou&«f-lli»-way thinga in fviiat their call an Mdtrly 
manner. Now here— I conceive it — is a positive paradox. True method appertains to the ordi- 
nary and the obvious alone, and cannot lie applied to tlM ouff^-* What definite iilca can a h&&f at- 
tach to such expressions as *' a methtxlical Jack o*Daudy/* er ** a systematical Will o' the Wiap V 

Vff notions upon this head might not have been so clear as they are, nor should I have been so 
wtil to do in the worid as f am, but for a fortunate accident which happened to me when I was A 
ipiiry little boy. A good-hearted old IriRh nurae (whom I shall not forget in niy will) look, me np 
ooa d%y by the hoeU, when I was making more noise than was necesaary, and, swinging me round 

two or three timoa, d d my eyes fiw ** a skrneking Uttle opalpeen," and then knocked ray head 

into a eocked bat against the bed-post. This, [ say, deddi'xl my fate, and made my fortune. A tre 
mendous buoip got up at or.ce on my ainciptit, and turned out to he aa pretty an organ of order aa 
one shall aee on a attmmer's day. Hencv that positive tppethe for system and regularity which has 
made me tlie ^Uatingaiabed man of busineis that 1 am. 

If there is any thing on earth I hate, it is a genius. Yonr genioaea are alt arrant aaaea — ^the 
greater the genius the greater tlie as s a n d to this mie there is no exception whatever. Etptcially, 
JOQ cannot make a man of business out of a genius, any more than money out of a Jew, or the 
beat nutmegs ont of pine-knota. I'lie creatures are always going off at a tangent into s.ime fantaa- 
tie employment, or ridiculous speculation, cntiiely at variance with the ** fitness of thiui^*," and huw* 
ing no business whatever to bo conaidered as a bnsinesa at alL Thus you may tell these charactera 
Immediately by the nature of their occupations. If ever you perceive a man setting up as a mer- 
disBt, or a manofactnrer ; or gving into the cutton or teftmcco tiade, or any of thoee eccentric par* 
Mts; or getting to he a d/y-gooda deslei, or soap-boiler, or something of that kind ; or prstendkig 
to be a lawyer, or a hlaeksmith, or a physician— any thing out of the Uf«uai way-^if over, in dhort, 
jcm. aee a conceited fellow running heela-over-head into the patent-blacking, or linen-di aping, or dog- 
■nut hue, you may aet him down at onoe as a genius, and then, according to the rule^MlM, h6*a 

•n BBS. 

Now my name is Pctci Pendulum, and I am not in any respect a geniud, but a regular bnsineia 
man. My Day-Book and I«edger would evince this in a minute. They ate well kept, though I my 
It myaelf; and in my general habits of accuracy and (HinctUAlity, I am not to be beat by a doek.-^ 
Moreover, my occupations have lieen always made to chime in with the oidinary habitudes of my 
fellow men. Not that I feel in the least indebted, u)>on this score, to my exceedingly weak-minded 
parents, who, beyond doubt, would have mad? nn arrant genius of me at last, if my guardian attge! 
had not c^mw, in good time, to the reecue. In biography the troth is every thing, and in auto-hio- 
giBphy it ij< especially so— yet I scarcely ho|)a to be believed when I state, however solemnly, ihtt 
my poor father put me, when I was about fifteen years of age, into the counting-house of what h^ 
ridicaloasly termed ** a respectable haitlwarc and commission meichant, doing a capital bit ot bntl- 
neaar* A capital bit of fiddleatiek ! However, the consequenre of this folly was, that, in two OT 
three days, I had to lie sent home to my button-headed family in a high state of fev«r, and with A 
moat violent btkI dangerous pain in the sincipat, all round abont my bic ontan of order. It wai 
■early a gone case with mt* then— just toucli-and-go for six weeks — the physicians giving me up, 
and all that sort of thing. But although I sufteied much, I was a thankful Imy in the main. I tfU 
saved fi-om being a ** respectable hardware and commisaion merchant, doing a capital bit of busineaB,'* 
and I felt grateful to the protuberance which had been the means of my salvation, as well aa to Ib^ 
kind-hearted frish female who hod originally put these means within my reach. I shall ramefnfbtt 
tfaMt fine old name in my will. 

The meat of boys mn away from home at ten or twelve years of age, but I wailed till I wai dr- 
teen, I don't know that I ahioald have even gone just then, if I had not happened to hear old Mfi. 
Peodalnm talking about aetting me up on my own hook in the grocery way. The grocery way f— 
only think of that ! I resolved to be off forthwith, and try and eatablish myself in some decent od- 
eapBtioo, without daoelng attendance any longer upon the capiieea of these eccentric old peopti, 
•Dd nmniag the risk of bebig made a genios of in the end. In thla project I succeeded perfcedjr 



88 burton'b obntlbman's magazinb. 

well at the firet effort, and, by the time I was fairly eighteen, found myself doing an exteniiTe 
profitable business in the Tailors' Walking-Adveitisement line. 

I was enabled to discharge the onerous duties of thu profession only by that rigid adherence to 
system which formed ihe leading feature of my mind. A scrupulous method characterized my ac- 
tions, as well as my accounts. In my case, it was method — not money — which made the man ; at 
least all of him that was not made by the tailor whom I served. At nine, eveiy morning, I called 
opon that individual for the clothes of the day. Ten o'clock found me in some fashionable prome- 
nade, or other place of public amusement. The prcciiMs regularity with which I turned my hand* 
some person about, so as to bring successively into view every portion of the suit upon my back, 
was the admiration of all the knowing men in the trade. Noon never passed without my bringing 
home a customer to the house of my employers, Messieurs Cut and Comeagain. I say this proud- 
ly, but with tears in my eyes — for the firm proved themselves the basest of ingrates. The little ac- 
count about which we quarrelled and finally parted, cannot, in any item, be thought oveicharged, 
by gentlemen really conversant with the nature of the business. Upon this point, however, I feel 
% degree of proud satisfaction in permitting the reader to judge foi himself. My bill ran thus : 

Mtaieura Cut and Comeagain^ Merchant TaUora, 

7b Peter Pendulum^ Walking Advertisement, Dks. 

July 10. To promenade, as usual, and customer brought home, $00 36 

11. To do. do. do. 26 

12. To one lie, second class, damaged black cloth sold for invisible green, - • 26 

13. To one lie, first class, extra quality and size, recommending milled sattinett as 

bioadciotb, •---........ 76 

20. To purchasing bran new paper shirt collar, or dickey, to set oflf gray Petersham, 2 

Aug* 16. To wearing double-padded bob-tail frock, (thermometer 206 in the shade,) - 26 

16. To standing on one leg three hours, to show off new-touch strapped pants, at 

12j cts. per leg, per hour, ......... 37} 

17. To promenade, as usual, and large customer brought home, (fat man,) - - 60 

18. To do. do. (medium size,) ....... 26 

19. To do. do. (small man and bad pay,) ..... 6:^ 

$% 96{ 

The item chiefly disputed in this bill was the very moderate charge of two pennies for tho dickey. 
Upon my word of honor, this ivaa not an unreasonable price for that dickey. It was one of the 
cleanest and prettiest little dickeys I ever saw; and I have good leason to believe that it effected the 
tale of three Petershams. The elder partner of the firm, however, would allow only one penny of 
Ihe charge, and took it upon himself to show in what manner foui of the same sized conveniences 
could be got out of a Hheet of foolscap. But it is needless to say that I stood upon tho principle of 
the thing. Bubinoss U business, and should be done in a business way. There was no system 
whatever in swindling me out of a penny — a clear fraud of lilly per cent. — no method in any re- 
spect My organ of order revolted. So. thanks to that kind old Irish lady, (whom I shall be sore 
to remember in my will,) I left, at once, the employment of Messieurs Cut and Comeagain, and set 
up in the £ye-Sore line by myself — one of the most lucrative, respectable, and independent of the 
erdinary occupations. 

My strict integrity, economy, and rigoious business habits, heie again came into play. I found 
myaelf driving a flourishing trad«, and soon became a marked man upon 'Change. The truth is, I 
never dabbled in flashy matters, but jogged on in the guod old sober routine of the calling — a call-^ 
ing in which I should no doubt have remained to the present hour, but for a little accident which 
happened to me in the prosecution of one of the usual business operations of the profession. When- 
e^r a rich old hunks, or prodigal heir, or bankrupt corporation, gets into the notion of putting ap 
a palace, there is no such thing in the world as stopping either of them, and this every intelligent 
person knows. The fact in question is indeed the basis of the Eye-Sore trade. As soon, therefore, 
as a building-project is fairly afi>ot by one of these parties, we merchants secure a nice comer of tba 
lot in contemplation, or a piime little situation just adjoining, or right in fiont This done, we wait 
mill the palace is half-way up, and then we pay some tasty architect to run us up an ornamental 
mud hovel right against it, or a Down-East or Dutch Pagoda, or any ingenious little bit of fiuicj 
work, either Esquimau, Kickapoo, or Hottentot Of course, we can't afibrd to take these stmo- 
tmes down under a bonus of five Ixundred per cent upon the prime cost of our lot and plaster. Can 
wa 1 I ask the question. I ask it of business men. It would be irrational to suppose that wa can. 
And jet there was a rascally corporation which asked me to do this very thing — this very tkmgf 
I did not reply to their absurd proposition, of course ; but I felt it a duty to go that same lugfat and 
lamp-black the whole of their palace. For this, the nnieasonable villains clapped me in jail ; and 
Hm fntlemen of the Eye-Sore trade conld not wall avoid catting mj connexion when I came aoL 



PETER PENDULUM. 89 

The Assault and Battery business, into which I was now forced to adventure for a livelihood, 
was one somewhat illy adapted to the delicate natuie of my constitution ; but I went to work in it 
with a good heait, and found my account, here as heretofore, in those stern habits of methodical ac- 
curacy which had been thumped into me by that delightful old nurse — I would indeed be the basest 
of men not to remember her well in my will. By olvserving, as I say, the strictest system in all my 
dealings, and keeping a w^U-regulated set of books, I was enabled to get over many serious difficul- 
ties, and, in the end, to establish myself very decently in the piofession. The truth is, that few iiK 
dividuais in my line did a snugger little business than I. I will just copy out a page or so of my 
Day-Book ; and this will save me ihe necessity of blowing my own trumpet — a contemptible practice, 
of which no high-minded man will be guilty. Now, the Day-Book is a thing that don't lie. 

** Jan. 1. — New Year's day. Met Snap in the street, groggy. Mem — ho'll do. Met Gruff shortly 
afterwards, hiiad drunk. Mem — he'll answer, too. Entered both gentlemen in my Ledger, and open- 
ed a running account with each. 

Jan. 2. — Saw Snap at the Exchange, and went up and tTo<l on his toe. Doubled his fist, and 
knocked me down. Good ! — got up again. Some trifling difficulty with Bag, my attorney. I 
want the damages at a thousand, but he says that for so simple a knock-down we can't lay them at 
more than five hundred. Mem — must get rid of Bag — no system at all. 

Jan. 3. — Went to the theatre, la look for Gruff. Saw him sitting in a side box, in the second 
tier, between a fat lady and a lean one. Quizzed the whole set through an opera-glass till I saw the 
fiit lady blush and whisper to G. Went round then into the box, and put my nose within reach of 
his hand. Wouldn't pull it — no go. Wiped it, and tried again — no go. Sat down then, and wink- 
ed at the lean lady, when I had the high satisfaction of finding him lift me up by the nape of the 
neck, and fling me over into the pit. Neck dislixrated, and light leg capitally fpliniered. Wear 
home in high glee, drank a bottle of champagne, and booked the young man for five thousand. Ba^ 
says it '11 do. 

Feb. 15. — Compromised the case of Mr. Snap. Amount entered in Journal — fifty cents — which 
see. 

Feb. 16. — Oast by that villain Gruff, who made mo a piesenl of five debars. Costs of suit, four 
doltvs omd twenty-five cents. Nett profit — see Journal — seventy-five cents." 

Now, here is a clear gain, in a very brief period, of no less than one dollar and twenty-five cents — 
this in the mere cases of Snap and Gruff; and I solemnly assure the reader that these extracts are 
taken at random from my Day-Book. 

It's an old saying, and a true one, however, that money is nothing in comparison with health. I 
found the exactions of the profession somewhat too much for my delicate state of body ; and, dis- 
covering at last that I was knocked out of all shape, so that I didn't know very well what to make 
of the matter, and my friends, when they met mc in the street, couldn't tell that I was Peter Pen- 
dulum at all, it occurred to me that the best expedient I could adopt was to alter rhy lino of busi- 
ness. I am now, therefoie, in the Mud-Dabbling way, and have been so for some years. 

The worst of this occupation i«< lli.it too many people take a fancy to it. and the competition is, 
in consequc'nce, excessive. Every ignoramus of a fellow who finds that he hasn't brains in suffi- 
cient quantity to make his way as a walkinc-advertiscr, or an eye-t>ore prig, or a s<ilt and baiter man, 
thinks, of course, that he'll answer veiy well am a dabbler of mud. But there never was entertain- 
ed a more erroneous idea than that it requhei? no brains to mud-dabble. Especially, there is nothing 
to be made in this way without method. I do only a retail business myself, but my old habits of 
system carry me swimmingly along. I selected my street crossing, in the first place, with great de- 
liberation, and I never put down a broom in any part of the town but that. I take caie, too, to* 
hmve a nice little puddle at hand, which I can get at in a minute. By these means I have now got 
to be well known as a man to be trusted ; and this is one-half the battle, let me tell you, in trade; 
Nobody ever fails to pityh me a copper, and gets over my crossing with a clean psv of pantaloons. 
And, as my business habits in this respect are suflliciently understood, I never meet with any attempt 
at imposition. I wouldn't put up with it, if f did. Never imposing upon any one myself, I suf^r 
no one to play the possum with me. The frauds of the banks I can't, of course, help. Their in- 
fiunous suspension has put me to ruinous inconvenience. These, however, are not individuals, but 
oorporutions ; and corporations, it is very well known, have neither posteiiots to be kicked, nor souls 
to be damned. 



A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 

onO TSVXT XULUM, M ▲ B I D A M M A P P A V TSKST A K H A . 

In an old book now before us, the above line is said to have cost Ihe inventor ** muche fooUshe 
labyre/' for it is a perfect verae, and every word is the very same both backward and forward. 



80M£ FA8THJ5R CHAPTERS 



f;r 



THE MIAMI VALLEY. 



BT ▲ ^lOVXyR OF OHIO. 



PHAPTER II. 

f»^Qvo^ the succeeding night we were all secureljr jbjound, with two giutrdf to Wfttch «•; vn^ 
they did their duty well, for they did not sleep one wink during the whole night. The ^g^ith W€ 
flf^ed btoth physically and mentally was oif the severest kind. The cords which passed oifur par 
VjeqI^ If ere (^rawn so firmly that they weie buried in the flesh, and caused the most ezquifi|a piim^ 
Kprhile the bitterness of a death at the stsjLe haunted us all night; of course we could not sleep. 

W^ were bound near each other, and Girty kept his keen eyes on me constantly, which fhifWBft 
ffiked me in their gaase if I could not slip my cords, but that was impossible. Various Mmes h^ tried 
to loosen his hands by biting the bufislo thongs with his teeth, but their hardness prevented it, ami 
Ij^ Indians* eyof w^e upon us if we moved, and a violexU stroke across the heed with a club w«# <Nir 
reward. 

^ ^her a night which appeared almost of a week^s duration, the gray twilight began to render thuigs 
visible, and the Indians awoke. They built a fire and cooked and ate their breakfasts before us witli- 
put ofierinj^ us a bite, antlithen, unloosening our feet, th^y prepared to start. So far, it was an mter 
imposAibility to escape, but wie had not yet given up all hope, ior aAer a while they migh^ ralM iOBi* 
of their yigilance. 

\ye were taken in a aouthfvest ditection, and travelled till nqop, with two warriors cpnptMliy tl 
the aide of each of us. Then we again stopped, and our csptois cooked their diapers, am^ m iMr 
jwrqr gave ns each a mputhful of venison, which was piob^ly burnt \po much ibr their tailes. 
Tkv^ wo trareUed till we neachpd the Qhip riyer, about twenty miles below Cincinnati, whipe tilif 
k^ff^ to prepare rafts to cross. The river had swollen with recent rains till it h^d ip many yltifm 
qjf§i$9wei its banks, ^d now looked terrific, and I owu I ^^ ' 0"^ di«>gTecable sensations in crenii^ 
fttdj^ a mad looking river upon a frail raft, with both my hai^dl? tied behind me; hut 9ff there wee 9# 
alternative, we prepared to crpss it without the least apparefit symptom of fear. We now began it 
aoepect that we were to be carried over in Kentucky, to soi^e fiiendly tribe of Indians, where we 
ffttp tp he burnt for their amusement, aud we determined that evening to make our escape or loia 
our liYes in striving for it, for the next morning we were to he carried over the waters, where escape 
WeuM he di^icnlt. 

I labored under more anxiety during a part of the subsequent night than I ever did in the same 
apace of time in my life. I lay upon my back listening to the deep voice of the waters, as Ihey 
whirled and splashed against the bank? and ever and anon a part of the perpendicular hank would 
give way, and fall with a heavy splash into the river, which caused all other sensations but those «(r 
agreeahleness, for the night was damp and co|d, and we all kpow what an unwelcome sou^d wattr 
hif^ to oi^e who }» aufiering from cold. 

There was 4 mesentiment within me which appeared to whisper that all could not opd well — tlial 
our time had at length — after our many vicissitudes and narrow escapes— ariived; and that we mam 
were destined to be burnt at the stake. This was the first time I ever permitted myself to heoome 
dpwn-hearted ; for if one wishes to escape from dangers, a light heart and a hold spitit must be within 
l^jni. Our hands and feet were tied securely with thongs as solid as iron bars, and Girty's haada, in 
•special, were tied till the hard thongs penetrated the flesh ; without a kniDo it would he ap utter 
impossibility to get free. One of the guards sat very near Girty, who could easily have reached hli 
kirife had he slept, but the fellow's eyes were widely cxtendtul — he scarcely winked. 

Morning slowly came; still we were bound, and there was no help for us. During the night I 
tried inefTectually to gnaw the thongs, but their hardness broke my teeth — it was an utter impossibility, 
and I gave it up in despair. With the first led streaks of morning the Indians were up, and busily 
striving to get some sm^U ponies upon the rafh*, but the beasts gave such evident proofs that they 
possessed nothing of an amphibious nature about them, that with all the beating they received, they 
eoold not be forced to venture nearer than ten feet of the water. At length the Indians' patience 
gave out, and they threw the ponies upon their backs, by entangling their feet with slipnooscs, and then 
bj m^n force dragged them on the rafU. Thia bnsiness occupied the whole morning, during which 
time we were as buaily occupied striviog to unlooaeii t^e thongs whitdi boai)|l us ; for at tin^f the 



TH5 UlAUl VALLEY. 4H. 

.whpio pr the sjLva j;es* allcuiion wae cixupletely 4ra«rn towards the boraes. Girty a^ ojgie fififjfid 
weeded Ul uoloofening one bwiU, but afeUovir espied blip befUro be could free tbe other, »iji4 Wiffi 
i» loud xeU, 9pr«ng npoja him, and cebouiibl il, draw^p^ the Jknota with all the foipe heco.uld aunmonQiV* 

Haying zQade all their ^irwgomeata, we Jbauuchcd gut fndl rtfis, and started for tbe Kentucl^ 
aborej .and after paasing tbiiough a vaoet^r of inuoineo^ p^U, .we landed safely, and by the tiipe the 
borses weio landed the sun bec^n to descend. The Indians prepared to cook their suppers. Tbif^ 
gVfi OS about enough to barely su|ypoct eiistence, and we swallowed it whole, lUiLe half-(amlgbie^ 
wolfea. During the whole oiigbt wo •were closely watdhed, so tha^ our sligbteat movcpi^ waa 
luiova, and after a period apparently of a week's duration, the second morning of qnu captiyi)^ ar- 
rived. We started with the first appearance of fti» sun i the tcav^Uing was diffiault, fo,r bius pf 
^inty jock* continually' met our view, and instead of Ihe fertile land of the Ohio we gazed vjwn a 
Jteala'«Qilt coogpoaed of sand and flintstonea. The trees weie few and atnnted, and tbe gaiOfe SVM 
TAj^^acaroe; not even ibe feathered .tsibe appeared with their songs about us, but all around 4|e bl^ 
.tb^ aspect of an arid desert, conp^iared with Ibe beautiful and luxuriant bottom we had Isit Ojfr 
OMslens .whipped us ahead xapidly, hut hunger and Uirtreatcaent bad made us stubborn ; and kaoir- 
M|g,4>r Atieaat feadng, that we were marching to extecutioa, we took every opportunity of injuqn^ 
«ur enemies. 

The reader will pardon me for singing the praise of one to whom much praise is due, for if any 
pioneer of the west merited praise, it was undoubtedly Thomas Girty, many of whose deeds I have 
passed over— deeds which might be of thrilling interest, but the space allotted me will not 
permit of their being recounted. Passing over the flinty stones became so troublesome that at length 
Girty sat upon a log, and declared he would not go a step farther. Tbe Indians tried force, bat 
found their prisoner too stubborn to be moved ; they then resorted to persuasion, but with as little 
success ; with a thundering exclamation of anger, a large Indi&n drew out his ramrod, and commenced 
laying it over Girty *s shoulders with all his might; Girty 's eyes shot fire, and springing from the 
log, he jumped about four feet high, and kicked the fellow so severely in the breast as to deprive him 
of broatb. A lelativc of the unfortunate fellow now commenced a furious fist fight upon Girty, which 
he retaliated by kicking with his feet ; this game highly pleased the Indians, who laughed and yelled 
to see the sport, pArticuIarly as Girty had the best of the fight At length another Indian sprang op, 
and drew his knife, but the others drew him back and held him, while they continued hallooing for 
the white man. The Indian soon got tired of this sport, and drew off his forces, after being rather 
discomfited in the scuffle. Ilie fellow never forgave Giity for this, but with the inveteracy of •on 
Indian enemy, persecuted him as long as he could, and voted for our deaths. 

About four o*clock we arrived at the outskirts of an Indian village, where a loud whooping com- 
menced, and was answered from the town, when we were soon surrounded with a hundred men, 
women, and children, who greeted us with a thousand maUgnant looks, plentifully mingled -wkh 
blows from every quarter. The treatment we here received was severe to what we had befbie re- 
leived, which was mildness comparatively. After beating us till we were sore all over, we were 'led 
to their council house, which was very large and covered with long strips of bark. Here about My 
aavages sat to condemn us — I will not say judge us — for when the question was put — ** should we 
be burned," they were all in the affirmative, as their voting proved. 

Contrary to the usual custom, we weie not stripped nor blacked, but vrith our clothes on,nvewere 
ted to an Indian lodge, and bound more firmly than ever, which caused exquisite pain. For avrilHe 
we were leA alone, and then we tried with all the force of desperation to loosen the cords, bat it 
«ould not be effected, they were too hard, and too firmly tied. 

*< There is but one chance for us,'' said Girty, " which is to wait patiently till we are to 'be 'led out 
to execution ; as soon as wo are unbound we will kill the persons who come for us, make Qureaoaps 
and trust to our heels and luck for the rest; and, above all, don*t be down-hearted." 

This plan, although so desperate, seemed the only one, and we^finally agreed to adopt it, onleaa 
one of us shonld chance to free his hands, vrfaen he might free the other's. 

Three Indians now came in, and after spitting in our faces, to show their utter detestatioB of us— 
« thing which needed no such proof— they built up a fire, for the evening was chilly, and-todk diiir 
aeats near it After talking in a rapid manner, two went away ; and tbe remaining fellow, vrtio* was 
a very large and fiit Indian, prepared to spend the evening with us. ^ 

It is said that corpulency contributes in a great measure to render us good natured ; vshather the 
theory be true or not I do not pretend to say, but it proved true in the case of out guard, whO'Wa^a 
very merry individual, and shook his fat sides continually, apparently at nothing, onless it was at 
our distress. He had picked up a smattering of our language somewhere among the whites, and 
spoke with sufficient fluency to be understood by us, with the assistance of our smattering of his 
own language. 

** Pale face smtfll fire in morning— very good— cold day," and the feUow shook his aides at what 
fae probably thought was a good joke. 

** If you don't cease that, 111 kick your j^w off,'' said Girty, with a seowl sulfieieiitly outnoiiiio 
five the fellow an idea of what he said, even if he did not understand the words. 

« Kick!'' aaid Oelndtan, ''^ki^! in lAQatfng^ kick all roondllie po«." AimIIm liii|lMi««rfB 

TOL. TI.— VO. II. »'• 



92 



BURTON^S GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINB. 



immoderately. Thas till midnight, the fellow continually laughed at what he conceived to be witly 
jemaTka, when he began to grow drowiy, and gave evident aigna, by hia node, that he waa abont cn-^ 
joying a nap, deapite the truat impoied upon him. Contiaiy to the uaual cuatom of Indian gon^ 
he soon fell into a deep aleep, and anored loud enough to drown all the noim we could make. 

We tried every way in our power, but could not get the aolid knota loose — they would not ghre 
the eighth of an inch, and for the first time in his life, I presume, Girty began to despair. And well 
he might, for we had tried every plan that could possibly be tried, but our greatest exertions werr 
utterly futile, for the dried thongs with which we were tied were perfectly impervious to our teeth* 
I have been placed in many situations which would tiy man's strength of nerves, but never before 
felt the sensations which at that moment came upon me. 

« And it was really true that we weie to be burnt !" as this thought was presented to my mind, a 
aensation of horror stole upon me ; I had anticipated, through our captivity, nothing worse than tiie 
trouble and danger of escaping, but every attempt was frustrated, and we had to wait like an animal 
for death. Girty's proposition appeared to me of no force — it could not be effected, for we might be 
xmbound in the presence of twenty Indians, and striving to escape them by main force would be mad- 
ness. But when we least expect it, there is a Providence watching over our destinies, against whidk 
man cannot combat. 



EARL MARCH AND HIS DAUGHTER 



ax r. r. eooKi, isa*» wijtchkstxa, va 



Eaal March had a winsome daughter, 

A maiden fair to see; 
Her cheeks they were tinged with coral. 

Her neck was of ivory. 
This child of a haughty noble 

Loved one of low degree; 
But the high ne'er wed the lowly. 

And her lover crossed the sea. 

It was an eve in April 

£arKMarch looked on his child. 
Her cheeks weie wan and sunken. 

Her eyes were dim and wild. 
The old Earl bowed .-—over his forehead 

Hia right hand idly went. 
And he played with his silken girdle 

As in moodiness he leant. 

'Twas an eve towards June's sweet ending. 

The shadea of the sun were long ; 
To her terrace paced lady Ellen,, 

In the midst of her damsel throng. 
Her aire had sent in April 

To her lover, beyond the main, 
A letter of courteous kindneaa 

Much urging him back again. 



tr 



« Now cheer thee— cheer thee, daughter,'^ 
Quoth the knight, *' the hour ia nigh.' 

And then, upapoke a damsel, 
•* Hia coming I dcaciy." 

Bi|^ gUeaome were the damaels, 
The love-lorn lady amiled, 

"TwM the ibat for many a aommer, 

^ And the old Eail kiaeed hia child. 



Along the tasselled forest. 

Over the heath away, 
A cavalier came bravely 

In the light of the setting day. 
His plumes were lich and lofty. 

His cap was of golden sheen. 
And he came on his bounding courser 

Like a lover true, I ween. 

" Now cheer thee — Ellen — Ellen — 

Cheer thee, my daughter pale; 
Yon youth, on the fleetrfoot courser. 

Will cure thy weary ail." 
He came — his tall plumes rustled 

At the sick girl's very feet. 
But he passed her by unheeding. 

And spurred his courser fleet. 

Then a change came o'er the lady — 

A change most sad to see— 
The big veins swole like serpents 

On her neck of ivory. 
** He knows me not," she muttered. 

And meekly bowed her head, 
" Could he— could he — forget meV — 

Word never more ahe aaid. 

Toll— toll the bell. Earl March ! 

Thy kindness came too late; 
Young Ellen, thy winsome daughter 

la a cold and pulaeleaa weight 
Oh little hath the myrtle 

With human hearts to do, 
And who so flucka love'e flowery. 

Will pinch bat bitlar me. 



THE FIGURE-HEAD OP THE GLORY 



IT S. HOWARD, SSQ.^ XX«LAXD. 



[W»kave mach pleaaure in presenting our leaders with the following amuiting cztiact from » 
novel by the author of Hatttin the Keefer, entitled "jack ashurs/' not yet published eitbt>r in En- 
gland or America. Wo have peruaed a goodly portion of the work, and have no hesitation in de- 
claring that we expect it will prove to be the most entertaining nautical tule of the season. — Eos. G. M.] 

The Glory was, in '96, one of our old ninety-eights, with her three decks, over which was her 
quarter-deck, over which was her poop, upon which she had a top-gallant-poop ; so that her stem 
had the appearance of the gable-end of a lofty house run to seed ; for all these decks that we have 
mentioned diminished in width as they gained in height. Much and very elaborate was the carver's 
work upon this lofty stern, nud many were the stories that it hinted at, if it did not exactly telL 
But the unanimity of these wooden allegories was wonderful ; the twelve apostles were very sociably 
intermixed with nine not very decent muses ; and there were the three fire-proof Jews, Shadrach,. 
Mcshach, and Abednego, very merry in the flames of the furnace, at the mouth of which old Nep- 
tune sat ([uite composedly with his shouldered trident, the prongs of which had transfixed a vary 
• goodly fish ; indeed, it seamed as if the old gentleman, seeing that tha roast had failed, was very de- 
sirous of trying his hand at a fry, or a toast at leasL If wo were to attempt to desohbe the corna- 
eopiffi, the targes and weapons, the baskets of fruits and flowers, and the images of other things that 
the plastic artist fancied existed, we should be so long occupied with tbo Old Glory's stern, that we 
should never get ahead ; and the iigure-head was the pride and the wonder of ihe navy. It was a. 
grand family group, and each figure bemg a good deal larger than life, it formed, as a whole, a very 
imposing ail'air. It consisted of an Adamite Fame, with a long trumpet in one hand and a wreath 
of laurel in the other, crowning a very matronly dressed Britannia, with a huge grim lion at her 
feet. On the right of this lady was an old man m natiirahbu*, veiy hirsute, and with his lower ex- 
tremities immersed in sedges. His right arm encircled something closely resembling a Smyrna fig- 
jar, out of which.rushed n i\u(K!en stream of water. Whom this venerable old man was meant ta 
represent, it was never satisfactorily decided. Some said he was Old Ocean himself, and Neptune's- 
own father, whilst others maintained thst he was onl^ Father Thames. However, he looked very 
dignified with his copper nose ; for having lost his wooden one by a discharge of grape (this grape 
has always been inimical to the human nose) in lord Howe's action, he was fitted with a copper 
substitute, and it was as goodly a nasality as ever yet was gathered in the proroontniy of noses. 

These three figures, Britannia, Fame, and the dubious old man, occupied the front row, for the 
lion was, though couchant, a little advanced ; but behind these, Graces, and hand-maidens, and little 
boys and girls, blended together in most amicable confusion. 

In a word, this figure-head was so large and so cumbrous, that it was as much the annoyance as 
it was the pride of the crew of the Glory; for the group occupied so much room in the space cir- 
curoscribcd by the head-rails, that there wua barely room enough left to wash a shirt in the middle 
watch, or to decide a point of honor pugilistically between any two jolly tars who might happen to 
have some little affair of the sort upon their fists. 

Captain Firehrass was in the very act of holding a council of condemnaiion upon the renowned 
group that we have taken so much trouble to describe. In this jury of destiuction he was assisted 
by his first lieutenant, the master, the boatswain, and the carpenter. They said all manner of scan- 
dalous things about the ladies and gentlemen who occupied a station so proDiinent. The first lieu- 
tenant had vilified it as a matter of taste ; Britannia hexself was nst half so handsome as MoUy 
Tearaway, of the Halfway-houses ; the Graces were mere trollops, and no decent Jack would pick, 
the best of them up in High-street, unless he had just come off a long cruise ; and as to Madam 
Fame, she was a disgrace to the sex ; to say nothing of tha false nose of the old man with the fig- 
jar. 

The master was rather favorable to the company than otherwise, seeing that he did not think the 
undressed ladies quite so ugly as the first lieutenant wished to make them appear. Comparisens 
were odious ; but, as a married man, he had some right to speak on these matters; this, however, be 
would say, that if Mrs. Tresiletree, the good lady his wife, had but half so quiet a tongue in hex heed 
as the worst of them, all he could say was, that pcrhapa he might not be so anxious to go foreign. 
The little boys and girls, and some of the ladies, were stark-naked, it was true ; but a dab of paint, 
or a few feet of half-inch, and that would be remedied ; besides, he roust confess, that, being a family 
man, he had no objection to the children, and as they neither asked for bread and butter, nor cried,, 
betides getting their faces washed for nothing whenever there was any thing of a head sea, which* 
made them very cleanly, he thought that they mig^t remain a little longer where they 
the captain widied them ramof ed. 



94 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

The boatswain confeascd that they ran him pretty rigs with the running rigging. Though their 
faces were so fair, something was always getting foul among them ; — in fact, cleanly as Mr. Trestle- 
tree said they were, they were always fouling the sheets — the fore-staysail and jih-sheets especially. 
Yet, after all, he bore thciu no enmity, and he should be sorry to 8ce them condemned without a 
hearing. What the good boatswain meant by his last observation was never fully explained. 

The carpenter was for their destruction wholly and totally. They always required more paint 
than they were worth, and were continually losing their features and their members. When these 
lowes were replaced, they ne^er gave satisfaction. It took more time to make a little fhiger f6r Fame 
than to make a new main-topmast; then she was continually losing the head of her trumpet ; and ' 
tbe children were always in want of something. The only difficulty with the carpenter was how 

ta occupy the space when the group should be removed. 

• • ' • • • • • 

Oircumstances, too lengthy in their detail to admit of a statement here, induce the captain to pie- 
«erte the figure-head of the Glory. The author proceeds : — Now wo must confess that this glorioos 
gtoup of the Old Glory had been hitherto shamefully neglected, the amendment of the oopper-noM 
ndtwidistanding. They were jurt then painted universally of a dirty lead color. Many parts of 
thteir precious bodies that had been united by means of iron, or copper clamps, had become rusty, 
And now appeared as so many open and unsightly wounds. The surface of their skins was by no 
neam smooth, and their interesting hands and fkces were chapped in a manner that defied all the 
heading powers of goose-grease. The story of King Log and the Frogs had been repeated upon 
them. At first, the jolly tan had tieated them with respect and even reverence, but familiarity, that 
breMling mother of contempt, had at length put them to very vile uses indeed. Sometimes, when a * 
fonre-topman had scoured his trousers, he would, without the least remorse, hang them over Fame's 
traoipet to dry ; whilst you would see half a dozen pairs of well-worn worsted stockings dangling 
round the immortal wreath with which she was crowning Britannia. 

Britannia, the empress of the seas, was not more worthily used. Many a child*s napkin was 
hong over her redoubtable arm when the ship was in port, and the seamen's wives and children 
were on board ; and, Hke Hecuba, she sometirres wore a dishclout over her diadem. When JadL 
was merry, he would clup a pipe into any of the immortal mouths thut happened to be nearest, and 
the prongs of Old Ocean's trident offered a very convenient means to plat sinnct by. Sometimes 
yon ^outd see them dressed in jackets and trousers, with straw-hats placed jauntily on their heads, 
and sometiaies they were outrageously gay in all the red, blue, and scarlet finery with which the 
Lucretias that may be found on the Point of Portsmouth aic so anihiiious to decorate their chaste 
persons. 

All these indignities were put upon these worthies only when the ship was in ordinary, or hefore 
eight tiells in tbe morning, at sea. These contumelies, like insults and neglects inflicted upon hu- 
manity, left their marks behind. The figures were not what they nsed to be, and had the carver 
seen tliem in their state of dilapidation, if he had been a carver of the least feeling, he would have 
been terribly cut up — that's all. 

All this, as it should be, was going to be speedily reformed. 

Britannia, Fame, and the Water-god, had been neglected much more than it could have been 
thought possible, and, upon a close inspection, were found to be not presentable in any decent com- 
ptmy of gods and goddesses of any decent mythology. Captain Firebrass, as he contemplated their 
very filthy state, looked remaikably grave, and it was supposed that he sighed once or twice in a 
manner the most affecting. There may be some doubt as to this ; but it is very certain, that as he 
handled the copper-nose of Old Ocean, he shook his head thrice, in a manner so rueful, that you 
might have supposed that he was in some state of concern for the well-doing of his own. 

'But Firebrass was not, on an emergency of this nature, a man to consume his energies and waite 
his time in idle regrets. He ordered a sentry to be placed immediately over these now cherished 
objects of his affection, not only as a sort of honorable body-guard, but to prevent the least indignity 
lieing offered to them, either by day or by night. The next thing done, was the immediate repair 
of the greater dilapidations ; and when all the skill that he could command on board was exhausted, 
the fiery skipper went to Portsmouth and engaged the best sculptors of whom the place could boast, 
and, in the course of two days, the whole company, not excepting the lion, were again in a state of 
inistine youth and beauty, the ugly old man with the vrn particularly. 

Then came sculpture's sister ait, painting, to crown the whole. " To the life, the very life,^ was 
the captain's continual cry. Such carnations! Sir Thomas Lawrence was a young man then ; bat 
he might have profited by them ! Thu operation captain Firebrass watched with the most iatense 
anxiety and solicitude, spending whole hours under the bows in his gig. 

** A little more red to Fame's larboard cheek, if you please, Mr. Yainish ! Very well, ditt will 
do for the present. Britannia's starboad cat-head might be a blush more rosy, and place me a dimple 
Tight amidships on the lady's chin. Give those little boys' stems a touch more of color, if joa pteiee^ 
and, for variety's sake, give the brat nearest the lion a carroty polL" 

Thus he posed the livelong day fai mkking die figare4iead of the Glory the most nepkadsnt M- 
seoiblage of every striking and glaring color that the paint-pot could prodttoe. 



TUB JOCRKAL OF. A>N ACTRBS*. 96 



When fioiihed, it was the admiration nf tbe ^eet, and the fame thoreef ttavelled on riiore. Gild- 
ia% had not been apared, for wberrtvr a patch of gold leaf cnuM he etuck on« there would two patdwa 
ha imiid. The fame thereof, as we have jtrat atated, reaehcd the ahore, and virtnoai tailora, and ooa^ 
taaqpiative bvtcbera and ahoe-maken, made partiea of pleaauve to come off in wherriea to regaid thia 
ftnpendooa and happy efibrt of art. It ia true, that the very eeriotie part of the civil oammimity ait 
POftamoiith eachewed thia exhibition, and forbad it to their wivaa and dnagfaten, on account, aa they 
ttvancd, of ita indecency and profligacy; bat, aa thia tended only tbe more violently to exdte the 
limiale oortoaity of the place, there waa not one of the sex, between 8e««n and aeventy, b el on g i n g 
either to Portamooth, Oo^Mrt, Portaea, or the Halfnray-houeea, who coaM not have given a mtnate 
deacription of all the parte of thia extraordinary aenlptnre. 



^f^ 



rHE JOURNAL OF AN ACTRESS. 



T Tns AVTBOB 9W BAM SLICK. 



A new work by the author of Sam Slick, in ahortly to be published by Meaais. Lea and Blan- 
<^uk6, and we have been favored with a perusal of a considerable portion of the proof sheets, and can 
pnrniiaeour readers a rich variety of character and fun. The letters are supposed to be vrritten by 
«vory poMible grade of passenger ; and Judge Haliburton has touched off the peculiarities of the dif- 
intni vrriters with infinite humor and raciness. We present the opening article to our readers 
aofloe Weeks in advance of the publication of the work. The implication of tho subject must readily 
be perceived. 

83d March. Eveiy actress that visits Ameriea, plays her part in a Journal: why sbouldnU poor 
little mo ? How I loathe that word actress ! it i^ heartless, made up, artificial, imitative, a thing 
without a aoul ; hot such is life. We call a foolt natural, the mote fools we for doing so. My 
Jonmal shall at least be mine own — ^not the utterance of the thoughts of others. 

Bonneted — band-boxed — packed up — and packed off. Steamed down the river (what an unpo- 
etical word is that steam f) in a email crazy craft, to where our most (read spacious for gracious) 
qnaeo of the seas, the Great Western, lay to receive us. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the ace- 
■ory on the river. Prodigious walls of carboniferous lime rock (what a beautiful Bridgewater^trea- 
ttaa-word that carboniferous is ! how Greenough and Buckland and gedlogical«like it sounds ! had 
it 'been manufactured at Birmingham it would have been carbony,) liae in precipitous boldness and 
najastic grandeur, to a height of three hundred feet above the water-mark ; after which, the coun- 
tij, gradually laying aside its armor and emerging from its battlements, assumes the more pleas- 
ing and gentle forms of sloping bills, verdant glades, and arable fields. 'Tis the estate surrounding 
the keep, the watch-tower, and the castle ; the warrior within — ^the peaaant and ahepherd without. 
Came on board — a crowd — a mob — hew I hate them— descended into the — what — Gradous 
Heavens, into the saloon ! — most we carry with us the very phraseology of the house ! — Shall Diu- 
ly Toraecute me here ! — Shall the vision of the theatre be always present ! oh spare me. I see the 
^ipsoties of the real saloon of that vile house rise up before me— the gentlemen blackguards— 4he 
•lady courtesans. I rushed into my cabin, coffised, wined, and went to bed sobbing. 

2W. Bedded all day — that word aaloon has haunted me ever ainoa — ^rose in the evening^-^pm- 

■ticoatad, shawled, gloved, and went and took a last look on dear old England, the land of « the 

'brave and ^e*' — oh that word last — the last look, hut sigh, last farewell, how it sinks into the heart, 

>how it speaks of death, of disembodied i^lrits— of the yawning grave. It lets down the strings ; it 

untunes the mind. 

Mth. Furious gale — ^tfae spirit of the great deep is unchained, and ir raging in furious strides 
over the worid of waters. The mountains rise up to impede him, and the valleys yawn at his ibet 
to reeeive him. The ocean heavea beneath his footsteps, and the clouds fly in terror from his-piro- 
senoe, the lightning gleams with demoniac flashes to illumine his terrific visage, and the thunder is 
tfie intonation of his voice. Sheeted, blankMed, and quilted, I remain enveloped in the drapery of 
my bed, my thoughts looking back into the past, and timidly adventuring to look into the tatme, 
&r some green spot (oh that dreadful theatre, I had near^ written Green Room) to pitch ito kfeit 
*ttpofi, to stretch itself out by the cool fountain and — ^loxuriate. 

UMh. The tempest hi|te8t,'but we heave and pitch and roll like a drunken thing, groaafaig, 
^MlPiining, creakfa^. The paioxttm Si |Kist, but the palpitatiAMhire not snbaideil : the Ht^imt, 
%il'the-miiieiiiar cMtnifctldoft rail eoMmtfa. 'It lif IlieWvliig dMrt, the eonmlied branttu^hA ^^ 
attioos that remain after the storm of the paasioiiBhas ^amad ««%> 



96 burton's gbntlbman'b magazine. 

26th. Rose, toileted and went on deck ; what a lovely sight ! The sea lay like a mirror, re- 
flecting the heavens on its smooth and polished surftice. Light clouds far away in the horizon look! 
like the snow-capt summits of the everlasting hills, placed there to confine this sea of molten glae* 
within its own dominions, while distant vessels with their spiral masts and silver drapery rise from 
its surface, like spirits of the deep, come to look upon and woo the gentle Zephyrs. Sea-nymphs 
spreading theii wings and disporting on theii liquid meadows after their recent terror and aiTrigbt. 
They secni like ideal beings — thoughts traversing the mind — shadows or rather bright lighia— ema- 
nations perhaps, rather than self-existences — immaterialities — essences — spirits in the moonlight^-— 
Wrote journal — mended a pair of silk stockings, hemmed a pocket handkerchief, night- capped and 
went to bed — to dream — to idealize — to build ferial castlcj*, to get the hysterics, and to sleep. 

27th. Altered my petticoats, added two inches for Boston puritans and Philadelphia quakers, 
took off two for the fashionables of New York, three fur Bultimore, and made kilts of them for 
New Orleans. 

28lh. General T says he is glad I did not marry before I left EnRland, for Vestris doing sa 

was taken as a quiz on the starched Yankees. Mem, tvont marry on board, and if [ take a republic- 
an may the devil take me without salt, as the Murquiii of W says. I wish I were a man, aa 

Englishman though, for men choose, women are chosen — to select is better than to be selected,, 
which is bazaur-likc. What's the price of that pretty bauble ? Ah, I like it, send it home, play with 
hf get lired, throw it aside, no harm in that, to be scorned is nothing, it is pleasant to scorn back 
IffdHiy but to be supplanted, ah, there is the rub. I have a head-ache ; the billow lor my pillow, I 
wiir be a child again and be rocked to sleep. 

29th. A shout on deck, all hands rushed up; what a strange perversien of terms is this. It is a 
waterspout : how awful ! The thirsty cloud stooping to invigorate itself with a draught of the sea ; 
opening its huge mouth and drinking, yet not even deigning to wait for it, but gulping as it go e s 
we fire into it and it vanishes, its watery load is returned, and * like the baseless fabric of a vision, it 
leaves no wreck behind.' It is one of * the wonders of the great deep.' That rude shook has di»> 
pelled it. Thus is it in life. The sensitive mind releases its giasp of the ideal, when it comee in 
contact with grossness. It shrinks within itself. It retreats in terror. Yet what a wonderful sight it 
is! how nearly were we engulphed, swallowed up, and carried into the sky to lie broken to pieces 
in out fall, as the sea-mew feeds on the shell-fisii by dashing it to pieces on a rock. Oh that vile 
American ! he too has imitated the scene : he has broken my train of thought by his literal and gro- 
velling remark. " Well I vow, female, what sn evcrlasiiu' noise it lets off its water with !" I won- 
der if they hiss in America : surely not, for if they did such fellows as this would learn better maa- 
ners — wrote journal — frenchified my frock to please the New Vorkers — unbootcd — unstayed, and 
snuggled up like a kitten in bed. 

30th. Sat on the deck, sad and musiing. Dropt some pieces of paper overboard — wondered whi- 
ther they went. Will they wander many days on the water, and then sink ] Thought </ my jour- 
nal ; it would be like them, a little scrap on the great sea of literature, floating its brief day ; and 
then, alas ! sinking to rise no more. Saturated, its light pages will float no long«^r, but be consigned, 
like them, to an early gnivc ; but I have had my day, which is more than every < female,' as the 
Americans call us, has had ; and who knows but my book may be as well received ? Bah ! how I 
loathe that theatrical expression ! as popular — that, too, smells of the shop ; ah ! I have il — as mach 
the ton — howsoever. 

3lBt. Pottered on deck all day, with General T. and my brother. The former talked of the 
prairies, till I dreamed all night of the fat bulls of Bashan, and the buflaloes of the plain. 

1st April. General T. advises me not to take my servant to the table, as it is said Mrs. Matthews 
did at Saratoga ; for so far from these republicans liking equality, they are the most aristocratic peo- 
ple in the world. What a puzzle is man ! Poor dear Lord Czar, with all his radical notions, is the 
proudest ** of his order" of any peer of the realm. Indeed, pride is the root of all democracy. Show 
me a tory, and I will show you a rational lover of freedom ; show me a radical, and I will show you 
a tyrant. If the Amer^pans boast so much of their equality, a^ to exclude from their Tocabnlary the 
word * servant,* and substitute that of < help,' why should they object to those *■ helps,' helping them 
to eat their dinners ? It passes the understanding of poor little me — how I wish some one would 
explain all things to me ! 

2d. My brother wai^so-so, to-day, after dinner ; but wine makes him brilliant and witty — and 
why should I be ashamed to note it 1 It was the sons, and not the sisters of Noali (merry old soul) 
that walked backwards and covered him, when he was too oblivions with the juice of the grape, to 
leooUect such vulgar things as clothes. Read, Italianed — stitched a new chemisette. 

3d. How this glorious steamet wallops, and gallops, and flounders along ! she goes it like mad. 
Its motion is unlike that of any living thing I know ; puffing like a porpoise, breasting the waves 
like a sea-horse, and at times skimming the surface like a bird. It possesses the joint powers of tlie • 
tenants of the air, land, and water, and is superior to them alt All night we had a glorious, qiUii- -; 
dent, sUveiy moon. The stars wf^re bright, though feeble, hiding their diminished heads beibfe their ' 
^Qeen, enthroned in all hei innijlgr- ^^t an assemblage of the heavenly hosts! — how gftnd*- f 
how anbliae ! It is a chaste ^P^ » the iMioOf heaatifol, h«t cold ; impirisg respect* adiBirato». 



ALBUM LTRICS. 



97 



and 10 on, bat not Iota — not breathing of paation. Tead, sappered, champagned, tidied myaelf for 
bed, and* I fear, snored. 

4th. How I hate the laloon ! I will join the Yankeea, and spit upon it How vulgar are all 
these gaudy decorations of a steamer ! Why should we pander to the had taste of a mob for filthy 
lucre — why not lead instead of following— dictate, instead of submitting ? Are we, too, become de- 
mocratic ; and must the voice of the majority rule? Oh for an hour of that dear little villa of Lord 
B.'s ! what taste, what fitness of things to purposes, what refinement, what delicacy — oh, for a snoff 
of its classic air— for half a yard of its Parnassian sky ! How he would be annihilated by a voyage 
in this boat — howsoever. 

5th. A dies non, as the new Judge used to call it when non sc ipse. 

6th and 7th. Ditto, as the shop-keepers say. 

8th and 9th. The same as yesterday, as the doctors say. 

10th and 1 1th. No better, as the bulletins say. 

12th and 13th. As well as can be expected, as the nurses say. 

14th. I was asked to-day if ever I had been in love — I know not — what is Love ! The attrac- 
tion of two ethereal spirits — sympathy — ^but these spirits are only seen through mortal coil. The 
worm feeds and battens where love has revelled. Can we love what corruption claims as its own ? 
Do we not mistake natural impulses for this divine feeling ? What a pity Love clogs his wings 
with sweets, becomes sated — tired — soured. Platonic love is nearer peribction — it has more reason 
and less passion, more seatiment and less groMness. To love is to worship— with my body I thee 
worship^but that is not love, it is desire — with my sool I thee worship— but that is idolatry. If we 
worship with neither body nor soul, what is love? Lips! can it reside in them? the breath may 
be bad — the teeth unsound — the skin erysipelatous. Bah! Love a leper f What is Love then? 
It is a phantom of the mind — an hallucination — an ignis fiituus, Wili-of-the-Wisp. Touch it, and 
it dissolves — embrace it, and a shadow fills your arms — speak, and it vanishes. Alas, Love is not ! 
Howsoever — went to bed — wept for vexation like a child, and when wearied with sobbing, slept 

1 6th. Land ahead — a strange land too— yes, though they speak English, a foreign land— the 
domain of the rebellioas son who mutinied and fought his paient Can, I ask myself, ean a bles- 
sing attend such an uimatural attempt — nous verrons. The pilot is on board : iRi^at are the first 
questions ? the price of cotton and tobacco. They are traders — are the Yankees : and I hate trade, 
its contracted notions and petty details. 1 i\nhk I see Lord B. turn in scorn from the colloquy, has 
fine aristocratic face expressive ef intellectual contempt at such sordid calculationri. Would that he 
were here, that we might retire to the c^bin and have a reading of Shakspenre together, drink at 
theinspiicd fount, and philosophise on men and things; but alas, he is gone where all must go! 
and I have gone where none would wish to go ! Poor little me ! Thus e ndcth the last day of the 
steamer. 



ALBUM LYRICS. 



IX p. 



BL91B, COLUMIIA. 



GiHTLi birds are round thee singing 

Gladsome notes of praise ; 
Beauteous flowers are gaily springing 

Where thy footstep strays ; 
Yet thy brow is marked with adnen, 

And thy bright eyes move 
With a glance iminixad with glidnasi 

Say— can it be Love 1 

Friends are near thee— joys are roond thee — 

Life is one bright dream ; 
Home and all its spells have bonnd thee, 

Like some ice-bound stream ; 
Yet thoQ seemest still to ponder 

Oa some hidden care. 
And thy thoughts uiiff flit and 

Is it tovl ■■ b tw a rt ! 



I No— thy life as yet is young — 
* All a sweet and blissful 
Care around thy heart be flung ? 

Oh, the very thought were treason ! 
No ftir lady, I could never. 

Stranger tho' I am to thee, 
Speak one word to blight or sever 
Lift's and I#ove*B linked mystery ! 



May Life*s joys at all times bless th< 

May Love's blessings round thee cling— 
Friends to gladden and caress thee 

Round thy heart their influence fling; 
Then should Care disturb thy pleasure? 

llien ean Hope's sweet charms to the* 
Lose their hri|^ and joyous measure? — 

LUe'i and hom^M liidMd myatmy • 



FIELD SPORTS AND MANLY PASTIMES- 

BY AN EXPEniENCED PHACTITIOKER. 
SAILING. 




A TOP-SAII BCHnUNEB. WITH 8TAYBAU AND FLYINGJIB. 




A LUGO EH. 



Tai eicaUenoe of tbc Auericsn aduMnn*, 01 cllppera, hu long been •ekii<nr)ed|ad by »vrj 
Wifli-T' i-it"" " Ike globa. The Bi1tiiaon.Uip.builden arebinouii fbi'llMnipaTktit)rofA*aNU 
•ad iIm bit mIHdk quutitiai al ibg ichodnwi conitnicied.lo tbeii judb Badni Iha'bb nft, 
Mnnl d" Omw tmnU «WB.flR«l ooi u,ikihUMn, ind ■nnc?«lj tba Brilbh S^i*^ V ikUKmr 
kMt£nu7 qwtd ; muj vUnildt priua tma fiaqueailj ncured within «I|ht of &• VM^iiflML 



CHILPQOOD 8CVNES. 



99 



The ease with which schoonen are managed in all weatkera, and repaii-cd after damage from gale 
or gnn, rendered them a favorite cr^ with the pinuicai oavigaton of the Gulf. The vessels eoi- 
ployed in the slare trade were and are chiefly of the schooner rig, and very generally of Baltimore 
huUd. Several of the latter class have been known to exceed three hundred tons burden. 

The schooner may be considered the naUonal rig of the minor vcsseis of AiBrrioa, TUfi revMipe 
cotters, pHot bo^^ colters, bay craf^ and packet boatiu are entirely of tj^e cchooprr class ; in (act, 
the schooner, both on the American and the English coast, has almo«t superseded the smaller sized 
hot heavily rigged brigs and clum^ sjoopp that used togUdi? m lazily vUh tbeiide to their op^nt- 
^d hfrbof s avd stations. 

Ifsny handsome pleasure boa^s of this tig are to be met with io our wateirs ; and in thip Koyal 
Y]M:ht Club in England, there are a good number of vessels of this ciaas ; but from the reoaons 
slated in the article on ** Cutters," the sloop rig appears to be the favoriic wixh the Dritish axnatpuxi. 

THE LUGGER. 

This inconvenient craft is now a strsngcr in the hays and along the coast of tlio United 8tates, 
but mention is made of it in the early days of the colonists. Luggers were formerly supi>osed to be 
the IWsteat ssiiing vessels in the list of European craft, and the French and Engliidi smugglers and 
ishermen continue their use to this day. A. lufget has thiev mast:*, with a running bowsprit; the 
lug sails are quadrilaterally shaped, and bent upon a yard, which hanf^s obliquely to the mast at one 
third of ii8 length. This kind of sail is exclusively used in the harca longas, navigated by the 
Spaniarda on the Mediterranean. The smuggtera that run across the English Channel, have two 
itts of lags— large ones, which require dipping every time you tack, to which top ssils are sometimes, 
llkmgfa but larely, added — and small woikjng lugs syod stay-saila which do not require dipping, tbm 
teck coming to the foot of the masL. The latter are generally used (aa de|ncted above), except in 
making long reaches, as across the Channel, etc. 

Luggers formerly appeared among the vessels of the Yacht Club ; but with one solitary exception 
ki the catalogue of the hundred and nine vessels belonging to the Royal Yacht Club, there are 
new-SFdays no fancy specimens of tha craft. 

A Yawl is an open boat, of large sixe, with two or more nuiveable masts, and small lug saiU. 
Timj are in freqvent use upon Ike coast of England, and aerve either a« row or sail boats, according 
If the wastthar. 



CHILDHOOD SCENES. 



T J. 1. SVOOaftASS, LATl SBITOII OP TIIS BALTIMORB MOSltJV. 



Pf A9 mountain-home, thou*rt nut forgoMan ! 

I think of thee, with rapture, still ; 
On tha mind*B canvas, brightly painted, 

Aia ravine, atreamlet, grove and bill — 
As memory's eye oft scans the view, 
1 40iA to be a child anew. 



Who can ibrget gay childhood's aceneiy 1 — 
Tb« brooks, the frnit-trees, and each field 

Whose fencea we have climbed 'mid brambles 
That pierce as whilst they treasares yield — 

Tencbiiig that pain is linked with pleaaorca, 

Oft «« the price of earthly treasures, 

I aae ihat babling brook*s green margin 
O'or which I chased the butterfly — 

Whose bosom bore those mimic schooners 
Which serm, this moment, floating by 

Amid lottd shoutings. O, how stay 

Bttnonbraoees of childhood's day ! 

O, is that aUfamlel'a chiU-ttka watera 

I foatid all IhM Iha heart might ckoar : 
Tfcm* 4wdi thoM liiUt hoQffry mioMPf 



I angled fiom its waters clear. 
Time changes motives leas than mood :— * 
More grave our anglings, now, for food. 

O, how glow thoae clusteiing cherries 
Hanging, like Eden's fruiuge, there ; 

How laugh those robins and wooJ-peckers 
As, rogue-like, spoilage o(f they licar 

To gaping callow not yet free 

From nest of atacks, or hollow tree. 

How sweet to dwell on ehildhood's hours. 
With all its stores of bliss dis{)layod ! 

Felt not their value then ; but now 
The pomp of riches and parade 

Some would, I ween, exchange wttli pleasure 

How lightly children ueat their treasure. 

'Tis thus — tbo' wiser to lo|ofc forward — 
Men* o'er the past, are wont to brood ; 

Oft bliaaful moments we experience 
When reigns the retrospective mood ; 

Yet who, with all thinga weighed, can say 

He grieret that ebiUhood'a peat away 1 



REVIEW OF J<JEW BOOKS. 



Where Hudson* s TVooe, Ida; a Scena, vVrilten and Dedicated to John IV. Fronds, M. D^ hy 
George P. Morris — the Music composed by Joseph Pliilip Knight, 

This last composition of General Morris is fully equal to any thing which has proceeded from his 
pen ; and in saying this we intend to express a very high degree of praise. We predict for it uni- 
versal popularity, in the strictest sense of the term — as well as that more valuable popularity which 
arises from the known opinions of those who are the best competent to judge. The simplicity, 
strength, and grace of*' Ida*' have rarely been equalled. 



A Monograph of 'Hie LimniadeSt andoiJier Fresh Water Univalve Sfiel/aof N. America, By <SL 
Stefuitan Haldeman, Member of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, etc, etc. J. 
Dobson, Philadelphia, 

Mr. Halderoan proposes to publish by subscription and in periodical numbers, a work with th« 
above title ; the design may bo stated, without technicality, as that of describing and figuring all the 
Fresh Water Univalve shells of this country. The specimen received by us is in uniformity with 
the Unionidae of Conrad, and the Helices of Binney. It is l>eautifully printed, and the engraving 
and coloring arc capitally done. The terms are one dollar per number. 

There can be no doubt that a good illustrated description of our Fresh Water Univalves is a de- 
sideratum — but we aie net suie that Mr. Haldeman is altogether upon the right track. In calling 
his genus the Lymniat/^ he is, no doubt, endeavoring to preserve uniformity with Messieurs Conrad 
and Binney, but we think, as these gentlemen are neither of them in accordance with the best usage 
in their tenninations, it would have been better not to have followed them. The motto from Deshayei, 
too^Le scul moyen d*ameliorer la nomenclature est da la fixer par la restitution, aux especes, dei 
premiers noms qu'elles ont revues — involves a proposition fur rnoie easily dreamed of than executed. 
Nevertheless Mr. Haldeman cannot give us accurate descriptions and delineations of the branch of 
Malacology in question, without accomplishing a good work — however he may diflfer from our own 
notions in regard to that ever-vexed and ever-vexing question of clatjsification. 



Voices of the Night, By Henry Wadsworih LimisfcUuvL-. John Owctiy Cambridge, 

The little book which Profegsor Longfellow has entitled "The Voices of the Nijjht," includes 
not only some poems thus styled, but others composed during the collegiate life of the writer, as 
well as about twenty brief translations. Of the latter we shall say nothing. So very much of all 
that is essential to the lyre — so many of its more spiritual attributes and properties — lie beyond the 
scope of translation — so trivial, comparatively, arc those mere graces which lie ivltfiin it — that the 
critic will be pardoned for declining to admit \ersions, of however hiish merit as such, into his esti- 
mate of the /ioe//ca/ charactor of bis author. Neither should any author, of mature age, desire to 
have this poetical character estimated by the productions of his mind at immaturity. We shall, 
therefore, confine our observations to the *' Voices of the Night." 

In looking over a file of newspapers, not long ago, our attention was arrested by the opening 
lines of a few stanzas, headed *< Hymn to the Night." We read them again and again, and although 
some blemishes were leadily discoverable, we bore them away in memory, with the firm belief that 
a poet of high genius had at length arisen amongst us, and with the resolve so to expiess our opin- 
ion at the first opportunity which should offer. The perusal of the entire volume now presented 
to the public by the writer of this ** Hymn to the Night," has not, indeed, greatly modified our im- 
pressions in regard to that particular poem — not greatly, even, in regard to the genius of the poet — 
but very greatly in respect to his capacity for the ultimate achievement of any well-founded monu- 
ment — any enduring reputation. Our general conclusion is one similar to that which ** Hyperion*' 
induced, and which we stated, of late, in a concise notice of that book. The author has, in one or 
two points, ability ; and, in these one or two points, that ability regards the very loftiest qualities of 
the poetical soul. His imagination, for example, u vivid — and in saying this, bow much do we 
•ay ! But he appears to us singularly deficient in all those important fiiculties which give artisUcaf 
power, and without which never was immortality efifected. He has no combining or binding force. 
He has absolutely nothing of unity. His brief pieces (to whose brevity he hat been led by an in- 
stinct of the deficiencies we now note) abound in high thoughts either poeitiTely insolaled, or show- 
ing these same deficiencies by the recherche spirit ef theb conneiion. And thushlt prodactioM •!• 



AEYIBW OF NEW BOOKS. 



101 



•etntiUfttions from the brightest poetical truth, rather than thia biightest troth in itaelf. fiy truth, 
hflie, wa mean that perfection which is the result only of the atiictest proportion and adaptatioii m 
all the poetical rcqoiai tca theae.iequigitea being considered as each existing in the highest degree 
of beauty and strength. *•'**• • 

It is by no means our 6eaga*<l^Bpf$k pi the. yplume before us in detaiL There would'be no ob- 
ject in such critical supererogation. 'ThVapific^f ^efipssor Longfellow is as well determined from 
the ahoitest of these *• Voices of the Night,'*" (^bEic'h iie^aRd^ether bis jiest pieces) as fjom all that 
he has written combined. We look upon the ** BeleagttbrjQ^ QitC' as his ^nest poem. There is a 
certainty of parpose about it which we do not discover elseWb^e ; and iif ||t,'{^ejwi iter's idiosyn- 
cratic excellences, which are those of expression, chiefly, and of a fitfuf '(^iwt^p^jp'nnaillnatipn, are 
the most strikingly displayed. The ** Hymn to the Night,'* however, will be tne'<gQ!at«stff«veTiie 
witli the public, from the fact that these idiodyncratic beauties are there more evidenf eoA mom 
glowing. 



I heard the ttailing garments of the Night 
Sweep through her marble halls ! 

I saw her sablo skirts all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls ! 

I ielt her presence, by its spell of might. 

Stoop o*er me from above ; 
. The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight. 

The manifold soft chimes 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 



From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there— 

From those deep cisterns flows. 

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 

What man has borne before ! 
Thou layest thy flnger on the lips of care, 

And they complain no more. 

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes- like I breathe this prayer ! 

Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fiur. 

The bcst-bcloved NighU 



No poem ever opened with a beauty more august. The Ave first stanzas are nearly perfect — by 
which we mean that they are nearly free from fault, while embodying a supreme excellence. Had 
we seen nothing from the pen of the poet but these five verses, we should have formed the most ex- 
aggerated conception of his powers. Had he written always thus, wo should have been tempted to 
speak of him not only as our finest poet, but as one of the noblest poets of all time. Tet ewea 
these five stanzas have their defects— -defects inherent in the mind of the writer, and thence inera^- 
cable— absolutely so. An intellect which apprehends, with full sensitiveness, the peculiar loveliness 
of the spirit of the uniqttt-^oi unity — will find, in perusal here, that his fancy, in the poet's guidance* 
wavers disagreeably between two ideas which would have been merged by the skilful artist in one. 
We mean the two ideas of the absolute and of the personified Night. Even in the first stanxa this 
difficulty occurs — enfeebling alL The words — 

I heard the trailing garments of ihc Night 
Sweep through her marble halls — 

convey us to a palace tenanted by the sable-drapericd, by the corporate Night. But the lines 

I saw her sable-skirt:« all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls — 

refer us, by the single epithet eelestial^ to the natural and absolute quality or condition, to the in- 
corporate darkness. Had the poet merely written ** azure" or ** heavenly" in place of marble, this 
ooriflict of thought would not have occurred, and the passage would have derived that force, from 
unity, which it does not at present posseaa. The personification, which is its main beauty, would 
have remained, at the same time, inviolate. A similar good effect could be produced by changing 
cdesHcd for some word inducing the mind to receive the Night in her personified character— chang- 
ing it for any term applicable to an earthly habitetion. 

Precisely the same fiiult is found in the second sunza, where the <* from above" fifbi the thought 
to the absolute night— the sabaequent lines bringing it down immediately to the proaopopeia. Th« 
diird stanxa is in good keeping — the fourth aiightly in fault as before^ The fiftfi is correct Tha 
lixth is again in eiror — and has, moreover, the great defect of not being readily intelligible. It ia 
not every reader who will bare understand the poet as invoking Peace to descend thrm^h, or bj 
of, 



The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the moat fiur. 
The bMtrbdoved Night 



162 



BURTOIf^JI OBKTLBMAll'B MAGAZINE. 



,or 



a 
I 
tbam 



Th* words atad ane, of covne, attietly ptamvmABaAi mud, «■ ibm liaei alMid, aio 

ksM hMNi iimryiaiyad— Pmop m mvaked to deaoeni «lw yigfc < <w ws aay 4imtem 

im but, thra, tiks «ntiM Honu af th««tsan Aouid lH«e iiam «iit!i«d, oo « 1o ohmto mr^a 

ainlitj of a ipisapprehension. Upon oar first perusal we»iiiidefstood the 

4MMe invoflatiQa— 4o Peace and li» Ntgjbt. B«l iin JM^*^ tr.tAiM^ almgle and tiiief faem, 

(m ralbflr arben we coaaider it not m» a wbflt* jniA >)p«r tfchi^u^ its fwrto) iIb tidily id 

would moce iknm ndeeat i| 111 n twaml'Jiyj***^'""^'* ''^^^ ** *^ point ooc ; and we point 

il aU flMvely am aosae ^fiili^oe ot t^ eita^Vinii of the pivralewt defidencica «f tha wiita 

Tba graaa ifrrtftiylB wtiich dS#fi)9iiM ** Hy^aiioa" » amny paaHages, aae not at alt 
this gyiBi>/wihi|iiiv<ijr<tlc simpitdiy is net tbe least of iw hiif b merits) hot ase ssoftrfly 
im naa^^aif 4l|r^ad^r pieoea. Whst caji ba anaM prepsHtctons tban aoek mvciwoa «s (hinyin ll» 
irfimtU of a poet of iks mnetreutk eetmiry !— - 

Spake full weMf in language quaint and olden 

One fvbo dwelletb by the caaUed Riiinc 
When Ue railed <&c. 

The titles of Professor Longfidiow*s books, moreover, answer no good purpose in the world. Sotii 
things as *< Outre Mcr/* " Hyperion/' ** Psalms of Life" and *< Voices of the Night,'' only lersen tha 
perpetrator im the opinion of all reaoonable hmr ; and theise was no neeesahy, whatever, for «qr 
** Prelude" by way of coaBmenoement to the volume now reviewed. 

But wa have to addooe against the poet a charge of nuich mote aerions charadsr. Qua of Hm 
latest and most popokr pieces runs thi 



MIDNIGHl' MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 



Yas, the year is grmriog old. 
And his eye is pale and bleared ! 

Death, with froaty hand and cold, 
PUkJui the old roan by the baud, 
Soraly, — aoiely! 

The knvea are faUiag, fiiUuig, 

Masmly and slow ; 
Caw ! caw ! the roeks arc calling. 

It is a sooad of woe. 
A aoond of woe ! 

Through woods and mountain-paarrs 

The winds, like anthems, roll ; 
They are chanting solemn masses. 

Singing ; Pray fur this poor soul, 
Pray,— pray ! 

And the hooded clouds, like friais. 
Tell their beads in drops of rain. 

And patter their doleful prayers ; 
But their prayeis are all in vain. 
All in vain ! 

There he stands in the foul weather, 

The iboliah, fond Old Year, 
Crowned with wild flowers and with heathei, 

Like weak, despised Lear, 
A king,— a king ! 

Then comes the sununar-like day, 

Bids the old man rejoice ! 
His joy I his last ! O, the old man gray, 

Loveth her ever soft voice 
Gentle and low. 



To the crinMon vroods he saith. 
And the voice, gentle and low. 

Of the soft air, like a daoghter^s breathy 
Pray do not mock me eo! 
Do not langh at me ! 

And now the a w c et day ia dead ; 

Cold in hb arms it Ues, 
No stain fvom its breath is sp ic a d 

Ovef the glassy skiea, 
No ndst nor stain ! 

Then, too. the Old Year dieth. 
And tbe forests utter a moan. 

Like the voice of onn who crieth 
In the wiidrrneM alone, 
Vox not his ghost ! 



Then comes, with an awful roar, 
Gathering and sounding on, 

Tbe storm-wind ftnm Labrador, 
The wind Euroclydon, 
The storm-wind ! 

Howl! howl ! and from tbe foreat 
Sweep the red leaves away ! 

Would, the sins that thou alVhorrest, 
O seal ! could thus decay, 
And be swept away ! 

For there shall come a mightier blast* 

There shall be a darker day ; 
And the stara, from heaven dowTMaalv 
Like red leavea ba sw e pt away ! 
Kyrie Eleyaon ! 
Christie Eleyson ! 



This piece, with many deiecta, baa andoobtedly more beauties, and tiiese beantiea are of a hifjk 
order — but in a volume of poems by Alfied Tennyson, of England, we meet with the foUowing x 



RBUBftW OW lf.&W BOOKSW 



Its 



THJS^ BBATH OF THB OLD YBAX. 



TW law deep lias lh» wiirtv ncir, 

And the winter winds are wcmrily sighing : 
TdLjm the churcbMl sad and alow, 
ABd tnad softly, and speak low, 
For the old year lies ardying. 

Old year yon nuiat not dia, 
« • Yoa cania to ua so readily, 
. Yon lived with us sa steadily^ 
Old year you shall not die. 

He lieth still : he doth not moiM; 

He will not see the dawn of day. 
He hath no other life above — 
Ha gave me a friend, and a true, trae love. 
And the New Year will take 'em away. 

Old year, yea must not go» 
. 80 long ae yoa have been wiUi q^ 
Such joy ae-yon have seen wkk ns. 
Old year, yoa shall not gOb 

Haiirothad his bumpera tothn brt»; 

▲jollier year we shall not see. 
BqI tho* bis eyea are waxing, dim, 
And tho^ hia foeaspeak ill of hii% 
Hft wae a friend lo ma^ 

Old year, you shall not die ; 
Wo did so laagh and eiy watb you^ 
Vrm half a mind to die vdth yoa 
Oldyeac, if yoa mustdiah 



He waa fall of jidw aad jest, 

But all his merry quips are o'er. 
T<k aee him die^ aerese the waste, 
His son and heir doth ride poet baete, 
Bui he'll be dead before. 

Every one for his own ; 
The night is starry and cold, my finendi 
And the new year blithe and bold, my ft i sad ^ 
Comes up to take his own. 

How hard he bieathes ! Over the snow 

I heard just now the crowing cock. 
The shadows flicker to and fro: 
The cricket chirpe : the light bums low : 
'Tie nearly one o'clock. 

Shake hands before you die ; 
Old year we'll dearly rue for yoa, 
AVbat ia it we can do for yoal 
Speak oat befeie yoo 



His ibce ia growing shaip and thia»— 

Alack ! oar friend ia gone. 
Cloae up hie eyes : tie up his chia: 
Step from the oorpee and let him in 
That standeth there akme, 
And waiteth at the door. 
Tbeia's ^new footon the floei, iBy ftiaa< 
And a new iaoe at the door, my friend^ 
A new jboe at the door. 

W« havia no idaaof oomoienting^ at any length, apon this plagiarism ; which is too palpable to 
be mistaken; and which faelonge to the moatbarbaraua olaas of literary robbery ; that cloaa in wbioli^ 
while the words of tho wronged author are avoided, hie moat intangible, and therefore hia leaetds^ 
fonaibiA and least redaimable property, ia purloined. Here, with the exception of lapaaa, vfinek^ 
bowefver,. speak volumea» (audi for instance as the uae of the capitalized " Old Year," the geBsnl 
peanliarity of the ibythm, and the ^Mepce of rhyme at the end of each stanza,) there is nothing of • 
visible or palpable nature by whieb the source of the American poem can be estahUshed. Bat tka» 
neflriy aU that is veluaUe in the piece of Tennyaon, ie the first conception of peisonifying the OU 
YeoK. aa- a dying old man, with the aingnlarly wild and. fostastie marmir in which that conoeplioB 
is eaniad out. Of this conosplioB andof tbia mamiet he ie rohbsd. Could he peruse to-day tbs 
«* Midnight Maaa" of Pro f assat. T«enifcUew> wooldbe peroae it with mere of indignation or of grief!' 



Fini amd Staond Pari*. Btf Captain Marryait, PlnUMphia, Cmw§ 
aad Hari^ mod T. K. and G, P. CMiu. 



Dimfi in. 



Warrelndned from noticing the first aeriee of this oKtraordinary work on account of its ii 
plelaoess, and resolved to abide the appearance of the "aubsequent oommeotaries" which the geiii* 
tlemanly writer promised aa a.neeeesary pendant to hie immature statemcnta, before we gave an 
opinion of the book which« according to hia own words, " baa given him more trouble than any 
work he ever wrote." In the first series^ Captain Marry att statea that bis object in visiting the 
United. Statea, was to ascertain the efiaela of a democratic form of government upon a people wbisbf 
with ita foreign admixture, may still be considered aa English. As the first series did not contain 
one paragraph of application, although some dozens of stale anecdotes and impossible adventnrea 
were introduced, we concluded to wait foi the publication of the second series 01 moral of the story 
before we attacked it with our critieal acalpel. But, alas, there is as little applicatinn or purpoae in 
the.eecond part as in the first — we have but a second edition of the same imperfoct design, the same 
apmea of vituperation, and the same revival of antique but not venerable jokes, with which the 
Captain stains his pagea and interlards his conversation. The Captain does not or rather cannot 
depict the beauties or the faults of our democretio inatitutions— the eftcta of which upon tho Anglo» 
Bason race he promised buUfsiled toezbibiL Paul Pry, the tiresome eavesdropping, ignorant and 
imgndflit aeddlH^ viaitad bia friend Witbarton t»Mk him abimt a^daiuble tooth with whkb he had 



104 bhrton's obntlbman'b magazine. 

been bothered ; the offici^tis fool remained some time in idle and offensive chatter, and afler ha had 
taken his departure, discovered that he had never asked Mr. Witberton about the tooth after alL 
Captain Marryatt, in the management of his democratic effects, has cloaelj followed Mi. Paul Pij 
and the double tooth. 

Serious criticism upon the trashy works before us is beneath even the totj little dignity where- 
with we clothe our editorial selves. The author's capacity for national strictures may be estimated 
from the fact that he seriously declares, while discoursing of the American game of ten-pins, ** that 
he was very fond of frequenting their alleys, not only for the exercise, but, because, among the va^ 
rious ways of estimating eharaeterj he had made up hie mind that there wae none more likely to 
be correct than the estimate formed by the manner in which people roll the ball, especially the /!»- 
dies /*' To prove his impartiality, let u^ revert to the announcement made in his answer to the 
Edinburgh Reviewers that his great object in writing his book was to do serious injury to the cause 
of democracy / We have also a word or two to say respecting his fitness of judgment on EdueO" 
Hon, Religion, Society, Public Opinion, Patriotism, and other ad captandum names which he has 
•elected as titles to various portions of his work. 

Captain Marryatt's progress through the United States was to him a passage of mortification and 
disgrace— to the lovers of literature, and to the hospitable who delight in the exercise of civilities, to the 
worthies of every clime, his presence was a blight and bis departure a relief. When his arrival aft 
New York was first announced, a highly respectable muster of Philadelphia citizens resolved to ex- 
tend the honors of the city of brotherly love to the renowned author of *^ Peter Simple,'* and for- 
warded bim an invitation to a public dinner, with a request that he would name his own time. The 
eecretary received an answer that he, the Captain, would be in Philadelphia in a few days, whea 
the desired particulars might be arranged. He did make his promised visit, but the proffered din- 
ner never took place — the gallant captain had not been in Philadelphia three days before incontro- 
vertible statements of his positive vulgarity and blackguardism, both in public and private, were io 
rife, that it was impossible to muster even a quartette comiaittee to carry the complimentary dinner 
into execution. And yet this man pretends to write strictures upon the social qualities of the citi 
lens of the United States ! 

Captain Maxryatt states that he had not been three weeks in this country before he decided upon 
accepting no more invitations, charily as they were made. Ah, captain, were the grapes sour t in 
three weeks the social circles of the Atlantic cities were acquainted with your universal practice of 
profanity and smut ; but from our own experience we can iJSirm that you did not refuse a single in- 
vitation in the city of Philadelphia for some time after the expiration of the period which yon assign, 
however charily the invites were made — nor can we point out an individual case wherein the moal 
wearisome disgust did not attend your presence. 

In the first part of the former series, the captain states that he was invited to dine with the Mayor 
and Corporation of New York. This is a misstatement ; the civic dignitaries refused to extend 
their hospitalities to the rowdy Englishman, despite his earnest exertions to the contrary, and hie 
presence at the dinner in queation arose fiom the welUknown good nature of a certain literary gene- 
ral in New York, who took the uninvited captain with him as one of his aid^e-camps. We shoold 
like to detail the real facts of some other portions of Marry att's residence in the northern metropolis— 
of his interference with the domestic arrangements of a friend, while enjoying that friend's hospi- 
tality — and of his sneaking out of the country without returning an answer to a hostile message, the 
result of his discovered rascality. But other interests supervene, and the captain must be content 
esit is. 

Having developed his pretensions to criticise the Religion, Education, and Social Relations of oar 
be-diaried and over journalized country, we intend to advance a position respecting the Patriotism 
of this king-loving Englishman, who fabricates so many volumes of balderdash to induce his coun- 
trymen to despise democracy, and who journeyed so many thousand leagues to observe the effects of 
the said democracy on the government of the people. In answer to this tirade, we a»ert that Cap- 
tain Marryatt visited the United States for the express and avowed purpose of securing the copyright 
of bis works, and we defy his American publisher to contradict our assertion ; the book-making por- 
tion of the speculation was a natural result, and the captain relied upon it as a means of paying hii 
expenses. As soon as he arrived at New York, he consulted the Chancellor of that Siatb as to the 
power of holding possession of co|>yri^ht ; and with a view to obtain that power, he rented a home. 
No. 30, Vcscy stteet. New York; dt«lared himself a citizen of the despised democratic land, and in 
that character, sued for an injunction on Messrs. Cooley and Dang, who had issued what he termed 
A pirated edition of his novel of Snarloy-Yow. For this impudent assumption of civic rights in the 
United States, he has jnst lieen oompelled lo pay about eighty pounds sterling in England. Jeinw 
neying onward to Philadelphia, he repeated his avowal of citizenship ; and actually obtained from 
Mr. Hopkinson, the Clerk of the County Court of Pennsylvania, a printed form of declaration of 
intention to naturalize, wherein the declarer abjures all allegiance to every European power, espe- 
cially the sovrreii^n of the land of his birth. The honest captain, who was so eager to aell his pe- 
triotism for the filthy lucte which he expected toderive from the sale of his works, did not complete 
hie venal act. He found that citizenship must he combined with length of residence to ensoie n 
power of copyright ; and ho therefore sudderdy blazed afresh with patriotic fire, and joined the troepe 



RBYIBW OF NBW BOOKS. 105 

of hii monarch in their strong holds in Canada, from whence he fuhninated paper thonderboUa 
against the people whose civic privileges he had vainly endeavored to assume. A few hundred dol» 
laia a year extra would have changed this rebel monarchist and despiser of democracy into a n»* 
toralized citizen, and have made a sharer in, if not a defender of, our republican institutions. 

In reference to the actual merit of the two series, we huve but a word (o say. The chapter upon 
" Emigration'* is the best written portion of the book ; and the history of the Florida War, and the 
accouDts of the destruction of the Ben Shenrod, the Home, and the Moselle stcani packets, are the 
most entertaining. A considerable, nay, the largest portion of the matter is but a reprint from other 
works of various natures and merit; we wish the veracious captain had attended to the advice con- 
tained in the old epigram — 

The stolen part is moeh the best. 

Take courage, Frank, and steal the rest. 



7%i SpUftre, a Novel, by (he author of Tkt Arethusa, Two Voluma. Carey and Hart, PkUa- 

delphia. 

A lively, pleasant, chit-chatty sort of a book, and pretty good as nautical novels go. There is a 
aufi&ciency of sentimental pirates, lovely and ill-used ladies, sailor's yarns, shipwrecks, and cross old 
gentlemen to satisfy the severest Aristarchus of the most fashionable circulating library. We rather 
okject to the moral bearing of the whole affair, although we dissent m toto from the **poctical justice" 
■o universally awarded to all villains in the fifth acts of plays, and the last chapters of romances— 
we know too much of life to countenance the impossibilities put forth by the pUy-wrights and novelirts 
of this and every age — villains do not always, nor even generally, meet with punishment and shame 
in reality, and we should have been pleased if Captain Cbamier had courageously departed from this 
common-place fiction and uncommon reaUty, and exhibited the success of an impudent rogue over 
the tactics of a modest and virtuous man, if sucb-a-one is to be found in the world. But the objection 
which we have alluded to is to the author's attempt at investing the character of a pirate and a cut- 
throat with the attributes of a hero and a deserving man — of endeavoring to excite the sympathies 
of the reader in behalf of this common ruffian — and finally, manying him to an amiable warm-heari- 
^ girL All this is against nature, and beneath the skill of the weaver of fiction. 



1%e Philosophy of Human Life. Being an InvestigaUon of the Great Elements of lAfe .- the 

Power that acts — the WUi that directs the Action — and the Accountability or Sanctions thai m- 

Jluence the Formation of Volitions. Together with Reactions adapted to the Physical, PoUU- 

eal. Popular, Moral, and Religious Natures of Man. By Amos Dean, Professor of Medical 

Jurisprudence in the Albany Medical College, Marsh, Capen, Lyon and Webb, Boston. 

Bnch is the long title of what we cannot help considering a very powerfully conceived and well 
^gested — a very remarkable and original woik. But with this brief and general commendation wa 
must, in a great measure, content ourselves ; for the very character of the book lies in its luminous 
and closely logical order — to disturb which by way of instancing its merit, would be but an illogical 
way of proceeding. This publication should be studied by all who have at heart the subject of which 
it treats. Mr. Dean rejects some portioiu of tho phrenological doctrines of Combe, but bases his 
work, as a whole, upon the posiiioiu of that extraordinary mind. 



Piettsres of Early lAftf or. Sketches of Youth. By Mrs. Emma C. Embttry. Marsh, Capen^ 

Lyon and Webb, Boston. 

" Fiom the midst of a peaceful and happy home," says Mrs. Embury in her preface, « a home 
gUddened by the voices of joyous childhood, I send forth these pictures of early struggles, tempta- 
tions, and errors." And very exquisitely painted pictures they are ; leaving upon the mind of tha 
reader not only dintinct and vivid images of many a scene of the sorrows and triumphs of youth, but 
a deep and irresistible convictiob of the kind heart and beautiful enthusiasm of the aitist 



l%e U. S. Military Magazine, and Record of all The Volunteers. Huddy and Duval, Phila. 

The last number of this work is very entertaining, and does great credit to the publishers. By 
way of frontispiece we are presented with a capital lithographed portrait of General William Heun 



106^ BURTOlO^lS ^AlVTH^BfAN^S iTAOASflNB. 

BtfniMMi, which ia iccma p iilted by i good BiogimpMed'rfMtchrdf tfMt dtetrngoMMd faidltMM^ flid' 
odier emfoeffitfameiifb arc, aliOj well don»^the tim behig a rtfpfnetttttioii of fho OedeAl, wifhr Hi 
staff, at the Racile of tho Thtmea^^-tho seeond of an officer and two aoldiieiit of the Cletelaiid Oit^ 
of Clevehind, Ohio. Altogether the Military Magazine appears to be well conducted, and we jsuiuf^ 
stand that it receives a tciy extensive support, especially from the nottieroiitf volnntctfr iDiTifiiHia 
of the Union. 



Sacred Philosophy of the Setuons; Ulustrating the Perfections of God in the PhetwHtehd ofihe 
Year. By the Rev. Henry Duncan^ D. />., RtUhweli, Seethe With Important Additions and 
Some Modifications to adapt it to American Readefi, By F, W, P, Greenwood. In Four Vo- 
iumes. Marsh, Capen, Lyon, and Webb, Boston. 

This woik of Dr. Duncan's has been adopted into " The Bchool Libraiy,*' by the Massachusetts 
Board of Education, after a careful examination and correction. The defects which were incidental 
to the plan of the book itself, have not, of course, been remedied — the defects of cursor! ness, incom- 
pleteness and inequality to which all compendiums are liable, and especially those which take in so 
fast a range of subject as the << Sacred Philosophy of tiie Seasons." But absolute enors have been 
in a great m ea sure cortected by the American editor, and some alterationa hav^ been made by tiM 
addition of notes, and the occasional intmduction (we learn) of poasages into the text, with a ^teiT 
of adapting the whole lo the place whidi it is now intended to occupy, as a book of instruction jUiI 
entertainment fbr American fiunilies and ichoob. 

The general plan of the work is methodicri. Etch- voinme i« dtmHiBd to a sepinte aecson, ind* 
is divided into as many chKpters, as that tfeasoa hat days. Thii- arrangement is well suited to tlld 
-vmoUt of a school-tbadier. The ultimate design of the author is to show that the tiaible obfeetv of 
Nature are the work of the hand of the Deity, ** the intimation* of his presence and agency, titf 
pmofr of his wisdom, and, especially, the manifcatations of his goodnes*.'* To establish his arigunMU^ 
Dr. Duncan has oompiled, ftom a great' varfaty of sources, whatever he Supposed tended to stntagliieik 
it, combining all with much original observation of his own. The variety of the publicatioii is Ottw 
tainly very great, and it might be regarded as an excellent work, upon the whole ; even if w« looftdtf 
only to the multitude of its observations, and iu consequent capacity of Mg^gelfibfl, The mittd 
which carefuUy peruses these four volumes will not fail of being stimulated to farther and more ex- 
tended research. But <* The Philosophy of the Seaaons" is, in other respects, a capilal book. Its 
great comprehensiveness, its general accuracy, its ingenious and luminous arrangement render it es- 
pecially well adapted for the educational purposes for Which it is designed. lis mechanical dkeOO^ 
tion is exceedingly good, and does high credit to the taste of the pubUrfism, MesaieiirB Uteab, 
Capen, Lyon, and Webb. We shall speak fanhei of those volome* in our WtmA number. 



Tke FHght, by EUm Pitktring, atUhoi* tf'^ Min Damli;* « T»g Bfttire,** • ne Ifeifm,'' ^fk 
Printe and the Pbdkr,^ etc. efe. Thd l^hme^. Cm^ aHd Ifat^i Phitade^ML 

Miss Pickering has acqubed a very enviable reptffatiOki among idl lovMs of light lit^ratoM, $M 
she may be considored aa a highly pofm/or writer. Bm i^e is excellent in its Way>--aiinpli^ il^ 
artificial, and direct She never histructs, but always interests, and fVequently exdfees; ThMwHi 
much of a fine romance in all that she indite. We expressed our ophiion of « Nan Dintell*' iMf 
very long age— it is an entertaining book well worth reading. <* The Fright" is quits as good, and 
perhaps better. 



Ikw Historical Work. — We are happy to announce that Messrs. Carey and Hart are about to 
gh« the reading world an opportunity of enjoying the wondrous beauties of M. Thiers' celebraied 
work. The History of the Firmeh RetoktUan, tTBUslatad from the original text by the clasrfo 
Frederic Schoberl, with original notes and tables of refbrenoe. This valuable and standard book iS 
to be published in three large octavo volumes, with illustrations. M. Thiers is busily employedf 
upon his new work. The lAf^ of Ihpolean Bonaparte, for which the firm of Meoienrs Dn b 6As l, 
and Co., of Paris, are to give him the sum of five hundred thousand franca. 



BURTON'S 

GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 

AND 

AMERICAN MONTHLY REVIEW. 



MARC H, 1840. 



UNDERCLIFF, UPON THE HUDSON, 

THE SEAT OF GENERAL MORRIS. 



BT H. J. TI3f:f, XSa 



Tbb pen of the poet and the pencil of the artbt have so frcqaentlj united to record the grandear 
and tublimity of the Hadson, and with such graphic fidelity, that Httle of interest remains unsaid or 
nnsketched. Bat when every point of its bold and beautifal scenery might be made the subject of 
a picture, and every incident of its past history the theme of a poem, it requires no fipreat icaearch 
to discover new and prominent objects of attnu:tion. Perhaps there is no portion of this beautiful 
river which partakes more of the picturesque, or combines more of the wild and wonderful, than the 
Tidnity of the present View; and when time shall touch the history of the present with the wand 
of tradition, and past events shall live in the memory of the future as legends, romance will never 
revel in a more bewitching region. Fiction shall then fling its imaginative veil over the things we 
have seen— covering, but not concealing them — and, in the plenitude of poetic genius, people tho 
drama of futurity with a thousand exquisite creations, clothed in the venerated garb of antiquity. 

Undxrcliff, the mansion of Gshxral Georob P. Morris, which forms the principal object in 
the engraving, is situated upon an elevated plateau, rising from the eastern shore of the river ; and 
the selection of such a commanding and beautiful position at once decides the taste of its intellectual 
proprietor. In the rear of the villa, cultivation has placed her fruit and forest trees with a profuse 
hand, and fertilized the fields with a variety of vegetable products. The extent of the grounds is 
abruptly terminated by the base of a rocky mountain, that rises nearly perpendicular to its summit, 
and affords in winter a secure shelter from the bleak blasts of the north. In front, a circle of green* 
sward is refreshed by a fountain in the centre, gushing firom a Grecian vase, and encircled by oma- 
jnental shrubbery ; from thence a gravelled walk winds down a gentle declivity to a second plateau, 
and again descends to the entrance of the carriage road, which leads upwards along the left slope of 
the hill, through a noble forest, the growth of many years, until suddenly emerging from its sombre 
shades, the visiter beholds the mansion before him in the bright blaze of day. A few openings iu the 
wood afibrd an opportunity to catch a glimpse of the water, sparkling with reflected light; and the 
immediate transition from shadow to sunshine is peculiarly pleasing. 

Although the sunny prospects from the villa, of the giant mountains in their eternal verdure— the 
noble stream, when frequent gusts ruffle its surface into a thousand waves — the cluster of white 
cottages collected into the distant village, are glorious ; it is only by the lovely light of the moon, 
when nature is in repose, that their magic influence is fully felt. We were fortunate in having an 
opportunity to contemplate the scene at such an hour : the moon had risen from a mass of clonde 
which formed a line across the sky so level that fancy saw her ascending from tho dark sea, and her 
silvery light lay soflencd on the landscape ; silence was over all, save where the dipping of a distant 
oar was echoed from the deep shadows of the rocks. Sometimes the white sail of a sloop would 
steal into sight from the deep gloom, like some shrouded spirit gliding from the confineaof a giant'a 
cavern, and recalled the expresatre lines by Moore: — 

The stream is like a silvery lake, 

And o'er its face each vessel glides 
Gently, as if it feared to wake 

The slumber ef the silent tides. 

T«l T1<^>0. III. B 

•Vv 



108 



burton's gentleman's magazine. 



Id the view of UnderclilT, the artift has heen peculiarly happy in producing an effect at once 
biilliant and chaste. The broken foreground is agreeably relieved by the sparkling transparency of 
the water : the receding figures on the shore are judiciously introduced to mark the perspcciivo. The 
projecting bluff in the middle distance is thrown into shadow, and stands out |[| fine contrast from 
Che light horizon, while the lights upon the solitary lock, the entrance gate, the mansion, and the 
vessels, produce the effect of a setting sun ; and the whole subject is treated with masterly skill. We 
only regret that art has not power to convey the kindly hospitalities hourly exercised in the interior 
of the mansion. 

To enumerate the matchless and minute lieauties of UnderclifT, would occupy more space than 
the limits of our descriptive pages will permit. Its superiority, however, may be summed up in one 
expressive sentence, to which it is justly entitled, and which has been conceded to it by common 
consent — " The Gem of the Hudson River" To the belles-lettres reader the "Gem" will acquire 
additional value by reflecting the light of literature; it is the home of that fine poet, and graceful 
prose writer, General Morris. Many of the most beautiful of this gentlcman*s lyric efifusions have 
been written among the fairy beauties of UnderclifT, and under the inspiration of that true poetic 
feeling which such enchanting scenes are so likely to elicit The following lines, addressed bj 
deneral Morris to his youngest daughter, Ida, are a fitting appendage to a description of the hiidi 
place of the subject of the poet*s song : — 



Where Hudson's wave o'er silvery sands 

>yinds thro' the hills afar. 
Old Crow-nest like a monarch stands 

Crowned with a single star ! 
And there, amid the billowy swells 

Of rock-ribb*d, cloud-capt earth, 
My fair and gentle Ida dwells, 

A nymph of mountain birth-* 
My fair and gentle dwells 

A nymph of mountain birth. 

The snow-flake that the cliff receives — 
The diamonds of the showers — 

Spring's tender blossoms, buds, and leaves — 
The sisterhood of flowers — 

Norn's early beam— eve's balmy breeze — 



Her purity define ; 
But Ida's dearer far than these 

To this fond breast of mine — 
But Ida's dearer far than these 

To this fond breast of mine. 

My heart is on the hills ; the shades 

Of night are on my brow ! 
Ye pleasant haunts and silent gladea, 

My soul is with you now ! 
I bless the star-crowned highlands where 

My Ida's footsteps roam ; 
Oh, for a falcon's wing to bear — 

To bear me to my home ! 
Oh, for a falcon's wing to bear— -> 

To bear me to my home ! 



FLORENCE VANE. 



BT P. P. COOKS, ISa., W IHCHliTSn, TA. 



I LOTXB thee long and dearly, 

• Florence Vane : 
My life*s bright dream, and early, 

Hath come again ; 
I renew in my fond vision 

My heart's dear pain. 
My hopes, and thy deriaion, 

Florence Vane. 

The ruin lone and hoary — 

The ruin old, ^ 
Where thou didst hark my story 

At even told — 
That spot — the hues Elyaian 

Of sky and plain — 
I tretsore in my vision, 

Florence Vane. 



Thou wast lovelier than the 
In their prime ; 

Thy voice excelled the closet 
Of sweetest rhyme ; 



Thy heart was as a river 

Without a main. 
Would I had loved thee never, 

Florence Vane ! 

But furest, coldest, wonder! 

Thy glorious clay 
Lyeth the green sod under-^ 

Alas the day ! 
And it boots not to remember 

Thy disdain — 
To quicken love's pale ember, 

Florence Vane. 

The lilies of the valley 

By young graves weep. 
The pansies love to dally 

Where maidens sleep ; 
May their bloom, in beauty vying. 

Never wane 
Where thine earthly part is lying, 

Florence Vane ! 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 

BlIVS Ur ACCOUHT of THK FiBST PaSSAOK ACROM TBI ROCKT MOUBTAIBI OF NOBI 

Amxbica stxb acbiktxd bt Citixizkd Mab. 



CHAPTER III. 



Hatihs reached the mouth of the river Plttte, our vojagers encamped for three days, during 
which they were busily occupied in drying and airing their goods and provisions, making new obis 
and poles, and repairing the birch canoe, which had sustained material injury. The hunters brought 
in an abundance of game, with which the boats were louded to repletion. Deer was had for the aakr 
ing, and turkeys and fat grouse were met with in great plenty. The party, moi cover, regaled on 
fleveral species offish, and, at a short distance from the river banks, found an exquisite kind of wild 
grape. No Indians had been seen for better than a fortnight, as this was the hunting season, and 
they were doubtless engaged in the prairies, taking buf&lo. After perfectly recruiting, the voyagetg 
broke up their encampment, and pushed on up the Missouri. Wo resume the words of the JoumaL 
f August 14. We started with a delightful breeze from the 8. E., and kept along by the Southern 
chore, taking advantage of the eddy, and going at a great rate, notwithstanding the current, which, 
in the middle, was unusually full and strong. At noon, we stopped to examine some remarkablo 
mounds on the south-western shore, at a spot where the ground seems to have sunk considerably to 
an extent of three bundled acres, or more. A large pond is in the vicinity, and appears to have 
drained the low tract. This is covered with nyunds of various sizes, and shapes, oil formed of sand 
and mud, the highest being nearest the river. Icould not make up my mind whether these hillocks 
were of natural or artificial construction. I should have supposed them made* by the Indians, but 
for the general appearance of the soil, which had apparently been subjected to the violent action of 
water.* We staid at this spot the rest of the day, having made altogether twenty miles. 

August 15. To-day we had a heavy, disagreeable head wind, and made only fifteen miles, with 
great labor; encamping at night beneath a blufl'on the north shore, this being the first bluff on that 
aide which we had seen since leaving the Nodaway river. In the night it came on to rain in torrents, 
and the Greelys brought in their horses, and ensconced themselves in the cabin. Robert swam the 
river with his horse from the South shore, and then took the canoe across foi Meredith. He appear- 
ed to think nothing of either of these feats, although the night was one of the darkest and most 
boisterous I ever saw, and the river was much swollen. We all sat in the cabin very comfortably, 
for the weather was quite cool, and were kept awake for a long time by the anecdotes of Thornton, 
who told story after story of his adventures with the Indians on the Missisippi. His huge dog ap- 
peared to listen with profound attention to every woid that was said. Whenever any paiticularlj 
incredible circumstance was related, Thornton would gravely refer to him as a witness. <• Nep," 
he would say, " don't you remember that time V* — or '* Nep can swear to the tiuth of that — can't 
you, Nep?" — when the animal would roll up his eyes immediately, loll out his monstrous tongue, 
and wag his great head up and down, as much as. to say — " Oh it*8 every bit as true as the liihle.'* 
Although we all knew that this trick had been taught the dog, yet for our lives we could not forbear 
shouting with laughter, whenever Thornton would appeal to him. 

August 1 6. Early this morning passed an island, and a creek about fifteen yards wide, and, at a 
farther distance of twelve miles, a large island in the middle of the river. We had now, grneially, 
iiigh prairie, and timbered hills on the north, with low ground on the south, covered with cotton- 
wood. The river was excessively crooked, but not so rapid as before we passed the Platte. Altogether 
there is less timber than formerly ; what there is, is mostly elm, cotton-wood, hickory, and walnut, 
with some oak. Had a strong wind nearly all day, and by means of the eddy and this, we made 
twenty-five miles before night Our encampment was on the south, u|x>n a large plain, covered with 
high grass, and bearing a great number of plum-trees and currant-bushes. In our rear was a steep 
woody ridge, ascending which we found another prairie extending back for about a mile, and stopped 
again by a similar woody ridge, followed by another vast piairie, going off into the distance as far as 
the eye can reach. From the cUfii just above us we had one of the most beautiful prospects in tha 
world. j- 

August 17. We remained at the encampment all day, and occupied ourselves in various em- 
ploynMnta. Getting Thornton, with his dog, to accompany me, I strolled to some distance to tha 

* These monnds are now well understood to indicate the position of the ancient village of tha 
Ottoes, who were once s ▼ery powerful tribe. Being reduced by continual hostilities, they sought 
protection of the Pawnees, and migrated to the south of the Platte, about thirty miles from its month* 
— ^Ebs. O. M. 

f The Council Blnfllh— Ebs. G. M. 



110 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

southward, and was enchanted with the Toloptnous heanty of the country. The prairies exceeded 
in beauty aay thing told in the tales of the Anbtan Nighuu On the edges of the creeks tkere wm a 
wild mass of flowers which looked more like Art than Nature, so profusely and fantastically were 
their vivid colors blended together. Their rich odor was almost oppressive. Every now and then 
we came to a kind of green island of trees, placed amid an ocean of purple, blue, orange, and crimson 
blossoms, all waving to and fio in the wind. These islands consinted of the roost majestic forest oaks, 
and, beneath them, the gmss rerembled a robe of the softest green velvet, while up their huge stems 
there clambered, generally, a profusion of grape vines, laden with delicious lipe fruit The Missouri, 
in the distance, presented the most majestic appearance ; and many of the real islands with which it 
was studded were entirely covered with plum bushes, or other shrubbery, except where crossed in 
various directions by narrow, mazy paths, like the alleys in an English flower-garden ; and in these 
alleys we could always see either elks or antelopes, who had no doubt made them. We retomed, 
at sun-set, to the encampment, delighted with our excuision. The night was warm, and we were 
excessively annoyed by musquitoes. 

Augtut 18. Tonlay paaved through a narrow part of the river, not mure than two hnndxed 
yards wide, with a rapid channel, much obstructed with logs and drift wood. Ran the Urge boat on 
a sawyer, and half fliled her with water bcfote we could extricate her from the difficulty. We were 
obliged to halt, in consequeiice, and oveihaul our things. 8ome of the biscuit was injured, bnt 
none of the powder. Remained all day — having only made five miles. 

Augutt 19. We started early this morning and made great headway. The weather was cool 
and cloudy, and at noon we had a drenching shower. Passed a cieek on the sooth, the mouth of 
which is nearly concealed by a large sand-island of singular appearance. Went about fifteen miles 
beycMid this. The highlands now recede from the river, and are probably from ten to twenty miles 
apart. On the north is a good doal of fine timber, but on the south very Uttle. Near the river me 
beautiful prairies, ami along the banks we procured four or five different species of grape, all of good 
flavor and quite ripe ; one is a large purple grape of excellent quality. The hunters came into Gamp,, 
at night, from both sides of the river, and brought us more game than we well knew what to do 
with — grouse, turkiea, two doiT, an antelope, and a quantity of yellow birds with black<4triped wings-^ 
these latter proved delicious eatin^r. We made about twenty miles during the day. 

Auguti 20. The river, this morning, was full of sand-bars and other obstructions ; but we pro- 
ceeded with spirit, and reached tiie mouth of a pretty large creek, before night, at a distaaoe of 
twenty miles from our lai«t cnc^mpmost. The creek cornea in from the north, and has a' large island 
opposite its mouth. Here we made our camp, with the resolution of remaining four or five days to 
trap beaver, as we saw great signs of them in the neighboihood. This island was one of the most 
fairy-looking situations in the world, and filled my mind with the most delightful and novel emotions* 
The whole scenery ruther r«>6ttml4ed what I had dreamed of when a boy, than an actual reality. The 
lianks sloped down very gradually into the water, and were carpeted with a short sofiL graaa of a 
brilliant green hue, which was visible under the surface of the stream for some distance from the 
shore ; especially on the norili side, where the clear creek foil into the river. All round the island, 
wliich was probably about twenty acres in extent, was a complete fringe of cotton-wood ; the tmnks 
loaded with grape vines in full fruit, and so closcly-interlocjiing with each other, that we coold 
scarcely get a gUmpse of the river between tlie leaves. Within this circle the grass was somewhat 
higher, and of a coarser texture, with a pale yellow or white streak down the middle of each blade, 
and giving out a remarkably delicious perfume, resembling that of the Vanilla bean, but much 
stronger, so that the whole atmosphere was loaded with it The oommon English sweet graas is no 
doubt of the same genus, but greatly inferior in beauty, and fragrance. Interspersed among it in 
every direction, were myriads of the most brilliant flowers, in f^l bloom, and most of them of fine 
odoi^^bloe, pure white, bright yellow, puiple, crimson, gaudy %cdKlet, and some with streaked leaves 
like tulips. Little knots of cherry trees and plum bushes grew in various directions about, and tbsre 
were many narrow winding paths which circled the island, and which had been made by slk or 
antelopes. Nearly in the centre, was a spring. f|f>wreet and clear water, which bubbled up firom 
among a cluster of steep rocks, covered fn^Jb^adto foot with moss and flowering vines. The whole 
bore a wonderful resemblance to an aitificiaf ilower garden, but was infinitely moro beautiful — look- 
ing rather like aome of those scenes of enchantment which we read of in old books. We were all 
in extacy with the spot, and prepared our camp in the highest glee, amid its wilderness of sweets. 

[The party remaioed here a weak^^during which time, the neighboring country to the north was 
explored in many directions, and some peltries obtained, especially upon the creek mentioned. |The 
weather was fine, and the cnjoymtmt of the voyagers suffered no alloy, in their teneatrial Paradise. 
Hr. Rodman, however, omitted no necessary preeautions, and sentries were regularly posted evay 
night, when all hands assembled at camp, and made merry. Such feasting and drinking were never 
before known ; the Canadians proving themselves the very best fellows in the world at • song, or 
over a flagon. They did nothing but eat, and eook, and dance, and i^ut French carols a^ the top 
of their voice. During the day they were chiefly entrusted with the cbaige of the enoampment, 
while (he steadier members of the party were absent upon hunting or trapping expedtticns. in one 
of these Mr. Rmlman enjoyed an exqaUent oppoftonity of obaerving the habits of the beaver; and hie 



>•« 



THE JOURNAL OP JUtltfS HOnUAN. 



HI 



Br:<«iinl of Ihia atnealnt nnimaL is Mglllj inlereilinB — the man eii aa il dilTcr^ oiulcrijllj. in auinB' 
points, ftoDi Iho oidtiiar^ dcscriplionK. *' 

He na* BUondeil, ■■ UHuI. I)f 'lliotiilcin mil hit dog. anil iiullritFcd up igraall creek to ill nanltf' 
in the highlmnJi ftboat len mihw rrom ihs rivir. The (lail? comF m Icngih to a pUce irhrlc a Urgtf 
■»Mnp bad hitfin mule by Ihebmven, in ilumming up Iho cifplt. A Ihicif grove uf willowa oerWf 
picj one eilri:mity orihenranip. saiu* ortheninter4unging iho wul^r st a *|<at wlscre Mveral oFlb^ 
BiumiAt wete (ihaa vaI. Onr adteiitirms ctcpt nlPillhii]' raunJ tu Iti«e wilbvi, bdiI makinf Kep- 
luna lis dawn at n little ilisUncv, suoxvilFd in climbiti;, unulMervnl, inio a tar^O and ihirk Ii«^' 
nhnc Llifjr coultl look inirnHlivUI;' clown apon all that wan goini; on. 

1'tia lii«*«n orro fFpairmn > pnrtinn ofilieir iIbio, unci eiciy step of iheir prajrvn tru diEtinctlj' 
■AH). On* l>y one Ihe arcliilerti wrre jirrceivBil Is approadi tht I'llje of Ihe tvrump, each with a' 
amall braneli in liis mouth. With Ititu he prwenled la ihn clam, hiiiI pkacnl it caiefoUf, anit ' 
tudinaily, »n the part whicrh Imcl uivfn way. HEiiiiK clone Ihii, he cllvfcl iinnwliatel^, and in 
ewKiad* rs-appeaiej above Iho aiiriim with a quaniily of Hliff miicl, whieh he ficat sqnwisd K _ __ 
dtato il o( iw moi«tu[e in a (!r™t dc^ttriw, and ilirn u|iplicd wiiU iu feri uud wil (a«ing Iho Inller e^ 
a oombI) Io lhi> hmtrh which he hid just laid upon the breatli. fie ihcn made ulT among the trm,, 
aixt Waa quieklir »uctce«ded lij aiiulher cif the cuinEiuurty, who wcul Ihioogh pfcixly Ihe 
optraiiun. 

In ihta wb; ihfl ilamage auntainnl hy the dim wa> in a fait tray of lieing toon lepniinl. Moairan^ 
Rednim and Thointon iihawwd the proam* of the work for mure than two bciun, ami be»t te«d** 
nwny in ihe-eiquiiits skill of the ailbnna. But da fimn a* a hnivr left Lhe edge of thpiwimp ia^ 
(Foccli of ■ branch, he wm I<»t rl!;hl ol' DJiion" the nillnwg, niuch Io tlie I'hie'in "f 'i" obmtnrr*,* 
who were oniiouetciwalch hii (aTlher uperatinaa. Uyciambcrtng a liltle bighcrr up in the tr ' 

mr. they disroi»eiTid eipry thin;. A Hmail ayrumorfr had Iwen felled, appaientlT, and i 

(i«Brly denuded of all ita fine brsnchea. a fevr beaver* atilt nibbling olfionie ihat icmuned, and pn>^ 
caading with Idem lo ihednm. In lhe toean tlrn* a great number of the animala turrounded ■modi!* 
oMtt and larger tree, which Ihey were busily orcapisd in cutting dunn. 'J'heie wrte aa many 
fiflj at aiily of the creilutea around the liunk, of wliiiJi nunrtioraii nr «^en would work at once;' 
leaving ofTone hy one, as enrh hocame weary; a freali one aleppinp; in lo the Tucaled place. When 
oiw inTellera liral obwnved the sycamore, il had lieen alrCBdy mit through (o a gitat eilsnt, but only* 
*n the aide neareil the awanip, upon the edge of which it pew. The incUion wi» nearly a 
wicit. and aa cleanly made as if done wclh an aiei and lhe ground at Iho bollom of the Itea 
cotered with line longitadinal tlips, tike iittiiwa, which had been nibbled out, and not eaten; i 
appeua thai lh«e anitnala only use the bark far fond. When at work aome aul upon the hind lega,' 
in Iha pnstuto »a common with squirreta, and gnawed at lhe wood ; iheit fore feel realing opnit ths' 
«tge of Ihe col, and Ihdr hemla llirttal for into the aperture. Two of Ihem, however, were enlinly 
wilbln lhe incision : lying at length, and working with fireal eiETPneas fot a abort time, when they 
weio relieved by their companions. 

Allhou^h the poahinn of our voyager!! wa* any ihin; hut eomfiii table, so grent was their curionity 
to wiUicn the felling of the aycamoie, thai ihcj ronlulely mnrnliiined Ibeir post until sunaet, an in- 
larval ofpiglU hour* finm the lime of ascending. Their chief emlmrraaamani wua on Neptune's ac- 
count, who ca:i|j wilbdiAeulty bekeplfmm plunjinBinlheawampaftorlho pluaterera who were re- 
pahin; Ihe dam. The nuiae he mvde had several timesdistUTM the nil'bleta at the tree, who wonld 
*Te»y now und then slatt, *a if all ■cUnted by one mind, and ti»lrn attentively for many minuteai 
A« oveninit appniaehed. howevir. the dog gave over his freak.-, ami lay quioi ; whila Ihe ben 
went on un<nlcTrii|>tedly with their labor. 

Just aa ibe aim btigan to not, a sudden comniotion waa ohaerved among the wood-rulleni. who 
atwtcil from the tree, and Sew rcntid In the aide whic;h was uiitouchrd. In an cnalailt afleinalda 
vna seen tu settle down eradually on the gnawed side, lill Ibc lips of the inciiion met ; hot Hill iV* 
*tld nut fall, being suitaineO partially hy lhe unaundered baik. 'I'his was now ailucked with leil bj- 
•a many nibblera aa could find room lo work at it, and very quiiklj leveiei) ; when tlic bugi 
which the proper inclinalion had aliendy boen ao ingenioualy giien, fell with a ttemendona cradt, 
and spread a great portion of its topmnat branches ovci the surface of lhe swamp. Tbia m 
cMaplishod, the whole communily seemed to think n holiday was deaeived. and, ceasing work M 
OIHO, began lo chase eich other about in the water, diving, liiid slepjnng the euiboe with Iheit laik. 

Tho account here given of the method employed by the beaver in its wood-cuUing operations, !■' 
nmre ciTruinBlantiat than any we have yet seen, and aecmalnbe enocluai'e iniegaid lo the 
of duign on the anLmBl'i pail. The intention of making ibe iree fall tonudi Ihe water appeal*- 
hare to be obvious. Captain Bonneville, il will In lemembered, diaciedila the nlle^ aagarity of lbB< 
■Dime! in thia respect, and thinks it has no farther aim than to gel the tieedown. wilhontany aubdIF* 
aloalalion In reapecl in its mode of deaeeol. Thia alliibuie, be thinks, hu been nacribed 
fiom the circumatance that trees in general, which grow neat tlic margin of water, eilbet lean bodilyt 
towatda the alrenm. or alretch their most ]iunderDUB limbs in that direction, in search of the lighl|< 
apaen and air, whii^h are ihare uiually fonnd. Tbs beaver, he ioyii, attacks, of coune, Ih 
wfaioh ane nearest at hand, and on Ihe banks of the stream or pond, and these, when cat througll. 



112 BURTOPi's gentleman's MAGAZINE, 

naturally preponderate towards the water. This suggestion is well-timed ; but by no means eondor 
sive against the design of the beaver ; whose sagacity, at best, is far beneath that which is positively^ 
ascertained in respect to many classes of inferior animals — infinitely below that of the liun-ant, cf the 
bee, and of the corruUifcri. The probability is that, were two trees offered to the choice of the beaver,- 
one of which preponderated to the water, and the other did not, he would, in felling the first, omity 
as unnecessary, the precautions just described, but obseive them in felling the second. 

In a subsequent portion of the Journal other particulars are given respecting the habits of the 
singular animal in question, and of the mode of trapping it employed by the party, and we give them 
here for the sake of continuity. The principal food of the beavers is bark, and of this they put by 
regularly a large store for winter provision, selecting the preper kind with care and deUberation. A 
whole tiibe, consisting sometimes of two or three hundred, will set out together upon a foraging ex- 
pedition, and pass through groves of trees all apparently similar, until a particular one suits their 
fancy. l*his they cut down, and, breaking off its most tendei branches, divide them into short slips- 
of equal length and divest these slips of their bark, which they carry to the nearest stream leading U> 
their village, thence floating it home. Occasionally the slips are stored away for the winter without- 
being stripped of the bark ; and, in this event, they are careful to remove the refuse wood from their 
dwellings, as soun as they have eaten the rind, taking the sticks to some distance. During the spring; 
of the year the males are never foun/1 with the tribe at home, but always by themselves, either singly, 
or in parties of two or three, when they appear to lose their usual habits of sagacity, and fall an 
easy prey to the arts of the trapper. In summer they return home, and busy themselves, with the 
females, in making provision for winter. They are described as exceedingly ferocious animals when 
irritated. 

Now and then they may be caught upon shore ; especially the males in spring, who are then fond 
of roving to some distance from the water in search of food. When thus caught, they are easily 
killed with a blow from a stick ; but tho most certain and efficacious mode of taking them is by 
means of the trap. This is simply constructed to catch the foot of the animal. The trapper places 
it usually in some position near the shore, and just below the surface of the water, fastening it by a 
small chain to a pole stuck in the mud. In the mouth of the machine is placed one end of a small 
branch; the other end rising above the surface, and well soaked in the liquid bait whose odor is found 
tg be attractive to the beaver. As soon as the animal scents it, he rubs his nose against the twig, 
and, in so doing, steps upon the trap, springs it, and is caught. The trap is made very light, for the 
convenience of portage, and the prey would easily swim off with it but for its being fastened to the 
pole by a chain — no other species of fastening could resist his teeth. The experienced trapper readily 
detects the presence of beaver in any pond or stream ; discovering them by a thousand appearances 
vrbich would afford no indication to the unpractised observer. 

Many of the identical wood-cutters whom the two voyagers had watched so nanowly from the 
tree-top, fell aflerwards a victim to trap, and their fine furs became a prey to the spoilers, who made 
sad havoc in the lodge iit the swamp. Other waters in the neighborhood also afforded the travellers 
much sport ; and they long remembered the island at the creek's mouth, by the name of Beaver 
Island, in consequence. They left this little Paradise in high spirits on the twenty-seventh of the 
month, and, pursuing their hitherto somewhat uneventful voyage up the river, arrived, by the first of 
September, without any incident of note, at the mouth of a large river on the south, to which they 
gave the name of Currant River, from some berries abounding upon its margin, but which was, be> 
yond doubt, the Quicourre. The principal objects of which the Journal takes notice in this interval, 
are the numerous herds of buffalo which darkened the prairies in every direction, and the remains of 
a fortification on the south shore of the river, nearly opposite the upper extremity of what has been 
smce called Bonhomme Island. Of these remains a minute description is given, which tallies in 
every important particular with that of Captains Lewis and Clarke. The travellers had passed the 
Little Sioux, Floyd's, the Great Sioux, While-Stone, and Jacques rivers on tho North; with Wa- 
"wandysenche creek, and White-Paint river on the south, but at neither of these streams did they 
stop to trap for any long period. They had also passed the great village of the Omahas, of which. 
the Journal takes no notice whatever. This village, at the time, consisted of full three hundred 
houses, and was inhabited by a numerous and powerful tribe; but it is not immediately upon the 
banks of the Missouri, and the boats probably went by it during the night — for the party had begun 
to adopt this mode of progress, through fear of the Sioux. We resume the narrative of Mr. Kodman, 
with the second of September.] 

September 2. We had now reached a part of the river where, according to all' report, a great deal 
of danger was to be apprehended from the Indians, and we became extremely cautious in our move- 
ments. This was the region inhabited by the Sioux, a warlike and ferocious tribe, who had, upon 
several occasions, evinced hostility to the whites, and were known to be constantly at war with all 
the neighboring tribes. The Canadians had many incidents to relate respecting their savage pro- 
pensities, and I had much apprehension lest these cowardly creatures should take an opportunity of 
deserting, and retracing their way to the Mississippi. To lessen the chances of this, I removed one 
of them from the piroque, and supplied his place by Poindexter Grecly. All the Greelys came in 
from the shore, turning loose the hoises. Our arrangement was now as follows : — In the piroque*. 



SABBATH MORNING. 



113 



Foindoxter Grcelj, Pierre Jundt, Toby, and one Canadian — in the large boat, myself; Thornton ; 
IVormley ; John, Frank, Robert, and Meredith Greely ; and three (^anadiana, with the dog. Weiet 
sail about dusk, and, having a brictk wind from the south, made good head-way, although, as night 
came on, we were gieatly embarrassed by the shoals. We continued our course without interruption, 
however, until a short time before day-break, when we ran into the mouth of a cicek, and concealed 
the boats among the underwood. 

September 3 and 4. During both of these days it rained and blew with excessive violence, so that 
"we did not leave our retreat at all. The weather depressed our spirits very much, and the narratives 
of the Canadians about the terrible Sioux did not serve to raise tbcm. We all congregated in the 
cabin of the large boat, and held a council in regard to our future movements. The Greelys were 
for a bold push tlirough the dangerous country, maintaining that the stoiies of the voyageurs were 
mere exaggerations, and that the Sioux would only be a little tionblesome, without proceeding to 
hostility. Wormley and Thornton, however, as well as Pierre/all of whom had much experience 
in the Indian character) thought that our present policy was the best, although it would necessarily 
detain us much longer on our voyage than would otherwise be the case. My own opinion coincid«1 
"with theirs — in our present course we might escape any collision with the Sioux — and I did not re- 
gard the delay ai a matter of consequence. 

September 5. We set olT at night, and proceeded for about ten miles, when the day began to ap- 
pear, and we hid the boats as before, in a narrow creek, which was well adapted to the purpose, as 
its mouth was almost blocked up by a thickly-wooded island. It again came on to rain furiously, 
and we were all drenched to the skin before we could arrange matteis for turning in, in the cabin. 
Our spirits were much depressed by the bad weather, and the Canadians especially were in a miser- 
able state of dejection. We had now come to a narrow part of the river where the current was 
strong, and the clifis on both sides overhung the water, and were thickly wooded with lynn, oak, 
black-walnut, ash, and chesnut Through such a gorge we knew it would be exceedingly difficult 
to pass without observation, even at night, and our apprehensions of attack were greatly increased. 
W<) resolved not to re-commence our journey until late, and then to proceed with the most stealthy 
caution. In the meantime we posted a sentry on shore, and one in the piroque, while the rest of ns 
busied ourselves in overhauling the arms and ammunition, and preparing for the worst. 

About ten o*clock we were getting ready to start, when the dog gave a low growl, which made os 
all fly to our rifles ; but the cause of the disturbance proved to be a single Indian of the Ponca tribe, 
"who came up frankly to our sentry on shore, and extended his hand. We brought him on boaid^ 
and gave him whiskey, when he became very communicative, and told us that his tribe, who lived 
some miles lower down the river, had been watching our movements for several days past, but that 
the Poncas were friends and would not molest the whites, and would trade with us upon our return. 
They had sent him now to caution the whites against the Sioux, who were gieat robbers, and who 
were lying in wait for the party at a bend of tlio river, twenty miles farther up. There were three 
bands of them, ho said, and it was their intention to kill us all, in revenge for an insult sustained by 
one of their chiefs, many years previously, at the hands of a French trapper. 



SABBATH MORNING. 



B T J. 



»••••, 



W SLLSa UBG, T A 



Oh, 'tis an hour when holy love 

Might smile amidst earth's scenes of wo ; 

The heavens are all in peace above. 

And all seems hushM and calm below. 

A soothing influence to the breast, 

Refreshing as the dews of even. 

Lulls each disturbing care to rest. 

And steals the thoughts from earth to heaven. 

The bell from evei^ tall church tower 
Sends forth upon the stilly air 
Its music notes, to tell the hour 
Has come for bended knee and prayer. 



And as each sound that floated wide 
Dies in the quietness profound. 
Scarce seems a zephyr's sigh to chide 
The sacred spell that breathes around. 

Blest day, the Christian wanderer monmi^ 
Who in time's shadowy pathway strays, 
When eve with chilling damps leturns 
To dim thy sun's departing rays ; 
But soon he on the dark sea's sand 
With worn and weary feet shall stand. 
And hail the bright inheritance 
Of the eternal Sabbath land. 



THE BROTHERS. 



AN INCIDENT CONNECTED WITH THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 



BT WILLIAK Z. B C m T O K , F H I L ▲ B £ L P B I ▲ 



All was prepared— 'the Are, the swnrd, the mea 

To wwld theaa in f heir terrible array. 
Thm aroyt Mk* a Ikm tkom. his den, 

Marelieo forth with nerre and liaevs bent to slay— 
A haman Hydra, issuing fVom its ftn 
Ta breathe destnietioa on iu wiai&ig way. 

Byron. 



A:r Engitsh artist of celebrity related the following little incident in my presence, some hdf < 
years ago. The yivadty of hie manner imbued the simple matter with an effect whkh cannot be 
given upon paper, although it was that cfiect which induced me immediately to enter the narrative 
in the pages of my common-place book. I now present to the reader a verbatim copy of my nota- 
tion, retaining even the pronominal <' F' of the original. The anecdote is positively a matter of hd, 
■and the surviving brother is now one of Britain's most illustrious peers. 



Tub sadden return of Bonaparte from Elba nuiterially interfered with the extent of my eonti- 
nental tour. France was for the present " a sealed book" to an Englishman, and Belgtnm had be- 
xome any thing but a pleasant residence for a quiet son of the palette. It was known, or said to be 
%nown, that the outlawed emperor was advancing through Hainaalt with seventy or eighty thoaeand^ 
men ; countless regiments of English, Dutch, Hanoverian, and Belgian troqis were daily airivingrtn 
the good city of Brussels ; and it was reasonable to suppose that the broad fields of Brabant were 
likely once more to be the prize ring of the European potentates. Thousands of English ibshionebles^ 
^3)riven from Paris by the arrival of Napoleon, congregated in the metropolis of Flanders ; Freneh 
officers attached to the Bourbon cause, many of them penniless from the haste with which they 
ciQosed the boundaries of thoir native land, to which they had but just returned after a tedious and 
degrading exile; the officers of the English and Gherman legions ; the officials of the Flemish goirern* 
ment; the great men of the whole Flemish nation ; and, independent of the usual mob of camp Ibl- 
lowersy a crowd of sight-lovinji; English and idlers who had positively crossed the sea for the purpose 
•of witnessing the campaign. The Flenush landlords were keenly aware of their advantageous position, 
and absolutely quadrupled their usoal prices ; nevertheless the Hotel de Bellevue, in the Place Reyele, 
was compelled to have a guard stationed at its doors, to prevent the irruption of the multitude of 
lodging seekers, who would not otherwise be gainsaid. 

My pockets were unable to stand the siege made upon them by the leeches of Brussels, and I re- 
eolved to stait for homo ; although I wished to see the fan, which was in preparation, as the players 
aay, and speedily to be produced. I was induced to quit a week earlier than I should otherwise 
have done, by the earnest solicitation of a hard-faced Frenchman, a special courier in the service of 
the gouty Lewis ; this fellow had been employed for some weeks in travelling l)etween England and 
the seat of war, and now, with the prospect of a few days' idleness, was imable to find a place wheie- 
in he could woik off his long arrears of sleep. He offered to pay the whole of mj bill at my lodging, 
the Hotel do Suede, in the lower town, if I would give up my little room to his sole use. I took his 
offer and his cosh, sent my passport to be vhed, and secured a seat in the diligence to Malines 
(Mechlin), where I intended to remain a day or two, and gloat over the beauties of Yandyck's 
Cathedial altar piece of The Crucifixion, and the various pictures by Rubens which decorate the 
churches of St John and Notre D&me. 

Having deposited my poitmcntean with the condudeuTj I jumped into the eoupre of the diligence, 
and, being the first comer, I secured the most comfortable seat of the three, to which, in &ct, I was 
entitled by the number of my ticket In a fiiw minutes, however, I was requested by the amducitur 
to resign ray scat, in consequence of the whole of the coupee having been secured by a gentleman 
and his lady, who were going throogh to Antwerp ; I exhibited my ticket, and compelled the official 
to acknowledge my priority of daira and the error of the office clerk. 

** Why should I give up my right to a seat because two paasengera wish meet aristocntically l» 
secure the whole couple .?" 

<* Monsieur is in bad health, and Madame has her Jilk de ehambrt, whom she wiabes to retain by 
her side." 

« Very well. Obtain mt a Mat in the raUmdi or the inierintr, and I will resign my nninhsr i» 
the lady." 



THE BROTHERS. 115 

A joong and bMadfa] EngliAhwonian, wbo, with othen of the paasengen, had been listening to 
my dispate with the condueteur, announced herself as the lady in question, and with many thsoiks 
for my consideration, innsted upon my keeping my seat, as she intended placing her maid in the 
roionde. The extreme debility of her brother, and the possibility of an unpleasant companion, had 
induced them to secuie the whole of the couple, but she was not so preposterous as to permit any 
gentleman to suffer Inconvenience on her account, especially when he possessed a prior claim to the 
seat, and his politeness insured them the certainty of an agtecable companion. 

I was somewhat doubtful at first whether this florid compliment was not meant sarcastically, and, 
for a moment, I meditated a flight to the outside of the diligence ; but the quiet lady-like air of the 
speaker evinced her sinceiity, and her delicate beauty determined me to remain in her society, and 
prove myself, if poesfibla. the agreeable companion she had thought fit to denominate mc. 

The brother was in such a weak state as to require the help of a couple of stout fellows to lift him 
into his seat He was fearfully emaciated, but the hectic of consumption did not illume his cheek, 
nor the fire of fevei light his almost glazed and sunken eye. He was suffering from atrophy ; it 
seemed wonderful that a human being could be so perfectly attenuated, and yet live. His sister 
supplied the place of wife and mother; a more patient and attentive nurse the most nervous invaUd 
could not desire, and his weak and hollow voice grew potent in tlic utterance of her praise. 

I soon ascertained that he was the eldest son of a nobleman distinguished for his high tory bearing, 
and had been travelhng during the past yea? in the South of France and Italy, in search of that 
blessing which alone renders life enduiable ; but he became daily worse, and less able to sustain the 
fatigue of locomotion. The war movements of Europe's sovereigns compelled him to leave the city 
of Brussels, where hh had purposed spending the summer — ^he was now on his way back to his pa- 
ternal halls — to die. The diflSculties attendant on procuring a private conveyance were insurmount- 
able in his case— the distance to Antwerp was short, and the diligence afforded an easy and a ready 
means of travel 

We threaded our devious way through the crowded streets of Brussels, amidst troops of horse, 
private carriages, baggage and ammunition waggons, and tumbiils, battalions of foot soldiers, heavj 
artillery, countiy vehicles heavily laden with storage and commissariat stores, sutlers* carts, couiicm, 
and aid-dc-camps. As the troops arrived, they were sent to their several cantonments ; but the 
city had been a scene of continual bustle and noise for many days, and seemed to have attained 
the height of confusion at the moment of our departure. The Life Guards, the choicest specimen of 
English cavalry, had just arrived, and were drawn up in parade order in the Park, surrounded by 
thousands of the citizens, who gazed with wonder upon those noble fellows, the perfection of disci- 
pline and warlike bearing. It was their maiden campaign ; the dandified appearance of their jave- 
nile officers, the degrading nature of their avocations in London, where they were compelled to fill 
the unsoldier-llke duties of household troops, such as escorting the members of the Royal Family to 
and from London and Windsor, guarding state prisoners, and quelling cockney out-breaks, bad 
brought them into much disrepute with the Londoners, who predicted the total discomfiture in battle 
of these " hoUday soldiers," «• butterfly troopers," and ** Piccadilly butchers," as they were called in 
reference to the riots consequent upon Burdelt's removal to the Tower of London, when one of the 
mob was killed by the cavalry guard. But how nobly did the Life Guards earn a title to their 
«purs at the eventful field of Waterloo ! in their charge upon the cuirassiers of Napoleon, the war* 
like pets of the grand capitaine turned tail and galloped discomfited across the field. It is a well 
known fact that one of the Life Guards, named Shaw, killed nine of the enemy with his own hand. 
When the Eny;lish infantry beheld the gallant nature of the Life Guards' charge upon the dreaded 
cuirassiers, the shouts of wonder and joy that burst from their many thousands of throats rose above 
the roar of the artillery. But I am not going to detail the well-known events of this wondrous 
battle — I have made this outrof-the-way turning from my story just to prove that it is possible to be 
well dressed, to be, in fact, something of a dandy, and yet possess the courage of a man. 

In due time we passed the Porte Guiiiaume, and entered the beautiful avenue of trees called the 
Allee Verte, extending itself, like the Long Walk at Windsor, up to the purlieus of the royal re- 
sidence. My fellow passenger, the invalid, had felt a little excited by the bustle of the city and the 
stirring sounds of the various rngiriiental bands ; he knew by name many of the oflicers of the Engliah 
troops, and felt more than a common interest in the probable issue of the approaching struggle. 
As we entered the Allde Vcr/f, the Duke of Brunswick's regiment passed ns in marching order. 
Each soldier was dressed in black, with scull and cross-bones insignia in the front of bis hat, 
which was surmounted by a black plume ; the colors of the regiment were of black silk, and the 
officers, including the gallant duke himself, were in deep mourning, with black sashes and feathen, 
and crape was affixed to the hilts of their swords. 

•* Ah !" said the invalid, sinking back into his seat, " a fatal omen ! the Brunswick black band f 
I cannot bear to look upon it — for it tells of death and foul revenge." It was in vain that we en- 
favored to rally him from his weak and superstitious feeling ; he affirmed that the Duke of Bruns- 
wick, in resolving to keep his soldiers in mourning till the death of his father was avenged, was 
actuated by unholy motives ; by personal vengeance, and not by patriotic seal, and that the duke** 
own and immediate fall would prove the truth of the remark. He enticiptted penonid etili tlM 

•rei. Ti* — »e. iii. ■ "S 



116 burton's gentlbman's magazine. 

from meeting the black band in the height of his excitement, at the moment when he had felt mare- 
relief from his withering malady than he had expeiienced during any other day in the past year-^ 
he knew it was a weakness, but he expected present misfortune, if not death. 

We pioceedcd in silence for some little distance, till the sudden stopping of the diligence, and tho 
«ound of martial music again roused our attention. A battalion of newly-arrived English soldiers 
had made a partial halt in the centre of the AlieCt awaiting the route to their cantonment which 
had not arrived from the major-general of the division. After a short delay, the diligence was allow* 
ed to proceed — as the heavy vehicle was rolling gently past the extended lines of infantry, we gazed 
into many hundred faces of our countrymen who were about to dare the dangers of the battl» 
field. I was calmly guessing how many of the robust forms and merry faces before me were to be 
sacrificed on the altar of glory, and whether death meant to decimate them merely, or to mow down, 
the majority in the plenitude of his power, and leave but a meagre skeleton of their well-filled ranks, 
when I was startled by the abrupt exclamation of our lady passenger, who had been also viewing the 
troops. 

«« Good God ! there's Albert !" 

The loudness of the remark drew the attention of a small knot of officers who had congregated 
together under one of the spreading trees of the Alice. A handsome young man, carrying the colors. 
of his country, uttered a cry of surprise, bounded to the side of the diligence, and commanded it ta 
stop. 

** Mary ! my own Mary ! my dear sister — and Harry, too." 

« You, here !" gasped the invalid, as he staggered from his seat to the window, and threw himself 
mcross my knees to seize his brother's outstretched hand. ** You, here, Albert— in the army t" 

« Why not ? Fve left Oxford — with the honors too, old fellow. My country wanted me, andharo 
I am. Why, Harry ! dear Harry, how ill you do look V* 

« Oar mother, Albert — we have not received letters from England lately — oar mother's health''-^ 
inquired the sister. 

** She is dead, Mary. She died two months since." 

*» Dead ! oh, why, tuhy were we not informed V* 

** We have written many times, to your last direction, Poste Restant, Strasbnrg." 

** We intended to pass the summer there, or in its vicinity. I forgot that it was in France. It i» 
my fault. And mother is indeed no more V* 

'< She died with a blessing on her lips for her absent children." 

There was a pause — a holy pause, sacred to the best affections of the heart It was broken by th*- 
soand of the bugle, the hum of many voices, and the loud beating of the drums. 

"The route has arrived ; I must to my post. Good bye, Mary. God bless you, Harry. Father 
is at the Hall in Norfolk — he'll be glad to see you. Rouse him from his grief, bring him over U> 
Paris next month, and let's be happy together." 

« I shall never see you more, Albert," said the invalid. 

« Nonsense — ^you are worth a dozen dead ones yet. Our men are on the move, by Jove ; I musi 
he gone. Good bye, Mary — I know you will take care of him. Harry, old fellow — brother, give as 
jour hand. This war is but a nine days' wonder — it must last till I win my laurels, though. Sea 
joa in Paris — and then Harry, I'll give you another sister — ^your old play- mate, Mary, my darling. 
Emily." 

The young soldier blushed as he grasped the hands of his relatives ; the word of command was 
given, and he stepped from the side of the vehicle to his appointed place in the ranks of England's 
warriors ; the gentle breeze shook out the folds of his country's flag, as, with head erect, and step of 
honest pride, he paced to the martial soundings of the band. The elder brother retired from the 
window, ami covered his face with his long attenuated fingers. The sister gazed after the young hero 
and watched his retiiing steps with painful earnestness, while the silent tears stole down her cheeks, 
unchecked. 

She wai roused from her gaze by the sobs of her invalid brother. 

** I shall never see Albert more. The hand of death is on me, Mary ; he will not be thwarted of 
his prey. I shall soon follow our parent" 

" Let us hope that the air of your native hills " 

« Do not hope it, for it cannot be. Fool that I was to give Strasbarg as a direction. Write home 
from Antwerp, and ask father to join us directly. Albert expects to meet me at Paris — I ahali neoer 
Mte him again ! How handsome he appears ! We spoke together but for a minute, yet our dis- 
coarse embraced the sum of human existence — collegiate honors, martial glory, love and pride^ 
and — death ! Happy brother ! blessed with health and youth, he is now in the sure pursuit of 
victory and fame. Emily, too, the rich and beauteous giri, the companion of his infancy, the chosen 
of his heart, awaits his return to gladden him with the name of husband ! while I, spirit-broken,, 
hopeless, helpless, am dragging my dying frame about the world — a curse to myself, and a subject of 
annoyance to all around me." 

« Dear brother — this is very unkind." 
^ ** I did not moan it so, for you deserve more from me than a life's devotion can lepey. Toa most 
Of, air," said he, addressing me ; «thiff little family matter has doabtless been soffioientlj 



THE WARNING VOICE. 



117 



tiresome to yoa — but this dear girl willingly resigned her place in the fashionable world when her 
youth and beauty, to say nothing ot her birth, gave her a position which few can ever hope to gam- 
nay , more, she gave up the ceitainty of a desirable match with one who honorably deserves her love— 
for the sake of sacrificing her young days in attendance upon a hypochondriac death-struck brother. 
But it is now nearly over ; I feel that a few short days will end the struggle, and then, my dearest 
Mary, you may look once more for happiness and love." 

The invalid was right in part of his hypochondiiac prognostications ; I have told how the sight of 
the black band immediately preceded the news of the death of the invalid*s mother, and it is now 
a matter of history that Brunswick*s duke was killed in the execution of his revenge. But the invalid** 
prophecy respecting the family destinies proved strangely erroneous, nothwithstanding appearances 
were so much in its favor. It is true, though, that he never did see hU brother again — for the young 
soldier was found under the walls of the Chateau St. Hougomunt with his right arm shattered by a 
cannon ball, a bayonet wound in his breast, and a sabre cut upon his cheek — but his country's flagp 
was clutched in his death grasp, and his comrades had to cut the staff and the colors from the hold 
of his closed and death-stifiened fingers. The invalid encountered a severe storm in his passage across 
the channel ; a strong bout of sea sickness, which at one time seemed to threaten his weak frame 
with dissolution, evidently new-tuned his nerves and gave him a fresh lease of life His recovery 
was speedy and entire ; he hastened to console the afflicted Emily, the intended bride of the dead 
soldier ; how sincerely she mourned his loss may be ascertained from the fact that in less than a 
twelvemonth, she gave her hand in marriage to his brother. 

The sister married the man of her heart, and is now the mother of seven children. An afiectionalo 
futer seldom makes a bail wife. The adventure in the diligence had its effect upon' my future des- 
tiny, I can assure you. I was then a poor half starved painter, living upon enthusiasm and boiled 
beef, with a tolerable slice of hope of better things. You know what I am now, and how I live. 
You know too who patronises me, and who is said, correctly too, I own, to be the builder of my 
fortune and my fame. Well, that nobleman was the invaUd in the diligence. 



THE WARNING VOICE. 



IT MISi SABAH L. I A M B X B T , ff B A V K F O B D , 



PA. 



Trbbs is a voice, mysterious, sad, and deep. 
That oftentimes comes ringing through the heart, 

Startling the soul as from some charmed sleep, 
Bidding each thought of gaiety depart, 

Teaching the spirit, in a mournful tone, 

How vain the joys we fondly call our own. 

When, in the glowing hour of youthful pride. 
The exulting heart in happiness beats high. 

When swift the hours in bright enjoyment glide. 
And life seems cloudless as the summer sky, 

T*hen ofl that voice comes sadly whispering near 

Of hopes that dazzle but to disappear. 

The youthful wanderer from his native land — 
Tho* bright the scenes through which his foot- 
steps roam. 

His sunburnt cheek, by perfumed breezes fanned — 
Sits musing fondly o*er his childhood*s home ; 

Then viisions come of fearful changes wrought 

Around his hearth too darkly sad for thought 

Wreathing white flowers about her glossy hair, 
Before her mirror stands the blushing bride; 

Her eye is joyous,* and undimmsd by care; 
Bat suddenly she starts and tums astdo^ 



Through her young heart that voice is passing 

now. 
Casting dim shadows o'ei her pearly brow. 

And o(V amid the noise and strife of war, 
The clash of armor, and the roll of drums. 

Sounding more sternly than the battle's roar. 
Through valiant hearts the voice of warning 
comes. 

And tells the victor in his proudest hour 

That earthly fame dies like a blighted flower. 

'^he very buds that burst around our feet. 
Whose charms such brightness to the eartli 
impart, 

A summer breeze though charged with odors sweet 
Will wake the voice of sorrow in the heart. 

For ah ! we know the flowers must fade away. 

And Summer yield to Autumn's chill decay. 

Fain would the soul herself with dreams deceive 
Too bright to last — and closely round her wrap 

The brilliant webs the looms of fancy weave — 
When, like the bird of omen's solemn flap, 

The spirit-voice comes sounding lowly near, 

Andy as the mist of morn, her visions dlsappewft-. 



ADDITIONAL SKETCHES FROM 



THE LOG OF OLD IRONSIDES 



BT THB AVTHOB OF << OLB IB0HIIBB8 OWV 1. LBS IBOBb/' 



Toar i;lorioi» ttandard laanch agAni, 
T* meet anotiier ffoe !— Cam/). 



OLD IRONSIDES ON A LEE SHORE.* 

It wis at the close of a stonnj day in the month of May, 1835, when the gallant frigate 
tntion, under the command of captain Elliott, having on board the late Edward Livingston, -then 
minister at the coott of France, and his family, and manned by nearly fire htmdred loah, drew near 
to << the chops*' of the English channel. For four days she had been beating down finom PlymoaHi, 
and on the fifth at evening, she made her last tack from the French coast. 

The watch was set at eight, P. M. The captain came on deck soon after, and, having asoertainad 
the beaiing of Scilly, gave ordeis to keep the ship <*full and bye," remarking at the rame time, to 
the officer of the deck, that he might make the light on the Ice beam, but he stated he thought it 
more than propable that he would pass it without seeing it. He then ** turned in," as did most af 
the idlers, and the staiboard watch. 

At a quarter past nine, P. M., the ship headed west by compass, when the cry of '* Light O" was 
heard from the fore- top-sail yard. 

** Where away V* asked the officer of the deck. 

** Three points on the lee bow,'* replied the look-out man — which the landsman will readily un- 
derstand to mean very nearly straight ahead. At this moment the captain appeared, and took the 
trumpet. 

" Call all hands," was his immediate order. 

** All hands !" whistled the boatswain, with the long srhill summons so familiar to the ear of aa 
able seaman. 

« All hands," screamed the boatswain's mates ; and, ere the last echo died away, all but the side 
were upon deck. 

The ship was staggering through a heavy swell from the Bay of Biscay. The gale which had 
been blowing several days had increased to a severity that was not to be made light of. The breakeni 
where Sir Cloudesley Shovel and his fleet were destioyed in the days of Queen Anne, sang 
of death before, and the Dead man's Ledge replied in hoaraer notes behind. To go ahead 
to be death, and to attempt to go about was suie destruction. 

The first thing that caaght the eye of the captain was the furled main-cail, which he had Ofdered 
to be carried throughout the evening, the hauling up of which (contiaiy to the bat order that iM 
had given to the officer of the previous watch, on leaving the deck) had caused the ship to fidi off to 
leeward two points, and had thus led her into a position on a ** lee shore," upon which a strong gale 
was blowing her with sach force as to render her chance of safety almost hopeless. That sola chanee 
consisted in standing on through the breakers of Scilly, or in passing them by a close graia along tlMir 
outer ledge — was this destined to be the end of the gallant old ship, eonsecTated by so many a pi^rar 
and blessing from the heart of a nation 7 

** Why is the main-sail up, when I ordered it set 1" cried the commandet, in a tremendous Toioe. 

" Finding that she pitched her bows under, sir, I took it in under the general order that the Mom, 
ot the deck should carry sail according to his discretion," replied the lieutenant in charge. 

<• Master's mate, heave the log," was the prompt command. The log was thrown. 

«* How fast does she go V* 

" Five knots and a half, sir." 

u Board the main tack, air." 

« She will not hear it," said the ofltoer of die dedc 

«<^Board the main Uck," thundered the captain, « keap her fall md bye, quarter onster !** 

<* Aye, aye, sir !" — the tack was maimed. 

« Haul ah the main sheet," lAioated the captain^ and away went the after guard giving the hag« 
sail, like a sea bird's wing, to the gale. 



* This sketch wma first published in the Demooratie Review of April, 1889 ; ito -^^ 
bifn9omnaj to the eompletion of Iho wtdm^knX womn mmaM >ltemliOM ham tan 
'•ooatnictiom 



OLD IRONSIDES. 119 

<* OiviB her the lee helm when die gioee intD'&e lea/' cried the cafitain. 

«* Aye, aye, air, ahe has it," growled out the old wa dog at the bnmacle. 

«< Right your helm ! keep her Ibll and bye !" 

** Aye, aye, sir, full and bye she is," was the prompt answer from the holm. 

" How fast does she go 1" 

^£ight knots and a half, sir." 

«< How beam the light 1" 

^ Close aboard on the lee beam, sir." 

**Keep her away half a point." 

** How iaat does she go t" 

** Nine knots, air." 

** Steady so," returned the captain. 

"Bteady," smig the helmsman; and all men were silent upon that crowded deck for a qtaceof 
time that seemed to my imagination almost an age. 

It was a trying hour with us. Unless we could carry sail at the rate of nine knots an hour, w# 
must of necessity daah upon SciUy, and who ever, during a storm, touched those rocks and Ui^'f 
The sea ran very high ; the rain fell in sheets ; the sky was one black curtam, illumined only by the 
faint light which was to mark our deUverance, or stand a monument of our destruction. The wind 
had got above whistling ; it came in pufis of thunder, that flattened the waves, and made our old 
frigate settle to her bearings, while every thing on board seemed cracking into pieces. At this mo- 
ment the carpenter reported that the after bolt of the weather fore shroud had drawn. 

" Get on the luffs, and set them on all the weather shrouds — keep her at small helm, quarter- 
master, and ease hei in the sea," were the successive orders of the captain. 

The luffs weie soon placed on the weather shrouds, which of course reUev'ed the chains and chan- 
nels ; but many an anxious eye was turned towards the remaining bolts ; for upon them depended 
the masts, and upon the masts depended the safety of the ship. With one foot of canvas less, fifteen 
minutes would have been the length of her life. 

Onward plunged, in silent majesty, the overladen frigate, and at evci^ surge she seemed bent 
upon making the d^ep the sailor's grave, and her live-oak sides his coffin of glory. She had been 
hurriedly fitted out at Boston, when the thermometer was below zero, and when her shrouds were 
set up tho lanyards were thawed. Her rigging therefore slackened at every strain ; and her unwield- 
ly masts (for she had those designed for the new frigate Cumberland, a much larger ship,) seemed 
ready to jump out of her, and take the decks with them. And now — while all was apprehension— 
another bolt drew — and then another — until at last our salvation hung upon a bolt less than a man's 
wrist in «ze. Still tlie good iron clung to the solid wood, and spite of the twisting and cieaking of 
tho channels, it bore us along, tho thunder-speaking breakers in gallant style. As we bounded on-^ 
for I can compare our vessel's motion to nothing else than bounding — the recks seemed within a few 
feet of us. Dark as was tho night, the white foam scowled around their black heads, while thospr^y 
£ill over us, and tho thunder of the dashing surge sounded like the awful knell of ocean, for the 
victims ready to be engulphed. 

At length the light bore upon our lee-quarter, and the broad Atlantic rolled its white caps befove 
us. Previous to this moment all, as I have before stated, were silent; each officer and man was at 
his post ; and tho bearing and countenance of the captain gave encouragement to all on board. With 
but a bare possibiUty of saving the ship and her complement of men, he placed his reliance upon his 
nautical skill and courage, and by carrying tho ponderous main-sail when under any other circum- 
stances, it would have been a suicidal act, he weathered the lee shore, and saved the ConMutionm 
TUb main-sail was now hauled up by light hearts and strong hands ; the flying-jib and spanker wen 
taken in, and from tho Light of Sl Agnes the gallant vessel, under close reefed topsails and jib, took 
her departure and danced merrily over the deep, towards her native land. 

'* Pipe down, Mr. Montgomery," said the captain, to the first lieutenant, ** and splice the 
brace." 

'' Pipe down," echoed the first' lieutenant, to the boatswain. 

** Pipe down," whistled tlie boatswain, and bis sturdy mates, to the crew, and pipe down it 
Soon " Jack o' the Dust" held his levee on the main gun deck ; and the weather-beaten tars, as they 
gathered about the grog tub and luxuriated in a full allowance of old rye, forgot all their perils and 
latigue. 

** How near to the recks did we go ?" said I, to tho master's assistant the next morning. 
He made no reply, but, taking down a chart of the British Isles, showed mo a zig-zag pencil TOtA 
between a rock and the island breakers, which must have been a narrow channel for a fisherman to 
beat through in a head wind, in pleasant weather, by daylight. But Old Ironsides was not to he 
laid up in ordinary on the rocks that line the coast of England ; and her thunder note may again 
compel the British Lion to ask fat quarter on the deep. 

I went upon deck ; the sea was calm ; a gentle breeze was swelling our canvas from water sail to 
royal ; the isles of Scilly had sank in rosy light on the eastern waters; and the clouds of the 6j\ag 
•torm were roUiqg off ui broken niiiea toUM notthwiid tad weMward, like the flying cokmuia of m 
heateaanny. 



120 



BURTON^S OBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



I have been in many a g^e of wind when death seemed stalking towards me upon the waters, and 
the next yawn of the agitated sea seemed destined to receive me ; but never did I experience an boar 
so tenific as that, when, hanging by a single bolt, tbe Constitution, with her five hundred souls^ 
labored to weather Scilly. 

Note, During tbe gale Mrs. Livingston inquired of captain Elliott if she was not in great danger. 

« No, madam" — said that oHTicer, while he stood by the chart and measured with bis dividers the 
distance between the ship and the breakers — *< you are as safe as you would be in the aisle of a 
church." 

Satisfied with this assurance, the good lady retired to her state-room, and slept out the gale. It is 
singular that the frigate Boston, captain McNeal, about the close of the Revolution, escaped a simi- 
lar danger while employed in carrying out to France Chancellor Livingston, a relative of Edward, 
and also minister to the Couit of St. Cloud. He likewise had his wife with bim ; and, while the 
Boston was quivering by a lee shore, Mrs. Livingston asked the captain — a rough, but gallant old 
fire-eater — if they were not in danger — to which he replied — '•* Yes, madam, we are, and you had 
iMtter get down upon your knees, and pray to your God to forgive you your nunurous sins ; for, if 
we don't cariy by this point, in five minutes we shall all be in h — 11 !" 



AN AUTUMNAL PERPETRATION. 



THE MAD POET. 



BT J. BS1.VGHAXP J O X X 8 , BALTIXOKl. 



He stood, with folded arms, upon a rock 
That jutted out from a tall mountain side, 
So high in air that each loud thunder-shock 
Threatened to plunge him in the ocean tide. 
Yet he, unmoved, ne'er turned bis biow to bide 
The lightning flaFhing round him — but on high 
Still steadfast gazed, his lips coropiessed with 

piide 
That naught like fear escaped bim — nor a sigh 
Told to the carping world he should in anguish 

die. 

He had known much of pleasure and of pain ; 
The giflcd revel with acute delight 
When fancy kindles up her vast domain. 
And thought darts upward in its eagle flight 
But oft his brow was dark as murky night. 
When the blue sky is curtained with a cloud, 
And flapping ravens shriek their wild aflVight: 
'Midst his first triumphs slander wove a shroud 
That chilled his warmest blood, and made him 
fierce and proud. 

Genius had lit her fires within his breast. 
And he had sung hi« high inspired lay ; 
But envious foes had broken his sweet rest, 
And tbe adored one spumed his love away. 
His brow turned pale, and from his eye a ray 
Flashed forth unearthly, and his lip was curled 
In mockery of the shaft foredoomed to slay ; 
And soon his hopes were in a chaos hurled. 
And he a reckless maniac howling through tbe 
world. 



Men stared in wonder at his freaks so wild— 
For be was watchful at the dead of night. 
And wandered lonely like some elfin child. 
His eyes wide glaring like a troubled spiite. 
He ghastly smiled, (sad token of delight,) 
And rushed away to the dark fiowning hills. 
Where thunders rolled, and flashed the levin's light; 
And sought 'midst storms a solace for his ills. 
Where naught should stir his breast but pure 
electric thrills. 



ilwkid 



And thus he stood, the tempest roaring round. 
On that dread night when moaned the fitful w| 
He seemed to read some mystery profound, 
And smiled as fancied figures crossed his 
Anon, a piteous scream was heard behind. 
And the false maid once wildly loved, now came 
In snow-white robes, and ringlets unconfincd. 
His youthful love at last in truth to claim — 
And called him to return in her once worshipped 
name. 

Ho heard and paused, just ere the fatal spring 
Had plunged him headlong to the depths below; 
He rushed like dove, on swiftest cleaving wing. 
And clasped his prize, no moie the cause of woe. 
Their mingled tears were not forbid to flow. 
And peaceful bliss henceforth their passion crown^ 

ed. 
But many a gifled child is doomed to know 
Less peace than bis, when fortune once ha* 

frowned, 
And from the rock of Ufii malQet the eternal boondt 



SACRED LYRICS, 



VT TH0XA8 DVKir SKOLISH, X. D. P B I L A D 1 L P ■ I A < 



THE DEATH OF SAMSON. 

The strong man is taken — his long locks are shorn ; 
Now woe to the day that the yielder was horn ! 
A woman the means, and the proud Philistine, 
To revel and dance in his palace, is seen. 
For Samson hath yielded, the mighty hnth qaailed. 
And the pride of the children of Jacob hath fiailed. 

Ay I strike up yonr cymbals, and bow to your gods ; 
Kaise the shoutings of mirth till your proud temple nod»> 
Ye have shorn him of strength, and bereft him of sight; 
Leaying life unto him but a tempest and night 
Rejoice while we may, for the moment draws near, 
"When the sound of your Uighter shall change unto fear. 

They bring him in shame from his dungeon so dark. 
Their object of sport, of their rude jesting mark ; 
As the mouse, who will flee from the dread unicorn, 
"When his foe is no more, scofis at hoof and at horn ; 
But ** vengeance is giv*n," saith the Lord, ** and 'tis mine,"' 
And the hosts of Philislia were slain at their shrine. 

The heathen are mourning — their daughters ane pale. 

Lamenting the death of her proud men of mail — 

Who no longer, on steeds from the desert, shall prance> 

Exulting with buckler, and boasting with lance — ^ 

For Jehovah hath spoken, and Samson hath done, 

And the hosts of the foeman have fallen as one. * 



THE CONQUEST OP GIDEON. 

Arouse to the contest who fight for the Lord, 
But wield ye no bucklers, and bear ye no sword. 
For Jehovab, the mighty., hath utter*d and said. 
That the hosts of our foemen in death shall be laid. 
They number theii thousands, three hundred we know— 
" The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon ! Ho !" 

"With trumpets in hand, and with pitcher and lamp, 
Come slowly and silent, advance to the camp. 
Though the foe, in their number, like grasshoppers lay. 
When they revel and leap in the light of the day. 
Like the water of streams shall their life-current flow ; 
«< The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon ! Ho ! " 

Give breath to your trumpets, ye men that are choae, 

And carry a fear to the heart of your foes. 

Let your pitchers be broken, your bright lamps be bare^ 

In the wind of the midnight to flicker and glare— 

The host of Our Father before us doth go : 

** The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon ! Ho !" 

The trumpets were blown, and uncovered the lights^ 
And strife made its way 'mid the proud Midianitet ; 
The sword of the brother 'gainst brother was turned, 
And the son 'gainst the father with anger that burned ; 
While dread came the shout on the ears of the foe, 
« Tha flword of the Lord, and of Gideon ! Ho !" 



WHO CAN SHE BE1 



ST K. Q. , F II I L A D 4 



SoMF. yeoia a^o, busiiioss took me to the city of B , where having previously taken a room in 

a private boarding-house, it was with no small satiafaction that immediately on my arrival, I foand 
myself snugly ensconced in a comfortable apartment some fourteen feet aquaie, garnished with 
aundiy pieces of " neat and appropriate" furniture, and pleasantly warmed by a cheerful coal fiie. 
The walls were graced with manifi)ld colored prints, wherein the forms of Faitli, Hope, and Charity, 
(not by Sir Joshua,) glared most conspicnoualy in blue and rod drapery, surrounded by frames of 
black and gold, tastefully ornamented with bows of yellow ribbon. 

Having completed my toilet and removed ray travel-*soiled habiliments, I amused myself with « 
volume of Southey's poeooa, which I chanced to find in the room, until the welcome sound of the tea- 
bell effectually banished every poetical association from my mind, and substituted glorious and (just 
then) far more moving visions of buttered muffins and steaming coflee urns in their stead. 

Consigning Southey then, to the temporary oblivion of a closet's dusty sheli^ I made all haste to 
reach that agreeable rendezvous, yclept dining-room, wherein was gradually congregating a circle of 
fellow hungry expectants, who sufficiently attested by the rapidity with which each dropped into his 
or her seat, their anxiety to commence an attack on the various delicacies spread so temptingly be- 
fore them. • 

After I had somewhat appeased the imperious demands of such an appetite as youth and vigorous 
health alone have the power of bestowing, I immediately proceeded to leoonnoitre such of my com- 
panions as were still exercising their masticatory poweis with undimiuished vigor. 

At the head of the table presiding over the coffee urn, eat the excellent Mrs. Rutledge, in a blade 
gown and lofty lace cap, (whose singular balloon-likc structure threatened the very heavens,) sur- 
mounting a long sallow face traversed by many a wrinkle ; some of which diverging from the comer 
of either eye, others marking the cheeks and mouth with strong and indelible lines, gave to the whole 
countenance, as I instantly decided, an expression of confirmed meanness. Immediately opposite^ 
was enthroned her earo sposoy and truly there could not have been a stronger contrast than that 
which existed between them. They were the very antipodes of each other. His rather lotund 
figure and full healthful face were strongly opposed to her gaunt proportions, and repulsive cast of 
features, while his well-opened, mild blue eye, pleasant smile, and frankness of manner were so many 
indications of a kind heart and an open hand;'but alas it needed but little penetration to discover that 
his gentle helpmate held tlie reins of government, and that her will with him was as imi'>erious and 
immutable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. Next to myself sat a very loquacious little French 
lady, with a superb complexion and a pair of exceedingly blight eyes, who kept up a lively inter- 
change of words with an elderly personage of the other sex, on the opposite side of Uie table, whom 
I afterwards learned was the editor of a religious newspaper. Beside these were two or three 
elegant youths, whose redundant locks, incipient whiskers, and well-cut coats, clearly announced an 
unusual development of the bumps of self-esteem, and a corresponding deficiency of those called in- 
tellectual. On my left sat two ladies*— one *< honey, and gaunt, and grim," the other — fair, fiit, 

and twenty, whose white and dimpled hand occasionally stole forth, rivalling the unsullied 

purity of the snowy table-cloth. I ventured to raise my eyes to her face fot the purpose of ascer- 
taining if that was of corresponding loveliness; and truly if fine regular features, and an intelligent 
animated expression constitute beauty, my fair neighbor certainly possessed it in an eminent degree. 
There was, to0| a.Iady-like ease and grace that characterized her every movement, and her modesty 
gentle manneiii IJriire evidently those of one well accustomed to society; in fact, so decidedly en] 
gaging was she, that had not my heart been previously chained by a certain ^scinating little relation 

of mine (whom of course I thought just one degree more perfect,) my visit to B might have 

caused me many an unforseen heart-ache. 

I could not fuil to observe the many particular little attentions shown tliom by the venerable head 
of the establishment ; with what assiduous politeness she sought to tempt their appetite with the 
not too abundant delicacies gracing the board ; how ahe feared they were inconvenienced by the 
heat, or annoyed by the cold ; or that the nauseous compound she called tea was not right, or that 
the muffins were not sufficiently toasted, etc, etc. Their name (for I supposed them to be mother 
and daughter) I tried in vain to bear. It was doubtless something patrician ; no vulgar Jones or 
Smith could belong to any one so refined-looking as the younger lady, and latbfied with this aasa- 
rance, I arose with the general move of the boarders, and while they retired to their respective 
apartments, I leisuiely proceeded to examine two chalky-looking effigies, whieh I presumed were in« 
tended to portray the persons of Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge, not being indnoed to form this opinion 
firom any resemblance they boie to those illustrioua individuals, rather judging firom the conspicoocui 
•itnttion they occupied, balancing each ether iiMadiitgly eter the Iwge haircloth soft. Anottwr 



I 

i 



WHOCANSHEBE? 123 

cBbrt of genii)*,alniduip*,WM[hoprai-Mlwi, iBliPtnanlnIesraed, ofunnnlj EonorMr. DullciJge, 
then M mllog*. who f*ni7i(ia hlmwiriNXHCHul of grcM talrnia for the dtriiip an, iaiiorcd nie»n wid 
ihy ttntil br oomphttHl lln< HXiiikiW Cluudp, nrhich Ihrn hun^ and jni aiighl t bnow (o the ena- 
tnrj, stilt liattga. an unKulin^ nionnioenl of prci^^ioua gntiias. Tatfcinic of geiiiiu. mtiindi me of 
& little inrldenl llut ooea omarrr d la in« wbile standing al a print4hof irindow. While adtniriag 
eMS* eifjuiaite (hinga afln LaniisHT, I chanced to rmwunlet lite sidetons glsnee of a ISn^-lmk- 
ing old g«iil«Rian, who "iw liknwue paiing orcr ihc bemptiag amy ef tpletidid mgniibpi. A< 
wo both by our rapt sdmtratioD appmrcd ii' he enthuniiuuir toven of tho inivi ddi^ifiil of arm, 
MB werf InJ bj a luulual feeling to mlflt on tbe *uhj«rl«Df engraving, painting, drawing, nnJeo on, 
when tlw old i^ntl^man, itiler lelating Tsiians inalanFCH of estrnordiiraiy talent, al ieOBtU told mo 
Kith iDueh TinptoaaitcnDM of manner, thai ho had a sun wliose wondnful powers (mpaniRl aiif 
thing he bad ever heard or lead of, anil ended hf pnlilely requMtioE that I woutd alrp hnmo tritil 
him. and judge for myaelf. Mothinslnaih, laeainipiiiicd tile fond bthorlo hislionne. it here leaving 
me for a moment, he pieaentl; returned tadcn wttti [wo hui^ portfolioa, the si^ht of whieh Mme^ 
nhatalailleil mr, happening, just atthuE nHimefit,to reeullecl un engfigemcnl to an enrty dinner wiili 
a friend. On/' hour end a liuil' did ihat venciable gentlenian detain me, whiht he eijmliateit and 
cMnncnlEil upon lisiven knows how many iilielrhca and outlines, whose exnittenco, I, not beios; !t 
fsdur, wm unable lodiKover. Afior we h»d gone o^erlhe whole, nnd I, merely to gratify o parent's 
faelingq, liad nllaislpd my exeemiive adrntrnliiin of bii son'* marrellDlis produetiont (most derontly 
wishing them belitnd the gists iq the mnntime.) I toek ray icare. aatertnined by my VMtfh that F 
wsa too lole for niT cngagemmit, and had thus lorfnted nn sdmtrablB dintrer, Ihtoiigb the tnitriakcn 
TaiHly of tbe father of s genius. 

Mail nvenmit. Just aa ray eyes, wandering in mMrdi of a book to while an.ty tbe llmr. cbtnrttl 
to light upon a pcindennis bmily bihle, in n1! tlie stnle and ancientry of parchment und gill tlaaps : 
tbetappini' of a lady's shoea heralded the approach of no less a person than the lively Utile Fieneh 
woman, wb» aooit ^er enlered. dropping ine a oety graceful courtesy an she did so. !^le apprnacb- 
cd th* Gie, spiDoil her pretty hands befbro Ibe ^lowini; iroals, then taking a niualin ruflte IVoot her 
higproreedml to exereira ■■ the tbreatled atrel" with what I thought wonderfnlly dcstnus iB|«dily. In 
n momont Iho wcalbcr, that unfaiHrii; imn'ce, romisbed an with a topic IVir comenation, and in the 
coarse of Gftocn minnUH the IcKjuaeiauB dame informed me of hfrself, of the ei'Onomy of all Mn.. 
Rulledge'e demeilie ornngementi, and gsTc me os &r as sbe could go, a complete hinlory of the 
panutts and chjiactrr of oitefy bains 'ho houae contained, with Ibc ejception of the two Udiei, tha 
younger of nhom I had so much admired. 

■■ Ton most know, sir," she proceeded. '■ that most nT us nre eiceedingly good in Ibis home, deci- 
dedly ton good for nne's comfort. Mia. Rudedi^ diaappnires entirely of all rational enjoymenla, aa 
tMDiMislent with the prn^r eieiriao of our (eliginua duties, and ri'gords mnaic and other degniib 
aeoomplishmenis as bo mony agent) of his inftimal majesty. A piBno-forto iybb luniahnl the houso 
the other day iieeanfie a lovely girl, who coinplelply won my heart, awnke iti dulcet stiaini n lillli- 
loB freqnenlly to please her pions eitTn. t^lionld inv unhappy delinquent mention the theatre. 
(wbieh of courae is an ioterdietn) theme.) the pours fortfi such a torrent of indignant etnciomeo as 
\a enie to inrvetit a rcpetilinn of Ihc oHiniee, and esnGnSfi one to a nnne iF^itimatit lo^ric As ly ' 
baofca (with ■ significant gtntuip Inwnrda the sacml volunia) that is thoonly •inble extent of her' 
lihmy. But. between ua, sir, ilieie U mnrr true pietT in my little finger than is contained in ber 
whri* eompDeition, lake my won) for it. 1 have no faith in that hngsnir^tiflod fbce and those com' 
piBSsad tip& Pod! shs is the very etsmn'e ef hypnciisy and iBeaunesK." 

I sMThy iho beigMennd color and ispid ult>.mnre of the penile Gair), that nhehwt c^Hilently aome 
iMKBlcauw lor tbi> sudden link oullircsknf ill-nature, the tralb of whir~)i. bowevrr, I saw no retann 
to eoMifiidict. and not earing in discover what that cause mijrht be, led the i^onvcrsaiion towards the 
Bidijaet that moel interested ttriself, hy in(|iiirinic afier the only persona of whoa she had not yet 
•poken. r allude to the gnunt Iidy and her handsome rampanion, 

■•All, sir," lAe rephed, "that is a itiyslery which not one of na has yelbuFn able to fnthnm. Thrr 
anTery quiet and lady-tike, conSne thems^us entirely to their own innm, nnd nenr make their 
np]KaTBneu except al nieali. Mri. Rirlledgcand th* baanlera sppniirlo look u|ioi> them n BDmelbin); 
for mnoved from eveiy-day people. 7n fkd. I have pmnooncnl Ibein Gngliih, and. judging fromtho 
ywmger lady's benaliful hand, hue decided Ihnt she at all ei-enia is one of s noble ftmily. How 
well thai BOjierH Hgtire and elegant orrisge of hers would licromo a title,'" and tlw little Pti'neh 
lady'e needle, which while she was sppaking hod lain idle, apaiklcd once more tliroogh the delicate 
leni^h of " woven air" she heM lirraio her. 

Not being able to efidi fimher informslion coneeiuing tbe gentle unknown, i*id feeling ttait th» 
tlfowiiy god was gradUalty beginning la acvrt his inHuenee, after a little more uninterealing chil' 
cbal which the indehtifable toniiuo of Madame Raynal would willingly have prolonged, I callol for 
a tight, and retired to my lutvt Utile dariniiorv. 

Al my ohamber overloaked llie slrerl, 1 enjoyed the satisfnction of being lulled to sleep hj the 

icordant and mullifarioin naiseii nHnmon to thoroiighAirFs, wkihl my bruinwas veiy busily tiytnt; 

recall the modest fcr>win» of my darltngoQUsin Helen, whose JmaipeMwn rtauowd Iheploee which 

d br a momenl becu Uaurped hy the scarcely less lovely pction of the young slraoscr. 



I 



124 BURTON^S GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

My very profound slamber, prolmbly indaced by the &tigue of a day's travel, had apparently laited 
for some hours, when a sadden noise, not unlike the creaking of a door, awoke me. On a repetitioa 
of the sound I peered forth into the dusk of my chamber. The fire had gone out, and my candle 
flickered but faintly in its socket. Again the sound was repeated, and I distinctly saw the tall figure 
of a female enter the room, bearing in her hand a lamp, and clothed from head to foot in flowin^p 
white drapery, which, descending in broad folds from the throat to the Boor, looked so like a shroud 
that, although I was wont to laugh at all superstitious folly, I must confess I felt an odd creeping 
sensation, which was not at all diminished by the singular manner in which she seemed to glide 
slowly along the floor. She gradually approached the dressing-table, which occupied the space be- 
tween the windows close by the head of the bedstead, and gently placed her lamp upon it, a move- 
ment which enabled me to distinguish her features, and so rigid and ghastly were they, so strong 
and motionless were her piotruding eye-balls, that had it not been for a strange convulsive twitching 
of the mouth, I could almost have persuaded myself that I looked upon an inhabitant of the other 
world. As I continued to watch her every movement, she turned slowly from me, and began pacings 
or rather gliding to and fro, while deep and heart-felt sighs parted her pallid lips. I cannot describe 
the strange unaccountable efi*ect produced by that tall majestic figure, in its white flowing robe, 
■weeping through the dim chamber which now received its only light from the lamp herself had 
placed there. Though no longer able to distinguish her features, I could see as she passed me that 
her hands were clasped and strained together with the frensied action of one sufiering from extreme 
mental torture. Just as I came to the very natural conclusion that the unfortunate lady was labeling 
under the eflects oi some hideous dieam, she suddenly ceased her mad marcJi, and stood gazing upon 
her fair hands, which she rapidly passed one over the otlier, as if trying to eflace some fancied stain, 
and then followed, as I by this time began to expect, the whole of Lady Macbeth's sleeping scene, 
in which the teriible workings of a guilty conscience were portrayed by the fair somnambulist with 
a truth and force far surpassing even the splendid conception of that child of genius. Miss . 

Equally surprised and delighted, I gazed and listened with the most breathless attention, and when 
with the last line, *< To bed, to bed, to bed,*' she once more look up the lamp, and swept slowly from 
the chamber, I found it almost impossible to repress the exclamation of unfeigned admiration that 
lose to my lips. But who my nocturnal visiter might be, or from whence she came, I, was unable 
to form the most remote idea. Could there be another boarder in the house whom my communica- 
tive little Gaul had forgotten to mention 1 It must bo so ; at all events, the coming day should solve 
the mystery, and discover the person of my interesting visitant. Too fully aroused to resume my 
disturbed slumbers, I lay still, reflecting on that which had just taken place, until the gray light of 
morning stole in at the windows, and the various street noises which were filling the air with *^ most 
discordant music," proclaimed aloud ** the busy haunts of men.*' I most assuredly did not forget 
my sweet Helen, yet I distinctly remembered the beautiful face of the lady who sat next me at table 
the evening before, and ceilainly was not a little disappointed by her non-appearance at breakfasL 
I, however, seized the first opportunity of describing lo Madame Raynal as well as my indistinct view 
of her would permit, the person of th<« mysterious somnambulist; but alas ! not a particle of informa- 
tion did I obtuin ; she only proceeded to overwhelm me with an endless piofusion of conjectures, 
none of which tended to thiow any light on the subject, as is invariably the case. There was a 
pleasant little excitement in thus having my curiosity awakened by two objects of interest, and I 
determined at all hazards to gratify it. But how 1 That was the question. I would ask Mrs. 
Rutledge; she, perhaps, could give me the desired infoimation, and formidable as were the towering 
cap and saflron-hued physiognomy of that excellent lady, I ventured to enter upon my inquiries 
without much fear and trembling. But wo is me ! I met with no better success; the worthy matron 
seemed to be in as hopeless a state of ignorance as myself. " Why, to tell you the tiuth, sit," she 
replied, <* I know as little concerning the ladies of whom you speak, as you do. I can satisfy your 
curiosity respecting the name, however, which is Smith, but, judging from circumstances, I strongly 
suspect it to he an assumed one. In fact, I have no hesitation in pronouncing them persons of dis- 
tinction who do not wish to be known, and as long as they pay their board they may preserve their 
incognito for me. As to the other person whom you fancied you saw, be assured it was yourself, 
and not tlie poor lady who was dreaming." In vain I endeavored to convince Mrs. Rutledge of the 
reality of my nocturnal visitei; so obstinately did she maintain it to be impossible, that I really began 
to suspect myself the victim of some extraordinary and unaccountable illusion. Was it not too bad 
to be thus completely nonplussed in all my endeavors to get up a delightful little bit of mystery 1 
What sad taste, too, was shown by the lady of the fair hands (for so must I designate her,) in select- 
ing the plebeian pationymic of Smith, though in fact she could not have chosen one that could more 

efiectually preserve her incognito. I could not prolong my stay in B beyond two or three daya 

at the utmost; therefore in all probability I must return to my household gods with my burning cu- 
riosity (which of course increased in proportion to the difliculties thrown in its way) still unsatisfied. 
As I never received a second visit from the gentle dreamer I began to regard her as a being created 
by my disordered imagination, one whose brief and fancied existence had terminated with the cheer- 
ful light of day; yet ofUn, very often, did my mind's eye recall that lofty and noble form, and t ho e e 
ghastly distorted features, though not with the liie-like vividness of that eventful night. 



WHO CAN SHE BE? 125 

One day, wbile pasdng through the entry which led to my chamber, I was positively startled at 
the unusual sound of a lovely opera air, sung with much taste and feeling, by a very sweet female 
'Voice. What daring individual could it be who thus presumed to wake the solemn stillness of a 
mansion hitherto consecrated to monotonous dullness 1 1'he sound evidently issued from an apait- 
meot at the end of the passage, the door of which was sufficiently open to permit a partial view of 
the interior, of which circumstance you may be sure I did not fail to take advantage, and there be- 
fore a Psyche glass, immediately opposite the door, robed in a somewhat fantastic costume whose 
sweeping length lent additional beauty to the graceful outline of her fine figure, stood (alas, unhappy 
cognomen!) Miss Smith, indulging in various elegant attitudes, whilst from between her bright lips 
poured the gentle yet startling strain above alluded to. I must confess I could not resist stopping a 
moment to Usten and to look, when the gaunt form of her mamma hurriedly crossed the room» 
« Emma, Emma,'' said she, looking towards the open door with an air of caution, *< cannot you re- 
sist that eternal song ? If Mrs. Rutledge or any of the boarders should hear, they would be complete- 
ly horrified, and begin to suspect" — alas ! the sweet voice cea^^ed, the door was hastily closed, (just 
allowing me time to escape,) and I heard no more. " The deuce," thought I, as I entered my room, 
** am I never to learn who these people are 7" So it seemed, indeed; for though in passing that to 
me interesting apartment, my eyes were invariably impelled to turn towards it, they never again had 
the good fortune to find the door open, or to see either of its inmates, except at the regular three 
meals, of breakfast, dinner, and tea, to which they never failed to descend, or alas, it must be con- 
fessed, to do ample justice. 

At those charming re-unions our sumptuous repasts generally received additional gusto from plea- 
sant conversation, in the course of which was shown an extensive acquaintance with the various 
subjects introduced, and invariably towards the close of the meal, as the process of deglutition became 
less gratifying, as if by mutual agreement, all topics gradually merged into that of religion, during 
which pious discussion the merits and demerits of certain reverend gentlemen's discourses were 
commented upon with a degree of christian impartiality truly to be marvelled at. On these occasions 
was sore to be heard the nasal-toned voice of Mrs. Rutledge, giving utterance to sundry edifying 
sentiments, which received additional weight from the gravity of manner with which she sought to 
"Veil the true hypocrisy of her nature. Madame Raynal would occasionally look at me with an odd 
smile and a significant shrug, as much as to say, ** There, there, did I not tell you so 1" Miss Smith, 
her maternal parent, and myself, listened quietly but said nothing, wisely proving ourselves disciples 
of the old philosopher, who taught that having two ears and but one mouth, we should hear much 
and speak little. 

I sometimes thought I could detect a half-suppressed smile curving the corners of the younger 
lady's handsome mouth, as if some odd idea had been awakened by the sapient observations which 
the subject invariably called forth, and on one occasion I remember when Mrs. Rutledge had pro- 
nounced some unlucky individual a guilty seccder from the church, and a future subject of his satanic 
majesty, because he had been known to visit that house of abomination and heathen origin, the 
7%eatre ! and had likewise not unfiequcntly indulged in the perusal of Shakspcare, and other wick- 
ed books, she hastily withdrew from the table, evidently unable to suppress an inclination to laugh 
outright. 

Alas ! and alack-a-day ! my last night beneath the roof that sheltered my fair mystery, had at 
length arrived, and I had learnt nothing, positively nothing ; neither who they were, whence they 
came, or whither they were going. Was there no means of discovering 1 Must I leave without being 
able to gratify this gnawing curiosity ? 

As I asked myself these questions, I once more retired to my apartment, in order to prepare for my 
departure the following morning. After having tossed every thing into my trunk, and given it the 
final strap, in order to be ready for the early boat, I leant from my window, strongly possessed with 
a feeling of disappointment and vexation, and gave way to a long mental soliloquy, upbraiding ad- 
verse fortune, gazing, as I did so, on the quiet house-tops and melancholy chimneys, that shot up 
like sheeted ghosts into the moonlight. Suddenly the sound of wheels brought my eyes earthward. 
A carriage, yes, a travelling carriage, drew up before the door. The coachman alighted, the door 
was opened, trunks were brought from the bouse and secured behind, and oh ! my prophetic soul ! 
two females, evidently those who had so long occupied my thoughts, I knew, (I felt, it must be they) 
entered it. The steps were folded, the door was closed, the coachman resumed his seat, and ia 
another moment the carriage was gone. 

Imagine my chagrin, dear reader, as I listened to its receding wheels. Oh, how little tiht knew 
what a sad blank she had left behind her, how little could she imagine that the quiet, unassuming 
individual, whom perhaps she had scarcely noticed, though he daily sat beside her, how little did she 
guess that a sigh of regret escaped his lips as ho saw them depart. Yet such was really the case, 
so great the interest and curiosity she had awakened, so poweiful the charms of her brilliant beauty 
and elegance of manner, and a certain undefinable something which hung about her, and leat « 
charm to her every word and action. 

'* Oh 1" cried Madame Raynal, who was the first to confirm the unwelcome truth, ''oh! Mr. 
-Dy our interesting boarders have left us ! Only think of their leaving at ten o'clock. Whj 



1^ 



burton's gentleman's magazine 



it's the oddest thiog I ever heard of. Mrs. Rutledge was quiti" as much surprised at mystlf; Oil f 
how I should like to know who they are. Perhaps we may find some clue, for, as is usually tho 
cassiy a regular inquisition of the vacated apartment will take place, and as nothing escapes the hawk 
eye of Mrs. Butledge, a card, a pamphlet, or something may. in the hurry and coofusioa of pacldng, 
Imto been mislaid, which may, perhaps, serve to enlighten us." 

** True, true, there is still a faint hope lefl to cling to,"' thought I, as I threw myself on the sola 
and began nervously beating a tattoo on the carpet with my foot, waiting impatiently until Mra. 
Rotledge should make her appearance, and disclose whatever discoveries she might have made. At 
length the breakfast bell rang ; the boarders were all assembled when Mrs. Rutledge entered the roofls, 
and, with an aii of mysterious importance, took her accustomed seat behind tlie singing urn. Never 
was her sallow visage so elongated^ never did licr keen gray eyes so sparkle and glance from side to 
aide, as, rising slowly from her chair, she said, with more than ordinary solemnity : — "* GrentlemeA 
and ladies, little, oh ! little, do you know who has been among us !" — a long pause ensued, while 
every body sat speechless, and on the tip-toe of cxpcctatioa. Madame Raynal and myself were open- 
mouthed and breathless, so eager were we to swallow the anxiously expected announcement. Again 
she repeated with a hypocritical contortion of her hard features : — " Uh ! little do ye know who hae 
been among us. We are none of us infallible ; alas, the best of us aie but ciring Christians, and 
may be deceived ; but may Heaven forgive us the sin of which we have unintentionally been guilty. 
"We have harbored a serpent under our roof, and have broken bread with a daughter of the devil. I 
found this book in the room which was yesterday occupied by the two females calling thcmselvea 
Smith, but which, as I rightly guessed, was not their real name, as you will perceive*' — and hfti<iiag 
in her hand a volume of ^hakspeare, we all distinctly read, written in a clear hand, the words c 



MISS E- 



-A G 



■N, 



or Tax THKA.TBK KOTAL, DBURT LA5k!! 



At this terrible discovery the horror-struck assemblage (at least all those who had taken an active 
part im the edifying conversations elsewhere alluded to) sat with theii eyes thrown up, and tbek 
mouths drawn down, utterly confounded and speechless. Madam Raynal laughed quietly, and ini»> 
chievously, apparently seeming to enjoy their dismay as an excellent joke, while I, delighted ta hae#> 
both my mysteries so easily solved, (for it needs not tobe tuki with whom I now identified my 
turnal visiter,) comfortably dispatched my cofice and rolls, and giving my, astounded compaoic 
parting glance, hunicd down to the steamboat, mentally congratulating myself on having 
closely associated with one of the most celebrated members of a profession so often and so unjnetljr 
condemned, and of which she by her estimable character and transcendant genius formed one of Ifaa 
brightest ornaments. 



TO A DOVE IN WINTER. 



BT JUDOS TBEXPKR, DBESDR9, IK. T. 



Faib tenant of a softer clime, 
^liat fond remembrsnco keeps theo far away 
From kindred ones, and maketh here thy stay 

In solitude to pine T 

Boes thy fond heart still cling 
To some remembrance of the dreamy past ? 
Why art thou here still lingering to the iast» 

With drooping weary wing ! 

No songster wakes the grove. 
Or trills in joy its early morning lay, 
"Kar when the dewy eve succeeds the day, 

Pours it sweet song of love. 

The red-breast leaves its home 
When kafleas branches quiver in the blast. 
And ihe wiU tempest madly hurriea pist 

With melancholy moan. 



Thy leafy bower is sere. 
The flowers are faded, and the leaves are dead^ 
Say, gentle mourner i when the rest have fled. 

What still detains thee here ? 

Thou comest as the gleam 
Of the soft sunshine on some barren grotnid. 
Where wintry desolation spreads around, 

Unwarm*d by summer's beam. 

Linger not here alone ! 
This is no time to breathe thy plaintive taie. 
Cease till more genial skies prevail. 

To bless thy fragrant home. 

But faithful to the last! 
Thou Itngerest still tho' stcra^doiids shade theekjr^ 
Then hast no sheRer'd neat wh ei e i n to hie^ 

Secure from chilling blast. 



COL UMBU S. 



A HISTORICAL POEM 



T YMXOXBICX WmST, X S A. ' ) SXW TOBK 



CAITTO FIKST. 



THE DESIGN 



Tbx giant tpirit, which laid bore a worU, 

And won an immortality of fame, 

Lay on its death-bed. Ashy pale the face. 

Attenuate the form, and sunk the eye 

Of Chbi8tophxk Columbus. He was not 

In his last momeota reverenced. Cold neglect 

From the inconstant herd— ingmtitude 

From the herd's chief— like night dews, on his 

brow 
Clammily settled. Far a BMimsnt's space. 
His spirit sunk. He thought not ao to die — 
So sadly lone. But brighter, beltci hopes 
Of all enduring honors diew his heart 
From the magnetic day to which it clung 
Unto the hand which Cashionad it. tie cried, 
** His will be done." From bis soul passed the 

cloud — - 

His eye rekindled, and egain the flush 
Of warm excitements-life's consuming fire- 
Bloomed on his wasted cheek. The memoiy 
Of his eTentfol life peopled his brain. 
And ere his lonl went forth ii thus proclaimed 
Ita lofty ai^mtions, and the clogs. 
The lets and shaekles tbat had weighed it down 
A weary ti me ere , in its high resolve, 
Jt burst its bonds, flew from the common maaa 
Of undistinguiihable beings— soared 
Into the realm where kindred spirits dwell. 
And took its station with the gods of earth. 

** Come hither, Diego. The hour draws nigh 
That we must part I feel that I moat die. 
Earth from my sight fedes feat — ^my tide of life 
Ebbs out, ceasing its vreary strife; 
I aoon embark upon the unknown see 
Which bears me on to an eternity. 
But go not unprepared. I leave the ahoro 
When tlie Grbat Adji ibal bids me unmoor. 
With fiope and faith that be who watched me here 
With goodneas, manifest in perils drear, 
Will not desert me. 

The best legacy 
That I can leave yon, ia my memoiy. 



Treasure it, then — 'twill many a moral teach ; 
Now, list and proflt by your fether'a speech. 

** Although my name is linked with Spain, 

I am by birth a Genoese ;* 
My home looked on the bounding main. 

And hence my passion for the seas. 
Had I been born upon their breast. 
Or cradled by their orma to rest. 
By mermaids roaked in coral del]. 
Or borne above in Neptune's shell, 
I cuuld not love the ocean more. 
In earliest youth I trod its shore 
With a strange feeling. Mystery, 
Most wonderful, it waa to me. 
I loved no music like its chaunt, 
Nor pleased me tale nor wild romaunt 
In which its waters were not wrought 
To swell my tide of wondering thought. 

" When smooth and gjossily it bore 
The majesty which heaven's face wtoie. 
And not a ripple scarred its breast. 
And not a sound distuibed the rest 
In which all nature aeemed to he, 
Myaelf the only watcher by, 
I've thought the sea was made to keep 
The azure sky in hours of sleep ; 
And that the voice of earth and air 
Waa stilled while heaven waa slumbering there. 
Fearful the softest sephyr's swell 
ShonU stir b leaf and break the spelL 
But when the wavea with angry throes 
Have wakened heaven from aoft repoae. 
Over whoae fece has spread the dood. 
Has palled its beautiea like a ahrond— 
When they have foamed in briny sweat, 
Like oouKser to a chafing bit. 
Roaring aa if in agony- 
Tossing their angry arms on hi|[^br— 
Mocking the thunder of heaven's breath 
With theur own dimal voice of death ; 
And striving in their billowy mtg^ 
To suck into their halls of night 



P * Hecrera says he wsas bom at Savena, Gonara; a Genoese historian alledges fSmA be waabom fli 
the little town of Cicuro, in the republic's territory ; whereas, Peter Martyr, or rather Eden, m kis 
fmfece to thai writer^ seems to think that Narvi claims, with jnsciee, the hoBor of Uiis great xnUk't 
birth. — Osborne^ $ VniveraalBi»tory. 

B swat a l places oontend Ibr the honor «f having given him larih; but it seems satishflnrily 
Mirfisd that ha was a native of ithi ywiantrtty of flMwa. hmm^'a Cobmim. 



128 



BURTON^S OBirTLBMAN^S 



MAGAZINE. 



The gallant barks that skimmed their breast 
And battled with their foaming crest — 
I' Ye felt my swelling heart expand, 
I've longed to leave the listless land ; 
As 'twere congenial to me, 
To struggle with the glorious sea, 
And wiestle with that mighty power 
Even in its wildest, darkest hour. 
Enough — my youthful days were pass'd ; 
I was an ocean child at last. 

<« The lustre of the Portuguese, 

Which Henry, son of the first John,* 
In maritime discoveries. 

From the mysterious ocean won, 
Drew me to Lisbon. There I found 
A kindred spirit, and I bound 
It to my own.j- But not love*s glow 
Could cool my aspirations. No ! 
It rather fanned the flame which grew 
Upon my spiiit, till I drew 
Conclusion that my soul was fired 
In its fierce longings, and inspired 
By him whose throne is in the skiet 
For great and lofty enterprise.^ 

** It was thy gentle mother's prayer 

From her own mother not to part. 
And every wish from lips so dear 

Found confirmation in my heart. 
Her mother saw ray souKs drsiio — 
Pleased with the ardor of its fire. 
Full many a tale of voyage dread 
Which her own fearless lord had Ied,§ 



Whose heart, like mine, grew to the 
And panted for discoveries. 
She would narrate ; until at last 
The charts her husband had amassed. 
The labor of a life—a dower 
Worthy a Paladin — were in my power. 

** The infant at its mother's breast, 
The child with long- wished plaything bl 
The boy who first girds sword on thigh, 
The youth drinks love from beauty's eye. 
The warrior in harness bound. 
The poet in thought's kingdom crowned. 
The miser at his golden shrine. 
Never felt rapture great as mine. 
When pouring over aught could tell 
Of that dark power I loved so well. 

** In navigation, my delight 
Was study deep from mom to night : 
Until from memory I could quote 
Upon the theme all writers wrote. 
The poet's song J wherein some gave 
To Neptune first command of wave. 
And some to Bacchus — Hercules^- 
Jason, and Janus, who of these 
Built the first ship— the pioneer 
Of navies now the ocean bear, 
r pondered on historians' lore, 
In musty tomes of days of yore, 
Wherein each ventured to surmise 
To the sea's rider, what gave rise:^ 
The Nautilus's fairy bark 
Some thought the great design did mark; 



,'d. 



( • 



* The Atlantic shores of Africa were the first scenes of that career of modern discovery which 
characterised the spirit of ^e fifteenth century. The main object was the circumnavigation c^that 
continent, in order to open a direct path to India, the grand source of commerce and wealth ; and, 
under the auspices of Prince Henry of Portugal, this end was pursued with a steadiness and perse- 
▼erance which produced the most important results. Then was inspired a contidenca hitherto on- 
felt in the art of navigation ; its capabilities were much enhanced, and the range of its enterprise 
extended beyond all previous limits. A passion for maritime adventure was also spread throughout 
Europe, and men's minds were excited to daring undertakings and bold speculations. Attention 
was turned to the unknown waters of the Atlantic, and imagination wantoned in figuring the wealtfi, 
the wonders, and the mysteries of the lands that were hidden in its bosom. The fables of antiquity 
were revived ; the Atalantis of Plato came again to be believed ; and to its classic fictions were add- 
ed the marvels of many a Gothic and Monkish legend, and the visions of splendor seen in the gloij 
of the setting sun. Yet all these glittering fancies failed to tempt any mariner to sail boldly for^ 
into the ocean, and explore the secrets of its depths. — Circumnavigaiion of the Globe. 

The Portuguese were at this time the most famous maritime power in Europe ; a drcomstanee 
which induced Columhut* to visit Portugal. — Purchas. 

f Dona Felipa Monis de Perestrello. She was the daughter of Bartolomeo Monis de PerestreUOy 
«n Italian cavalier, who had been one of the most distinguished navigators under Prince Heurfp 
and had colonised and governed the island of Porto Santo. — HUt, del AlnUranio, Cap 5. 

^ A deep religious sentiment mingled with his thoughts, and gave them at times a tinge of rapir- 
stiiion, but of a sublime and lofty kind. He looked upon himself as standing in the hand of hea- 
ven, chosen from among men for the accomplishment of its high purpose. — Irving^a Columbus. 

§ The newly married couple resided with the mother of the bnde. The latter, perceiving the in- 
terest which her son-in-law took in nautical affairs, used to relate to him all she knew of the voy- 
ages and expeditions of her late husband, and delivered to him all his charts, journals, and mana- 
ecripts. — Irving*» Columbus. 

I The poets refer the art of navigation to Neptune, some to Bacchus, others to Hereoleii othen 
to Jason, and others to Janus, who is said to have made the first ship. 

^ dome suppose that the first hint was taken from the flight of a kite ; others, ai Oppiui, (De 
Pisdbus, lib 1,) from the fish called NantiUieS othen ascrifte il to aocidiiit Bcriptora zefivi the 



OOLUJHBUS. 



129 



Some, that the kite, failing in tir, 

Called forth the sail the waters bear ; 

Some, with less thought, that accident 

Gave biith to the most great event. 

But whence it came, I better knew 

From the bless*d book, wherefrom I drew 

Conclasion that the hand of heaven 

To man the great design has given ; 

And the first vessel ever rode 

The waters was the ark of God. 

From the Phoenicians,* then I traced 

Maritime piogress, till eiiaced 

In Rome's decay,! ^^^^^ spread a pall 

0*er arts and science, learning— all 

That crowned the earth with wisdom's might, 

And held it in a long dark night, 

Till my own country, Genoa,t 

Bade navigation wake once more. 

** My soul drank light from day to day, 
From axioms that were clear as new ; 

Bright with deduction's liquid ray, 
From this time forth my spirit grew, 

Until its dark and instinct thought 

Became with aim and reason fraught. 

And I could grapple and reduce 

The mighty scheme to certain use : 

For, in the structure of the world, j 

To my inquiring eye unfurled. 

My ardent mind o'erleapt the sea 

And shadowed forth my destiny. 

<* To mine own land, where my fond heart 
Hath ever dwelt, my plan in part 
Was first unrolled. O ! had it been. 
She, of my enterprise, the queen 
Might but have reigned, no shadow now 
Should veil her too blest subject's brow. 
But all beyond her power, she said, 
The greatly glorious scheme was laid. 



And other powers with jealousy ' 
Would frown upon the high essay.§ 

<* 'Twas now your sainted mother died ; 

My hope was she might live to see 
My name in after deeds allied, 

And share in my prosperity. 
She had such faith in each fond scheme, 
Which others thought an idle dream. 
So sweetly on my labors smiled — 
Which, truth to say, too much beguiled 
Me of her presence, not her heart — 
Greivous it was, in sooth, to part. 
Repined I, then ; but better so 
It was. She has been spared the wo, 
The coldness, envy, malice, hate. 
Have dogg'd like hounds my high estate. 
When I had laid her in the tomb. 
My calling cheered my heart's sad gloom : 
I never slacked in my emprize. 
Yet lacked her warm approving eyes ; 
And felt, howe'er in toil employed, 
A comer in my bosom void. 

** At length, when John the Second sat 

Upon his own ancestral throne. 
My plans in their degree complete. 
An interview I sought and won. 
I told him how the world was found 
Terraqueous, in its structure, round ; 
That near two-thirds of all was known. 
The other was a liquid zone, 
As yet untrod — a flowing main 
Keeping the east and west in twain ; 
That, henccfoith, to the Indian coast 
The ocean might be safely crossed. 
Which was not, as tho Arabs write, 
In ignorance, as pitchy night ;| 
But, as by Marco Polo shown,^ 
Beauteous as eye e'er gazed upon. 



origin of so useful an inrention to God himself, who gave the first specimen thereof in the ark boilt 
by Noah, under his direction. The raillery which the good man underwent on account of his en- 
terprise, shows clearly enough that the world was then ignorant of any thing like navigation, and 
that they even thought it impossible. — Encyclopedia Britannica, VoL 14. 

* Profane history repiesents the Phoenicians, especially those of their capital. Tyre, as the first 
H9L^\^ioTE.^^ Encyclopedia Britannica, 

j- The fall of Rome and its empire drew along with it not only that of learning and the fine arta, 
but that of navigation^ — Encyclopedia Britannica, 

i It is the people of Italy, and particularly those of Venice and Genoa, who have the glory of 

the restoration of navigation. 

• •••••• 

Genoa, which had applied itself to navigation at the same time with Venice, and that with equal 
success, was a long time its dangerous rival, and shared with it the trade of Egypt and other partly 
iwth of the east and west — Encyclopedia Briianniea. 

§ The states rejected the proposition as much beyond their power, and likely to incur the dis- 
pleasure of several maritime powers^ — Osbom^s Universal History, 

I The first gleam of Ught came from the east, where the Arabs pursued the study of geography 
.^th the utmost ardor. Their systems again revived the belief in a eircumambient ocean, whi^ 
bound the earth like a zone, and in which the world floated like an egg in a basin. That portion 
of this belt of waters which was imagined to flow round the north-eastern shores of Asia, thej call- 
«d by the name of the sea of pitchy darkness. — Circuna, 

^ Mirco Polo was a Venetian traveller, who, in the thirteenth oentory, trayelltd the Asiatic con- 
tinent to the remotest shores of China. He rstttmed with talcs of oriental wealth, pride^ pomp, and 
dicumstance, that created a great sensation. 



130 



burton's gentjlsman's magazine. 



Encircling isles which might compare 
With those Greek fables paint moat rafe. 
Which in these seas, as place of rest, 
Weie called the ialands of the Uaie'iL 

<* 'Tis vain to call each argument 

I used, to prove that my intent 

Was not a visionary's thought, 

Nor out of idle vainneas wrought ; 

For men there are whose httle souls 

A parching thirst for fame controls ; 

Who, dead to honor, dead to shame. 

Would live a lie to gain a name, 

Reckless, although, like Icarus, 

iSoaring aloft with pinions false. 

Their cheat dissolved, to earth they fell, 

In wor^e than nothingness to dwell. 

John was attentive to my plan. 

Which brought the wealth of Kublai Khan,* 

And riches vast of Zipanguf 

Its golden palaces to view. 

And swelled — it was his noble aim— 

His country's honor and her fame. 

He drew a junto round his throne,^ 

My project to decide upon ; 

This body laughed at my emprize, 

Called it a visionary's scheme. 
But John saw not with their minds' eyes, 

And felt it could not be a dream. 
He called a council. Through the land, 
To men of learning, his command 
Went forth. They meL Bin all looked cold 
Upon the act, which vain though bold, 
LoAy in tho4ght, great in extent, 
Yet idle and extravagant 
They deemed. Such narrow souls were there 
In those learnM men, who scorned my prayer. 

** It is the curse of lofty thought. 
And great resolve and genius high. 

To find no mind with ardor fraught. 
To bind them in one common tie. 

Ko ! — genius lives in the ibnd heart 

That nurtures it, a thing apart. 

And shines therein as brightly lone 

As night's pale queen in heaven s blue 2one ; 

It is its pride and its distress 

To he through life companionkfls. 

But greater ill it is to know 

Thax hearts thus dead to its fond glow 



Will envy what they cannet feel, 

And in their enmity assail 

Its earliest lauaoh ; till, like that wind 

Which in the nor^em sea doth bind 

The tide's reflux, and keeps at bay 

The haughty vraves with haughtier iwaj ; 

They make the maelstrom, whose fisree whirl 

Its fragile bark to death may hml; 

So lives in the Atlantic sea 

That fish alone is chartered free 

To cleave the waters in its might. 

Or take, at will, in air its flight ; 

Most favored of the finny tribe 

It has more foes than ail beside. 

*< The council had obtained the plan 

Which I intended to pursue, 
The course my wished for voyage ran. 

The chart which marked my every view ; 
And while they stigmatised the deed 
Unworthy of a sane man's heed, 
Shameless, beyond all parallel. 
Secretly maim'd a caravel ; 
Thinking to reap where I had sown, 
To tread the path my light had shown. 
'Tis said that John, who till this day 
Firmly his crown with honor's sway 
Upheld, consented to the deed. 
Which bowed his honor like a reed. 
And tarnished all his glory's gain 
With an ineradicable stain : 
That should it fail, the ciown might share 
N^ odium a rash act might bear ; 
Should it succeed, the swelling fame 
Of such an act might gird hb lume. 

<< The caravel came swiftly back, 
Reaping no honor from the tack. 
How could it 1 Glory aits on high ; 
'Tis not for every passer by 
To pluck its rays. The inward fire 
That prompts the lofty to aspire— 
The ardor which can ne'er grow cc^— 
The heart is over firm and bold— > 
The eye, empiercing peril's night. 
Still keeps the destined goal in ai^t — 
The foot, unwearied, travels on — 
Alone have glory's chaplets won. 
'Twaa not for men who cowardly 
Their abject lives in terror weighed, 



* The court of the great Kublai Khan, the emperor of China, was described by Marco Polo as 
being of incortceivable splendor. The. palaces, guards, povillions, gardens, streams, fruits and flow- 
ers of the eastern monarch, were all of sorpaxsing beauty. 

■f Zipangu is the modem Japan. <* The inhabitants," according to Polo, ^ have gold in the gratl- 
.est plenty, its sources being inexhaustible ; but as the king does not allow of its being exported, 
few merchants visit the country, nor is it frequented by much shipping from other parts. To tbie 
circumstance, we are to attribute the extraordinary richness of the soverdgn's palace, according to 
what we are told by those who have access to the place. The entire loof is covered with a platnf 
of gold, in the same manner as we cover houses, or, more properly speaking, dmrdiea, with lead, 
l^e ceilings ef the halls are of the same predons metals ; many of the apartments have •mall ta- 
bles of pure gold, considerably thick, and the windowa also have golden ornaments. 80 vaat, in- 
deed, are the lichas of the palace that it is impossible to convey any idea of them." 

i Tlie junto compriied Masters Rederigo and Joaei^, and the king's ooofeasor, Diego (Mt, hiAap 
of Ceuta. 



GOhVUUVB. 



m 



And in the Tflnkorad fetrad to ^ 
Sach a discovory coald be made. 
They lacked the fire, the heait, the sou]. 
Had brought them to the wished-for goaL 
John saw hia enor, and he aent 
Once more for me. Dost think I went 1 
No, boy ! I acomed to make leply. 
My indignation awelling high, 
My Boul disdained that lofty king, 
Aa one beneath ita noticing, 
And all unfit the crown to share, 
I ever felt my brow would bear. 

'* Twas now the Engliah Harry's fame- 
Harry the Seventh,* aumamed " the wiae>" 

IfVho worshipped freedom's glorious flame. 
And nobly sought to humanize 

His people, kept in darkest night 

By ignorance, and iron might 

Of feudal tyrants— crossed the sea. 

The theme of song and minatrelay ; 

Her second Alfred, j- was the name 

Him Britain gave with glad acclaim. 

For his famed court, Bartholomew, 

My brother, sailed ; my plan to lay 

Before a man who so well knew 

A nation's firmest, proudest stay. 

Time passed and passed, no tidinga casie 

That brought with them a brother'a name. 

I thought him lost ; but he had been 

Captive to pirates. Had he seen 

The English monarch, that wise king 

Had granted my soliciting. 

** Your mother, Diego, I said, 

Ere this, was numbered with the dead ; 

No tie impelled my farther atay 

In Portugal. I turned away 

* Under his sway we behold one of the gveateet revolutions that was effected by the prudimoQ' 
and perseverance of one great prince: a nation of tumult reduced to civil subordination ; a haughty 
aristocracy humbled ; wise laws enacted ; commerce restored ; and the arts of peace cultivated and 
encouraged by a people to whom war before waa delightfuL The whole government put on a new 
form, and Henry was one of the most useful monarehs that ever held the sceptre of the kingdomn 
Reea* Encyelopeditu 

He had all along two points principaHy in view — the one to depress the nobility and clergy, the 
other to exalt and humanize the popnlace.-^£nfydbpe<fta Brittmniea, Vol, 8. 

f In some respects ho has been regarded as the second Alfred, a title to which he has a good elaim 
on account of the great change which he introduced into his kingdom-— changes which had the 
most fivorable tendency to effect the improvement and happiness of his subjects. — Rea^ Eneytbh 
pedia. 

i The quarrel with the Pisans continued over two hundred years, and peace waa not cenclmd^^ 
until Genoa had destroyed the harbor of Pisa, and conquered the island of Elba. — Hist Genoa, 

§ The Genoese, who had greatly assisted in the destruction of the Latin empire, poss es s e d them- 
selves of the commerce of the Byzantine empire, which had been in the hands of the Venetiana.— 
ifis/. Genoa, 

I When the Genoese took possession of Ca£h, now Feodosia, in the peninsular of Crimea, they^ 
also acquired the control of the Black Sea, and obtained the rich commodities of India by the way 
of the Caspian. If Gienoa had adopted a wise colonial policy, and had known how to bind her set- 
tlements together by a common interest, and to knit them, as it were, to the parent state, ahe would 
have held the first rank among commercial nations to the end of tne middle ages. After the con- 
quest of Constantinople by Mahomet the Second, in 1453, the Genoese soon sufiered for the aid they 
had imprudently afforded ^the Turks. Mahomet took from them their settlements on the Black Sra 
in 1475. They still, it is true, carried on a luaative trade with the inhabitants of this region, but 
at last all accesa to this branch of trade waa denied them by the Turks^ — Hut. Genoa. 

yei Ti* — HO. III. » 



In proud disgust, and from He atmid 
Was borne to my own. natiTe land. 

« Genoa! the magnificent ! 

The high, the mighty and the proud ! 
Mistress and queen of the Levant ! 

The coming night thy £une will abroud,. 
And with the nationa that have been, 
Thou'lt be. No more thy glory'a seen 
As in old days, when Pisat aought 
*To wrestle with thy power, and bought 
Bloody requital. When waa thinef 
The commerce of the Byzantine, 
From Venice won.§ No more ! no move 
The wealth of India lavea thy ahore ; | 
And though thou yet mayst linger on, 

'Twill not be as it was of yore : 
The sun will no more ahine upon 

Thy fame, pride, glory, Genoa ! 

« O God ! it is a sicfcening thing 

To five to see our country'a fiill ; 
Its strength, which soared on eagle wing^ 

Subdued and held in iron thrall, 
Until its former glorioua fame 
Blackens still more its sunken name. 
€renoa, of ita. lustre shorn, 
Was by internal warfioe torn ; 
When unison waa needed moat, 
All unanimity waa lost ; 
Her limbs her watchful foes had maimed. 
But her heait'a Mood her children drained*. 
Thus em^res sink in dvil thrall, 

Had never sunk to foreign foe ; 
Thus ever in a nation's fkll, 

It is her sona who strike the blow. 

** My country — lost to ent e rpr i s e 
Lost to ambition — ^fhtuie 



133 



BURTON^S OBNTLBMAN's MAGAZINB. 



To ally bat home hottiliti< 

Again refaied to aid my aim. 
80 dote my fond icheme I punraed, 

My fortune sped ; and lest my iire» 
Who, in his age, my youth had used, 

In want of comforta should expire, 
I gathered up the wreck remained — 
Reat for his laat dayi it obtamed ; 
And thus I gave his foebleneia 
The help ho gave my hdpleaineae. 

! all my honora, all my gain, 
Had been as scorpions to my brain, 
Had he not found the life he gare 
Devoted to him to the grave^ 

The stem he raised in strength and pride, 
A atafT his tottering steps to guide. 

** I took you with me by the hand ; 

We wandered into sunny Spain ; 
That val'rous and chivalric land 

Which Moor and Christian held in twain. 

1 had not then within my purse 
A remlHUo to disburse 

In nature's claims. My body tired. 

But not my soul. That still waa fired 

With the imperishable thought 

Ha breathed upon it It had caught 

A portion of nis eaaence — ne'er 

To change. How could I then despair t 

For purpose wise, beyond my skill 

To pierc«, I felt God worked his will; 

And in his own appointed day, 

Would guide my at^ their deatined mj. 

<« The ways of man are dark as night. 
The ways of God are clear as light ; 
Man gropcth blindly, like a mole— 
Hcaten'a preectence only acea the goal 
Of all that ia, waa, and ahall be, 
Thtoogh tim^ qMoa, and eternity. 
Arguing thoa againai miarhance, 
I ne'er was alav« to drcumatance. 

«* Not tu from Paloa* sea-giit eoasi. 

Upon a solitaiy height, 
CNmounded by a fonst, vast 

And deoaelT black— fike bcwoo fight 
OVpiicky dtfknea, or like &ith, 
£(|3I blight wien all is gloom 
Tbtre stands a ronv«it Thei* 
An4 begged some water and aooe food ; 



For we had toiled the live-long day. 
With nought our hunger to allay. 



(( 



Who shall despair ? Hope's beacon still 
Let constant shine in direst ill ; 
When darkest is calamity, 
The light of joy is then most nigh — 
As on the blackest pall of night 
Treads close the hour of morning's light. 



** Upon that spot, when desolate, 

Abject and sunk seemed my estate ; 

A stranger on a foieign shore— 

A beggar at a convent door — 

God raised me up a friend, who grew 

At once into my heart, and drew 

My hopes, plans, thoughts, and feelings— all 

That held my ardent soul in thrall — 

From its recess. A frisr gray* 

Lighted the path that led the way 

To the great end. His convent gate. 

At which we stood, we passed elate. 

I was his brother from that hour — 

Like me, he felt that the Great Power 

Had chose me for his instrument. 

Full many a subtle argument 

Had we in friendship, till the light 

Flooded my heart, beamed on his sight ; 

Then, not more ardent waa my mind 

Than the wrapt faith his own enshrined. 

He was the first who read my soul — 

The first who mocked not its control — 

The fiist who, since your mother's death. 

Cheered me by praise of human breath. 

And O ! in llUs cold woild of ours. 

Where friendship's fiice i« constant worn 
In mockeiy— as smiling flowers 

Death*s sweltering chameKhouse adom — 
One hooeak heait*s a iiobier gem 
Than boasted Sokian*s diadem. 



<* O ! Ug^tly lie upon his breast 
The dod wherein his ashes rest ; 
May memoriea sweet as rose*s breath 
Keep his name fiagrant still in death! 
Frasfa be the tmf that decks his bed. 
An honest man therein is laid : 
No brighter lustre earth has 
No higher tribute man can own. 



* Friv Joan Prm de Maichcnju 



sirn •r cavto vinaT 



COLUMBUS 



13S 



CAITTO SBCOITD. 



THE RESULT. 



Fatiouxd, the naTigator cloaed his eyes. 
Not long indulged, ere he again resamed 
The blent recital of his cheqnered life 
In the attainment of hie great design. 

** Famished with letters, I set forth* 
For court, and thought my trials pass'd ; 

Lightly I trod the sleepy earth, 
And saw the goal in view at last 

** Ah, Hope ! thou bved of lord and sage, 
Of warrior, statesman, and divine ; , 
Thou sunny beam on life's dark page 

Which to the end doth sweetly shine ; 
Thou whom all fondly cherish, still, 
Though ignis fatuus of the will ; 
Smiling too often to betray, 
Leading our anxious thoughts away 
With our heart's wishes ; thou to me 
Wast to the last a destiny. 
And if on earth thou hast deceived 
The trusting heart thy faith believed, 
Thou pointest where deceit no more 
Can stain thy lustre— to the shore 
Where sorrow comes not ^ Where at last 
Thy earthly mission being past, 
When sinks this globe in fierce decay. 
When all of life consumes away. 
Thou must expire. For 'tis not given 
Even to thee to enter heaven. 
Thou pointest to the place of rest. 
But couldst not live where all are bless'd. 
No, earthly seraph ! Thou nor fear 
Whom thou opposest bravely here. 
In heaven may live. But when is fled 
This earthly planet — when is sped 
Its lustre from the starry sky. 
Nothing more sweet than thou will dif . 



« Cordova held the Spanish campf 

Granada's fozces to defy, 
T' extinguish irreligion's lamp. 

And raise the cross of Christ on high. 
There I arrived. I will not tell 
What disappointment then befell ; 
How Talavero— godly priestt 
Despised, or slighted at the least 
My project until I became 
8a)fl'd at by boys irrev'rend.§ Shame 
Pressed on my brow. Some deemed me mad* 
A mountebank. The warriors dad 
In shining mail, smiled at my garb ; 
My poverty was made the barb 
To pierce my soul. The ignorant. 
In their own vanity content 
They deemed that costly knightly halls. 
Or monarchism's saintly walls. 
Alone could furnish great design, 
And imposition must be mine ; 
As if the towerings of the mind 
To any sphere could be confined. 
The time will come, I prophecy. 
When from its pomp and from its pride 
Shall £UI the might of ancestry 
That is not unto worth allied ; 
When men shall carve their glorious way 
To fortune, by their mind's bright sway. 
And be the nobles of the earth, 
Noble in deed and not in birth ; 
I iwas sore grieved, but then I found 
Sweet consolation for each wound. 
Love, which so sweetly smiled before,| 
Smiled sweetly on my heart once more ; 
And oh ! it now most sweetly smiled 
When all besides my lot reviled. 

'* The love of woman is a thing 
Holy beyond imagining ; 



* Juan Perez was on intimate terms with Fernando de Talavero, prior of the monastery of Prado, 
and confessor to the queen, a man high in confidence and possessing great wei^t in public affiuii. 
^ To him he gave Columbus a letter, strongly recommending himself and his enterprise to the patron* 
age of Talavero, and requesting his friendly intercession with the king and queen. In the roeta 
time. Fray Juan Perez todL charge of the youthful son of Columbus, to maintain and educate him 
at his convents— ihwn^'t Cohmbu*, 

f When Columbus arrived at Cordova, he found that ancient and warlike city filled with the 
glittei and din of arms, and in all the lustra of military preparation. The rival kings of Granada* 
Mnly Boabdil, the uncle, surnamed El Zagal, and Mahommed Boabdil, the nephew, sumamed El 
Chico, had just formed a coalition, and their league called for prompt and vigorous measures. — Ibid* 

t Fernando de Talavero read the letter of the warm-hearted Juan Perez de Marchena without 
being animated by his seal ; he listened coldly and distrustfully to the explications of Columbus, and 
quietly made up bis mind that the plan was extravagant and impossible.r^<Siai!ezar, Chrvn. del Gran* 
CarSnai, L, 1, C. 62. 

% Because he was a stranger, and went but in simple app^ral, not otherwise credited than by the 
letter of a gray friar, they believed him not neither gave ear to his words, whereby he was gtettly 
tormented in his imaginationd — Otfiedo, L. S, C. 6. 

I While lingering in Cordova be became attached to a lady of that city, named Beatrix Enrig* 
Ml, 1^ was of noble fiunily, though it is probable in impoferiahed circmnstanoea. 8h« waa th« 
MotlMQffaiiaiCondaoitFfnunido^boniiB 1847. 



134 



burton's GKNTLBJfA^N's MAGAZINE. 



Poets have itriven to paint ita power 

In sad adversity's daik hoar ; 

Bat oh ! the sweetest lyre was strung. 

The sweetest strain that baid has sang 

Coald never tell that all confiding 

Passion, midst a world deriding, 

Which in its holy parity 

Would bloom beneath the Upas tree. 

*^ 'Twas now some trusty friends I found/ 
Who in my heart's best love are bound, 
'Mongst thera, the Caidinal of Spain ; 
He bade bright hope shine forth again. 
He introduced me to the king ; 
Bach argument that I could bring 
I urged. The crafty Ferdinand 
Could all my science understand. 
I saw enkindle the warm ray 
Of conscious faith and pass away ; 
For rarely his schooled face would toll 
The passions in his heart could swefl. 
He bade the learned men of Spain 
Meet me in council. Yet again 



The end of my probation nigh 
I deemed with joyous ecstary. 

*' O, Salamanca ! wast thou called 

Spain's Athens, and did science rise ' 
Within thee, but to sink appalled. 

Before thy sons miscounted wise ! 
I had been mocked by vulgar minds, 
Insulted by the gibes of hinds, 
Abused by idle levity, 
By praise was given sneeringly, 
Outraged by violated faith 
Worse than the scoffer's poisoned breath. 
But now, I thought in thy high seat 
With men of learning to compete. 
Honor must be supreme — nor dare 
Rank prejudice enkindle there— 
That for the good of human kind. 
For the extension of the mind 
Unbiassed, they would hear my sohtmrl- 
Which science could not hold a dream. 
So certain were the laws of nature 
Impressed upon its every feature, 



* Antonio Geraldini, the Pope's nuncio, and his brother Alexander Geraldini, preceptor to til* 
younger children of Ferdinand and Isabella. His most efficient fiiend at this time was Alonso d» 
Quintanilla, who procured for him the patronage of Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, Archbiohop of 
Toledo, and Grand Cardinal of Spain. 

-{- Columbus was led to the discovery not only from a consideration of the terraqueoiu gloibc 9nS 
the lelatbn of certain shipwrecked modem mariners, but by the idea which several eminent 
entertained of an unknown continent to the westward. In general it was believed that the land 
minated with the Canaries, or Fortunate blonds / yet several of the more penetrating were 
•uaded that an immense tract of land must lie beyond the Atlantic Ocean. In one of his dialogMS 
(in Tim.) Plato speaks of the island of Atalantis ; and there is still extant in the collection of QndL 
poetical fragments (Poet. Fragm. Lug. ap. Stephen) a description of it in verse ascribed to SoltMp 
who borrowed, the relation from an Egyptian priest To confess the truth all these hints taken froBi 
Plato and Solon have so much the air of poetic allegory that they cannot be considered of waif^t 
sufficient to determine whether they absolotely entertained any idea of the Western Continent. Thi& 
ingenious political tract left by Sir Thomas More may furnish an equally good ground to postari^ 
that his Eutopia alluded to some undiscovered country, of which he had some general concsptiiMi. 
It is otherwise vnth respect to the testimony of Aristotle, (De Mundo) because he not only oooeim 
with a future historian, but descends to paiticulars. In a book ascribed to this philosopher, we sfe 
told that the Carthagenians discovered an island beyond the Pillars of Hercules, large, fertile, tad 
finely watered, with navigable rivers, but uninhabited. This bland was distant a few days sailing 
from the Continent; its beauty attracted the discoverers to settle there ; but tbe policy of Carthage 
dislodged the colony, and laid strict prohibitbn on all the subjects of the fltate not tb attempt any 
future establishment This account is confirmed by an historian of no mean credit, who rsiates thi* 
the Tynans would have planted a colony in the new discovered island, which some take to be /fis» 
paniola, but they were opposed by the Carthagenians, for state reasons. It was feared lest the natoni 
advantages which it was reported this country enjoyed, might induce too many of the dtixens to 
desert their native soil* whereby the government would be weakened, industry checked, and tbe irasi 
maritime power of the republic diminished. Besides it was urged that this island wxfjbi to be re- 
served as an asylum to which they might retire with safb^ when oppressed by any reverse of foitme^ 
Of public calamity. A passage hath also been quoted from the third act of the Medea ofSmtem >— 

Venient annis 
Soecula feris, quibus oceanus 
Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens 
Pateat tell us, Typhisque novas 
Dotegat orbes : nee sit terris 
Ultima Thule^— Afec^ Act. 3, r. 375. 

in confirmation of the opinion that although America was undiscovered, the ancieota had a . 
notion of large countries beyond the reach of their preaent knowledge. . In a fragment thst-n 
of Theopompus (Diod. Sic Hist.) there is an allegoiy of a new world inhabited by two nali 



OOLOMSeS. 



i3i^ 



Which, with a voiee tet ooold not lift, 
Developed the disoovety. 



<* I was mntiiken. Had I been 

One of themseWes-^had eourtSj mien 

Proclaimed me great — ^had eontent's wafls 

Or learned institution's halb 

Beheld my etodieft— had my name 

Not taken from, bat lent Biem fame, 

I had been lauded to the skies. 

But a poor man in humble gnise 

To make discovery so great ! 

It shocked their wisdom's high estate. 

It galled their pride. They would not thiHk 

A humble mariner conld diink 

From fount of knowledge hid frem them, 

The Solons of Spain's diadem; 

To science clear as noon-day sun, 

"With which my theory began. 

They answered from the holy book, 

From which some doubtful text they took. 

And tortured to their own intent. 

My theory to circumvent. 

** Yes, men there are in every age, 
Will make religion serve theii turn 

Till the pure light of holy page 

They bid with falsehood's fierce flane burn. 

Upon its holy sanctity 

They spawn unholy bigotry; 

Perverting troth to serve their will 

Obscuring grace itsrif with ill, 

Like misty vapors from the deep. 

Which haven's pore light in darkness steep, 

Or abject toads from dungeon cell 

In goodly buildings ciawl by stealth. 

Which make the pure air foul as heU, 

Pois'ning the springs of life and health. 

To serve their turn, a passage now 

Is plainly rendered literal ; 

To suit their turn, 'tis changed, and lo ! 

'Tis clear as light, apocryphal ; 

Thus Satan quotes the homilie8» 

And poisons first, and then destroys. 

** I met them on this very ground ; 
My soul to holy writ was bound ; 
My study it had been by night. 
My hope, my solace, my delight ; 
No friar, nor reverend man could qoote 
A passage in my heart not wrote ; 
I spoke to them of xiiarts no more-— 
Abandoned scientific lore — 
And that most holy volume used 
They in their bigotry abused ; 
I poured forth texts of propbeqr, 
Which this sublime di8co>very 



Announced, foretold— 'ev'n as a^teed 
Impatient — of no bit takes heed. 
But chafed beyond endurance, flies 
Bearing his rider o'er the plain 
At will — in anchecked freedom hies, 
Nor stops tin strength is spent in Tain. 
I bore my hearers on my tongue ; 
Amazed, they on my acoentB hung. 
But when I ceased my aident strain 
Their courage rose— diey breaAed again. 
Their doubts convenient reawoke. 
So, for that day, the council broke. 

«The conference wastHtivneiwed, 

But with no steady aim pursoed ; 

New movements tasked the monarch's mind. 

My project floated on the wind, 

Weaiied at length, I wrole to John, 

With whom I felt aggriaved befoie ; 

My message ready answer woo. 

He bade me eome to him once mora ; 

The Seventh Hany also aooght 

To win me to the Bngiish oocrt. 

And France with graciaoa promiiM 

Essayed for my diaeovaiiea. 

But Spain was dear for her sweet sake. 

Who was of Spain. I could not make 

Another nation glonons 

Wfaola bare waa praapeet of aaeoeH. 

My heart had grown to Spain, lar'fiiaads 

Had sprung aiwnd aa. Hod I Mt, 

Of you «f Beatrix benft. 

As of Fernando, I had bean ; 

And than again the woary soaii* 

Of urging plans to soulless men 

Who might look cold opoa tno, when 

The ofr told taie had been repeated, 

Which oft of hope my aool hath cheated 

After long yeoM that I had spent, 

After long tedious argaasent 

I had sustained, to east away 

The hope that cheered me on, each day, 

To travel like a plodding hone 

Over the same di trodden coorae. 

It was too much — I oonld not brook 

Into such hopelessness to look. 



*< I followed now the Spanish ooort,* 

And sometimes in the laaks have fought, 

This for the ftith 1 love so well 

Hating the fiery infidel. 

And that at times when hope delayed 

By craven fear was half dismayed. 

The strong excitement nerved my aonl. 

And brought ny reason in oontrcd. 

'Twas thus I saw the infidel 

Yield to the Chiistian raonarch'a sway. 



warriors and devotees ; and one of the frtbers aflbms (Greg, in epiat S. Clemen., p. 374) that be- 
yond the ocean there is another world ; however both Ladantius and St, Atiguttine .ridicule this 
notion, and flie opinion that the earth waa gfebolar ; even to the days of OaUiko the RonUA cleigy 
regarded the rotation of the earth on ita own axis as contiary to the aaered doctrine^ — (hbomi^9 
Umm, IStiy, wL 36, p, 9 to b. 

* Diogo Ortix de Zaniga aaya, speaking of the campaign—^' The same Coiambaa was fbnnd 
fiiNiiig, gii^ yufok of ^ dislmgwihfid toIt which ancoiqpaMedhia wisdom and hia h%dasiin^ 



^ 



13d 



burton's gbntlbman's magazine. 



TIm mighty Muley Boabdel 
From hia poasesiions pass away. 

- Some brief repose succeeded. Now 
Saccess I thought must glad my brow ; 
Vain ! vain — instead I learnt that Spain 
Was arming for her last campaign 
Aagainst the Moors. That Ferdinand 
Had sworn his camp as rock should stand 
Till from Granada's every tower 
The Christian banner spoke his power ; 
Pull well I knew with this design 
Commenced, must end all hope of mine. 
And so I pressed express reply 
Would Spain with my deaiies comply 1 

-''The cares of war — the war*s expense 

Were strongly urged as a pretence 

To let my suit lie over — ^when 

The war was ended — gladly then 

The Sovereigns would have time to treat 

Of the design they still held meet. 

'Twas Talavero brought this word ; 

Ineredulous the tale I heard ; 

I loved him not — I knew him cold. 

To my design adverse of old, 

For years on Spain's half promises 

Td hung — I'd hear the craftiness 

Which still could mock my soul's warm prayer 

And keep me in abeyance there 

Cven from the Sovereign's lip»— no less 

fihould prostrate hope— my soul distress — 

I aped to Seville — saw the king — 

The priest spoke ti%th. Hope then took wing. 

^ Of all the pangs that wring the heart 
And plunge the soul in deep distress 
JSone have a keener, bitterer, smart 

Than waking from a dreamt success ; 
When hope to which we've clung so fast, 
80 long, forsakes us ; when the past 
Kising to mock our phantasy 
In the despair in which we lie 
Points to the kingdoms then create 
And peopled, now all desolate ; 
The drunken swinish clown who dreams 
Himself a nobleman, and deems 
The mire in which his form doth crouch 
The rich soft velvet of his couch, 
Waking from ideality 
To the dark stem reality — 
The lover who his life has wasted 
For the sweet hope his soul has tasted, 
Dreaming of heaven, for lover's dreams 
Of brighter worlds have transient gleams— 
Who finds himself at length thrown by 
With promises warm on the tongue 
Of her for whom 'twere, bliss to die, 
Who on his vows had fondly hung 



Feeling that he his soul had set 
For years, upon a cold coquette. 
Could not conceive the rage and shame 
That filled my soul — ^this passion's flame 
Swiftly expued, and I resigned 
My will to His who rules the wind. 

« Spain still had nobles, whose great might*^ 
Was as a monarch's ! If the crown 

Upon my project breathed a blight 
There might be those to whom renown 

Was dear, and science glorious. They 

Would aid in my discoveries ; « 

I felt again hope's cheering ray. 

And looked to private enterprise. 

I drank of disappointment.! Vain 

Were all my hopes, and now to Spain 

Faiewell. The flag of Franee should brave 

The yet untrodden western wave. 

*< At La Rabida's convent gate 

Once more I stood. Seven yean had sped 
In vain requests — my sad estate 

Was sad as when my steps first led 
To that abode. I was as poor, 
My projects not one jot more sure ;— 
My garb as humble. But my mind 
As strongly in its faith enshrined. 
Fray Juan Perez mourned to see 
My long entailed adveraity 
Even as myself. But then I said, 
Spain to my thoughts was henceforth dead. 
And other climates not so cold 
My great design would gladly hold. 
That France would give what Spain denied. 
And share of the attempt the pride. 
He was dismayed. He knew full well 
That could I fail, the aim would swell 
With men of science, the renown 
Of the adventuiing Gaulish crown. 

" The truly great do not bestow 

Their praise upon success alone. 
The lofty scheme though lying low 
Their admiration well hath won. 
Experiment, to science dear. 
The nurse the babe to man doth rear. 
They rev'rence. 'Tis like freedom's breath. 
Which gathers strength with every death, 
Which failing, in one votary. 
Lights others in the glorious way. 
Until at length, in power and might. 
It bursts iu bonds — matured to light, 
'Tis vulgar minds alone who place 
With failure in design, disgrace. 

" Fray Juan's zeal was now on fire ; 
He loved his sountry — his desire 
Was she might reap the fruit, would grow 
Out of this scheme, and deck her brow 



• The feudal powers of the Spanish nobles was not as yet entirely broken down. There were 
several who had vast possessions, and who exercised almost independent authority in their domains, 
f Columbus applied to the dukes of Medina, Sidonia, and Medina CojIL The first, after encouraging 
im, came to the conclusion that he was an Italian visionary. The latter was afraid to undaitake 



luin. 



the scheme, lest he should incur the diqpleasnro of the king and queen, it being a maltar which haft 
already excited their attention, and whidi they had neTer formally renooBced. 



COLDMBUS. 



137 



With fuch bright laureli as should ihame 
All meaner, leaiCT, deeds of hme. 
With two warm friends, did he consult* 
On my success ; and the result 
Confirmed his faith. He urged mj staj 
The while he sent to SanU F^, 
Where was the qaoen — a swift reply 
Called for his presence — while that I 
Was bade to hope — he saw the queen. 
And urged as ne*er before had been 
My bandied suit. She, the good queen, won 
With his great zeal, wrote instant on 
For my approach ; and woman's thought 
My poverty to presence brought, 
And woman*8 kindness the ripe want 
Supplied, ere I was suppliant. 

Granada, the last Moorish hold. 
Had now sunendered to the crown ; 

I saw the dark skin'd warriors 

Their power for evermore lay down. 

Boabdil, the last king, and all 

His chieftains who'd escaped the thrall 

Of devastating fire and swoid 

Incessant urged, until his heard 

Had flitted to the &ithful few 

Who round their dusky monarch drew. 

This was the tribe eight centuries 

Had wrestled with Spains sons, and theae 

Look*d the descendants of such men 

As shake a world, even as then 

A mighty wreck— for in their foil 

There was a dignity, and all 

Marched forth, in pride which could not brook 

The world should on their sorrow look. 

" The Sovereigns now kept faith with me ; 

Negotiations were begun ; 
But there was my arch enemy 

Who bad before my suit undone ; 
He wanted I should win the fame 
To pamper others — first, ray name. 
From earth should perish. The design 
Of princely magnitude was mine ; 
And princely, the design attained. 
Should be my recompenco. I claimed 
To be invested Admiral 
And Viceroy over one and all 
The countries I should bring to light. 
From out, to us, their lengthened night. 
And that one tenth of every gain 
Won from their shores should mine remain ; 
This gave me precedence of them ; 
If I had asked Spain's diadem 
They had not looked astonished more— 
My conference was swiftly o'er. 



One sneered, and said, 'twas shrewdly don^ 
Which in success all honor won, 
And yet in failing, nothing lost. 
I offered then one eighth the cost 
To bear myself— but then should be 
One eighth the gain accrue to me, 
'Twas inadmiiaible. I heardf 
That Talavero, my old foe, 

i In the queen's ear his poisoned word 
Secretly breathed — nor was it slow. 
The rank contagion. Even the quees, 

; Who in my cause quite warm had been. 
Took her confessor's sage advice, 
And deemed exorbitant the price 
To make Spain glorious — moderate 
Conditions suiting my estate. 
Yet, separate ftom such design, 
Honorable, advantageous too, 
But all too mean for thought of miner 
The queen unfolded to my view. 

** I would not bate one jot, nor cede 
One point of my demands — the meed 
That waited on discovery 
Should honor Spain — should honor me. 
The best part of my life was spent 
To carry out my great intent; 
It could not bless my native akiore 
If it enriched a foreign power; 
That power should make the instrument 
Conceived, accomplished, the event 
Great as the pisn. I could not be 
False to my project's dignity. 
Though poverty my steps had dogg'd, 
Though indigence my hopes had dogg'd. 
Though in this failure years of toil. 
Were made sad disappointment's spoil. 
Though all gone by was gone in vain, 
Though I began my task afvin. 
Though disappointment still might Uast 
My projects, even as the past. 
Treating of Empire won by me, 
Cssar, or nothing, I would be. 

« I scorned this offer, and that day 
Set forth from courtly Santa F^, 
For France. I reached Elvira's mount. 
Whereat, as minstrels oft recount. 
Full many a desperate bloody fray 
Has stained the pass when Moorish sway 
Was here supreme ; and Infidel 
And Christian blended, fighting fell. 
'Twas famous now ; a messenger 
From Santa Fe whose bloody spur. 
And horse's reeking siilc, proclaimed 
His eager haste, attention chiimed, 



* Garcia Fernandez, the physician of the neighboring town, a man of great science, and Martiit 
Alonzo Pinzon, the bead of a' family of wealthy and distinguished navigators of Palos, who were 
celebrated for their practical experience, and their adventurous expeditions. Pinzon gave the plan 
of Columbus his decided approbation, oflering to engage in it with purse and person, and to bear the 
expenses of Columbus in a renewed application to the courts — Lrvg. Cohtmbiu. 

f Ferdinando de Talavero represented to Isabelk that it would be degrading to the dignity of » 
illustrious a crown to lavish such distinguiahed honors on a namekte stranger. His luggeitiont 
checked her dawning fitver.— JMdL 



138 



BURTON'S GBNTLBMAX'S MAGAZINE. 



The queen laqneeted my retain ; 
I was about the wish to spurn. 
For I vras sick of the delay 
And mockery of courtly sway; 
Bat when I beard the queen agreed 
To my conditions, with such speed 
As hope upon love's joyous track 
Impatient makes — I honied beck. 

** Twas even so. The sophistry 

Of Talavero was thrown by ; 

My friends had sooght the queen, and shown* 

The glory fading from her throne, 

Oracing another ; and the fame 

That would enwreath the French king's 

name 
At her expense, should she refuse 
My project instantly to use* 
Her zeal was warmed — her q>irit woke. 
The grandeur of the scheme first broke 
Upon her mind — ^passing away, 
Its lirtues shone in blight array ; 
She andertook*tbe enterprise : 
B^e empires to her glory rise. 
A moment's doubt The king looked cold 
Upon the eeheme. The people's gold 
Was drained to carry on the war, 
How could she on the treasniy draw 1 
'^was but a momeni — ^never faith 
Woman's true heart encompaaseth. 
That circnmstance ooold coldly quell; 
The cause she kyved, though late, so well 
Was paramount Her zeal was fired. 
She spoke aa tialy one inspired: — 
^ I undertake the enterprise 

For my CasUlian crown,' she said, 
* My private jewels, the supplies 

To furnish, I will pledge tiU paid ;* 



The sacrifice was not required ; 
St Angel brought the funds desired — 
But then queen Isabel became 
Patroness of Columbus' fame. 
Then high above her crafUcr lord. 
Her noble spirit proudly soared ; 
O ! she was great A richer mind 
Was ne'er in earthly cl«y enshrined ; 
As long as Spain with nations dwells. 
So long the fame which all exeels. 
The proudest of her monarch's line. 
Fair Isabella shall be thine. 

My soul was now in ecstacy ; 

The moment for discovery 

Was nigh at hand. The weary night 

Of doubt had fled. The morning light 

Of sweet assurance dawned at last ; 

Not merely were my sotrows past. 

But all my sufierings overpaid 

In the result befoie me laid. 

Wealth, wealth uppilcd, would poor in Spain ; 

With this, I urged, the crown might gain 

.Once more the Holy Sepulchre 

From the foul infidel. As 'twere 

A visionary's schame, they smiled. 

But it has still my heart beguiled. 

Jerusalem! my heart has bkd 

To see thy glories desecrate ; 
Thy sacred halls, the moalem's bed. 

Thy Holy Temple desolate. 
And I had thought to live to see 
Christ's sepulchre from infidel 
Reseived for ever. Once more free 
For those, who in his worship dwell — 
But it is not Thy heavenly will 
To which I humbly bow me still. 



* Lus da 8t Angel, tecaiver of the ecclesiastical revenues in Arragon, accompanied by Alonzo d6 
QointaniUa, and supported by the M^rehionass of Moya. 



EHD OF SBCOITD CASTO. 



MARCH. 



LxKS as that lion through the green woods 



With roar which startled the huahed solitude. 
Yet, soon as he saw ¥na, that white dame 
To Virtue wedded, quieted his rude 
And savage heart, and at her feet fell tame 
As a pet lamb-«<«o March, though his first mood 
Wasboifteroas and wOd, feeling that ihama 



Would follow his fell steps, if Spring's young 

brood 
Of bods and blossoms withered where he trod— 
Calmed his fierce ire. And now forth violets 
Breathe their new lives ; the tawny primroaa aila 
Like squatted gypsy on the wayside clod; 
And eaily bees are all day on the wing. 
And woik like kboKt yat like pleaaose aiiif. 



SQUIRE PARKINS' S PL O R I F I C ATI ON 



A YA.NKSE STORT. 




^y, ^t I i <'<'^ ~ e/cnft-vt^ .'C- , j 



BX A DOWK -EASTEB. 



I ouiss you never heard tell of our town, did you 1 Well, if you aint, I rather guea yoa dont 
take the papers. For about the time of the land fever it wan cried up awfully ; and some chaps, 
down there in Portland got hauled in to the tune of ten dolkrs the acre. And as to that matter, it 
wa*nt to be wondeicd at, all things ooosiderlng. For one Squire Paikina came up there, and made 
a kind of map of it — and may I be bil'd into apple-sane if it wa'nt the curisest thing for a map that 
my eyes ever lit upon. Squire Parkins staid at oar house at the time, so I seed the making of th« 
whole consarn. The reason he staid there was because mazm's pan dowdy some how agreed with 
liim. 

Well this map that I was telling of, the squire ruled all into squares, and then the way he put 
in the red and yellow ochre was a caution, I tell you. May I be bil'd into apple-sarse if it wa'nt for 
all the world like a checker board, and at first I thought it was one. But jist as I suppo8*d the 
squire hadjgiven it the last touch, what does he do but takes a bit of blueing, and starting at one oof- 
ner of it, makes a kind of zigzag mark dean through it. ** By Jdioshapbat," si^s I, <* if ■ . ** 
** No swearing," says the squire. 

" Well," says I, " if you hav'nt diah'd that ere checker board may I be lick'd into J* 

** Tut, tut," aays the squire, " that's a map of Snagville." 

«* Well," says I, <* if that would*nt puzsle a Philadelfy lawyer : and that bine atfeak, I take it, it 
•our Virginny fence." * 

"No, you dander head, that*s a river." 

" A river in Snagville ! why squire Parkins ! Now," says I, " Pve made tracks on every lot in 
this oie section, and if there's any thing like a river that my lege can't straddle, may I be UTd 

into ." 

" That's gammon," says the squire, " all gammon ; there's river enuf to^Mt all the logs that wlU 
be cut -here this twenty years." 

Upon that I scream'd a scream,! tell you. Says I," Squire upon th%t ground Pm beat allhoQew." 
Well, as soon as the Squire had done titnevating his map, what doM he do but insist on it that I 
must go out with him on a splodficalion. At first I rather hung back, cause there was no more 
chance of finding a lot of pine trees than there was of finding a mare's nest Howsomever at last 
marm took up fi)r him — for you see he kept palavering about her pan dowdy, and then baddng ent 
was not to be thought of |no how. I had as lieve's be in a hornet's nest as try to thwart marm ia 
any thing she's bent upon. 

Well, at last wo started off; and arter we'd travell'd a long spell without seeing any thing bol 
here and there a scrub, the Squiie observ'd that he was nearly tucker'd out, and upon that we halU 
ed. " Simon," says he, " this is a dry business, and I rather guess you'd better take a drop." 
«• Well," says I, " I don't care if I do." 

Upon this he took out a junk bottle, and sticking it up in my fiu», ^ There," eaya he, " thafs 
the real ginaine." And then he shook it, and shook it, and it bore a head I tell you. 

** Well," says I, ** Squire, here's hoping ;" and the way I swigg'd was a caution, for I was dry mm 
marm's beans when she forgets to put the pork in. Well, artcr we'd given our shanks a pretty 
good testing spell, and artei I had taken another swig by way of starter, we jog'd on a piece fof* 
der. Howsomever, we had*nt made a long hitch of it, it was'nt a mile any how, before the Squire^ 
who lag'd a little, bawl'd out, *< Stop, Simon, slap !" 
" Why, what the deuce is the matter now ?" says L 
** Simon, says he, <Mon't you feel a grain dryish 1" 
<* If I <lon't," says I, *< may I be bU'd into apple sarse." 

" Well," says )ie, " take another horn of the ginuine — it will serve to strengthen the inner man.** 
" After you is manners," says I. Upon that the squire took a sip or so ; he did'nt liquerize mBch» 
cause he said he'd signed the pledge, and then he ahuk it as he did befbie. Well, there was no mis- 
take when he thought I was (kyish. The moment that ere liquer stmok my tongue you might haTtt 
beard it guggle, guggle, like a gallon jug at a raising — it was a tikler I tell you. 

Now I had always had an idee that nobody oonld tell me nothing about Snagville, aeebg Vi, 
been over it a hundred times ; aad Pd have Vait a whole dollar to a dieet of gingerbread that tk« 
whole town was as flat as a pancake. But some how, when we started arter this last twig tfiat Pvtt 
gest been telling ol^ the ground seemed to be peakey uneven, and aooietiflMe I ibond myself brooght 
np all standing. Bat ^vhit bothered me tbo batteBPOrt w«f to MelMMr Vi aiitCiilgnlBlm^ ' 
TOL. Ti« — »o. in. F 2 



140 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

stumpage. I'd always said, and so had dad, that there was'nt in all Snagville five bandied of aiar- 
chantable pine to the acre. But, would you beliere it, there was now, for a rough guess, nigher five* 
thousand. Now theie could'nt be any sort of mistake about it, for when I observed it to the squire, 
lie said I had underrated, and that it would been a notch or two higher. 

« You're all of a fever," says he, ** a walking so fast, and can't judge any thing about it — take 
anothei horn, Simon, and cool off a little." 

Well, I did feel a little hottish that's a fact, and so I took a putty considerable swig I tell you.— 
Upon that we took another start,' and the fuider we went the thicker the trees giow'd, till at last, 
says I, *^ Squire, if uncle Ben can squeeze his belly through this clump without touching, may I 

De ," but here the sfjuire broke out in a haw, haw, like all possess'd, and observed that there 

was over ten thousand to the acre. 

<< Over ten," says I ; ^ over twelve, and not counting the conchous ones." 

And then he haw, haw'd again louder than ever, and ask'd if I was willing to certify it. 

«* Yes," says I, ^ on the spot, if I don't may I be bil'd into apple sarse." 

^ I know'd you would," says he ; and upon that he fumbled awhile in one of his long pocketr 
mod took out an inkhom and a bit of paper. And arter he'd scratch'd a few lines as he rested on a 
nindfiill that was there — he asked me to squat down and sign it — and likewise I did. 

<*WeIl," says the sqoire, " I guess we've splorified about enuf— and as it's getting towaids daylight 
down, suppose Simon we take up a back track." 

« Agr^," says I ; for I found I was getting dryish again — and as to squenching thirst ovt of 
ihe squire's bottle that would'nt be done, no how — ^'twas as dry as I was. Well, as we were jog- 
ging along, says I, ** Squire, what are you up to with that ere paper and checker board ?" 

« Why," says he, << I'm going down to Portland to help some worthy young men there. I 
mean to sell them my land on such a lay that they'll make a fortin by it." 

** Squire," says I, " give us your hand — now that's christian like." 

Well, as I was saying, he cleared out the next morning bag and baggage ; and the next news I 
Iteard was that the squire had been a helping on 'em down there in Portland in a way to kill. And 
how do you thhik he did iti Why he sold out the whole consain for ten dollars an acre, one third 
zight down on the nail, and no grumbling. 

*' Dad," says I, ** if Uiat's the way they help folks down in Portland, we'd better give 'em a lift 
mth our bog lot ; it will hear sartifying, fer 'tis settling land any how." 

How the squiio could sleep arter helping on 'em that way was a puzzler. As for myself, for three 
nights arteiwaids I might as well tried to take a nap on a harrar. The moment I fell into a doze, 
it seemed as if the squire took up that big windfall whcio I sartified and let it fall co*chunk right 
on the vitals ; and if I did'nt spring like all possess'd, may I be bil'd into apple sarce. 

Well, it struck my mind some how that the squire would fork over putty considerable, seeing as 
how I'd sartify'd in the way I did ; and se the next time become up into our section I kind a hint- 
ed about it. But he was another guess sort of a man this time, I tell you. He was rigg'd all out 
in superfines, gold watch, breast pin, and ruffles, and scented up for all the world like a pole-cat— 
IVhen I stuck out my hand he kind a draw'd back, and stared like a stuck pig — 'twas as much as 
to say, who are you, by the hoky! And when marm set on the pan dowdy that he used to like so, 
•ays he, " toss that ere into the swill pail, and sarve us up a fry candy de fox," (fricandeau de 
Taux.) 

'*Fry candy and what?" says marm ; "you nasty cTeature you." 

** Squire," says I, " if you mean our old fox that's chained in the barn-yard, you'll be as gaunt as 
a weazel before he touches your jaws, any how." 

" You be hang'd," says he, «' I can lick a dozen of ye." 

Upon that I was putty well ril'd I tell you. « Lick me," says I. " Why the chap don't stand in 
your shoes that's up to that game. And as for that matter Til bait a whole five dollar bill that the 
old fox, upon a fair pull, will jerk your carcase a couple of rods any day."^ 

" Done," says he. 

** Done," says I ; "so plank the rhino, and we'll try it this artenoon." 

Well, jest bock of our tatur field there was an almighty big mud hole — and as our hogs used to 
go and snooze there, if it wa'nt stumpy may I be bil'd into sarse. On the north side we'd clcan'd 
up a piece, and got it putty well into grass. But 'tother side had all run up Into alders. Well, at 
ihe time fix'd upon we all went down to this grass ground by the mud hole. There was dad and 
marm, and the squire, and those of the Portland gentry that he'd been helping so. 

** There, squire," says I, " there's the cretur all ready, and he's up to chalk I tell yon." And 
there he was sore enuf ; for I'd been down before and fix'd him tother side of the mud hole right 
hy the alders, and there I'd hitch'd him to a rope which stretch'd clean across to the grass ground. 
Well, when they seed the fox they all began to (itCer Kke mad — all but the squire. He look'd kind 
m dumb-founded, as if 'twas lowering to one of his cloth, and I guess would have sUnk'd oat of it 
liad'nt been for the Ave dollars. 

« Squire," says I, « are jon ready !" 
f y Seady,^ my he. And then he bustled up and giabb'd one end of the rope. 



THE MIAMI VALLEY. 141 

** Stop," says I, " fair play 's a jewel. Gest let me take a turn of that rope roond your saparfine^ 
cause why, if the fox gets the upper hand you'll let go and won't toe the mark." 

'* Tie and be hang'd," says he. 

Well, now least 1 should lose the five dollars, I thought I'd fasten the fox to the middle of the 
rope, and tother end on it I had carried right in among the alders, where I had stow'd away 'Siah 
Preacott, Jim Smith, and our Dafid. The whole thing was cut and dried completely one hour or 
two befoie, when I drill'd em pretty considerably. Says I, <* boys hug the airth and lay close when 
you hear us coming on to the grass ground ; and when I scream * strain out,* then gerk like all 
nater." 

•* Squire Parkins," says I, " are you ready V* 

" Ready," says he. 

Upon that I let fall my under jaw, and says I. "fox stiain out, strain out like twenty airthquakes ;'' 
and the moment I scr^am'd it, if the tamal cretur did'nt scratch for the alder stump may I be HVd 
into apple sarse. At the very first gerk the vquire pitch'd to the very aidge of the mud hole^— and 
the way he tugg'd and jam'd his heels into that soft clay was a caution, I tell you. But it would'nt 
do no how. The second jerk drawM him right out of his boots, and losing his balance, he fell 
splash, raffles and all, right into the very core on't Fve seed some big eyes in my day, but I never 
seed any stick out like the squire*!, as he look'd kind a sideling at us while splashing through that 
mud hole. How fur he got before he brought op 'mong the alder I can't say ; for dad and marm, 
and the Portland chnp«. fell right down flat, they haw, haw'd so ; and as for myself, if I did'nt malu^ 
tracks may I be biPd into apple mne. 



SOME FARTHER CHAPTERS 



o p 



THE MIAMI VALLEY 



BT ▲ PlUNXZn OF OHIO. 



CHAPTER III. 

Our condition appear&l desperate indeed. We lay bound hand and foot, like sheep for the 
slaughter. The Indian who was act to guard us was, however, still in a sound sleep, and snored 
loudly. Presently the door of the hut slowly opened, and the head of another savage was thrpst 
in, then suddenly withdrawn. After the lapse of half an hour, the samn hoad again appeared 
through the door-way, and after scrutinizing the room, and s^tiiifying himself that the guard slept, 
the owner of the head stealthily walked in. He proved to be the Indian conjuror whom we bad 
formerly taken prisoner. 

After again scrutinizing the room, he drew a long knife from his belt, and advanced upon us. 

^ Curse the treacherous villain I" muttered Girty, ** is this our rewaid for saving his life 1 Woald 
to God I had cut his throat !" 

This sentence was scarcely finished, when the savage stept up and cut our coids, aid in one mo- 
ment we stood upon the floor, free men. Our deliverer now whispered in our ears, « Indian no for» 
get 'em !" and told us to bo gone. Girty seized the guard's ride, but the Indian motioned him to 
lay it down ; which he would not do till we had left the house, when we discovered our guns stand- 
ing against it ; we snatched them up, and, shaking our deliverer affectionately by the hand, we left 
the town at a brisk pace. As we reached tlie outskirts, a large dog sprang out from behind an In- 
dian hut, and caught Girty by the leg ; but Girty was now himself again, and soon rid himself of 
the assailant. We took a northern direction : it was about three hours before day, and by that 
time we knew we shoukl be trailed by fifty Indians, who would travel with all the expedition fbey 
• eoald ; therefore, we did not stop a moment to breathe, but kept on a briik run through the moa^ 
tangled bushes we could find, that the difficulty of lisUowiDt 19 1^ oar tracks jnight be the-freitar. 



142 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

AfUr travoUing about lix mUcf, we came to some innning water, in which we waded for win* 
miles, and then struck into the deep wilderness. Daj^ light arrived, and found us tired and as huB- 
gry as half-famished wolves; still we feared -to shoot, for fear the crack of the riBe might betmy us; 
but howto get eomething to eat without shooting, was the question. 

While we were debating the matter, G'utj obecrved a squirrel lun into a hollow log, that wm 
about six feet in length ; he thrust his arm into one end, and directed me to run a stick into tte 
other, which I did, and thus drove the animal into Girty's hand, who caught it, and dashed its braiai 
out against a tree. This squirrel we skinned, and ate the flesh raw; for wc feared to tany long 
enough to cook it, thinking our pursuers might overtake us in the meantime. 

We travelled at a brisk rate till noon, when wc concluded that we had so for distanced oar por- 
suers that wc might venture to shoot, and accordingly shot a fat doe. Wc soon got tired higging 
the hind quarters, which were heavy, and after some debating about the propriety of building a fire, 
which Giity declared was perfectly safe, (for ho contended that the Indians could not traod as 90 
iUy) we at length built up a large one, and proceeded to cook our meal, which we swallowed half 
zaw, without^chewing, till we had partially satisfied a ravenous appetite, when we ate at oar Uk- 
snre. 

We were now about fifly miles from the Ohio river, which we wanted to reach by the next mom- 
ing ; but we were destined to reach it long before that time. We had finished our meal, and lor 
fear oar pursuers might not overtake us, we sat there an hour, talking, while we should have bma 
fanning with all our might. They gave us timely notice that they were coming. While we ware 
sitting at the fire, we heard a shrill cry, about one mile in the direction we came, which was answw^ 
ed by another more to the west. Wc did not wait for farther evidence that we were still pursued, 
but catching up one of the hind quarters of the deer that were left, we ran down a steep hill, which 
was covered with blackberry bushes that grew high and thorny, and oflercd more resistance to oar 
progress than we could have possibly imagined before we undertook to wade through them; bat 
there was no time to tarry, and we rushed through, and our hands and faces soon became covered 
with blood ; but with indefatigable labor we reached the bottom of the hill, and commenced our as- 
cent. It was our object to reach the top of &e hill before the Indians should reach the opposite 
ridge ; for the hill-side that we were then ascending was entirely bare — not even blackberry bushes 
grew there, among which we nught stoop, but we were a fine mark for the Indians' rifles. When 
we had gained about two-thirds of the way, two savages appeared on the ridge — they yelled, and 
fired at us, which fire we returned, but the distance was too great to kill. At the same moment^ 
four more made their appearance and fired at us, but we kept on our journey, and soon gsdned the 
hill-top, where, after yelling and motioning a defiance at them, we continued our course in doable 
quick time. We soon came to another patch of blackberry bushes, higher and more tangled than 
the other. Girty and I kept together, but we soon heard Walker cry that ho had put both his eyes 
j>ut We ran track, and found him with his hands over his eyes, but ho insisted on our continuing 
our speed ; he would hide, he said, and overtake us as soon as he could sec. He hid in the boshes 
and we continued oui course, ond soon gained the deep wilderness. 

We never heard of poor Walker afler that ; he must have been discovered by the Indians and 
murdered on the spot : or, which is more probable, carried back to their town, and there burnt Soon 
after the incident I 'am now recounting, we went again to the Miami, and got his and Smith's traps, 
which I leA in the possession of their relatives at Cincinnati. 

Girty and I now found ourselves alone once more ; we were still fated to pass what time Gixtj 
had to live, together. We had frequently been in the company of experienced hunters, and by some 
peculiar providence, we were fated to be the survivors in all the skirmbhcs we had passed throogfa* 
Girty appeared to be thinking of this, while we were sitting on che bank of the Ohio, looking upon 
its waters, which flowed on in silent msjesty. 

<* We have passed many long years together," said he ; « we have passed unscathed the'perils of 
fire, and the tomahawk, end the scalping knife, and here we are still together. Our friends hsTO 
stood by our sides during the heat of an engagement, when death threatened us to our factB, and 
when we ourselves expected to be the first to fall ; but God ordained it otherwise; we were saved, 
and our friends, many of whom had families, weic laid upon the dust. I don't know what we 
were saved for, unless it waa to avenge your family. When will be our tuin 1 There is sft me t hin g 
which whispers that mine is not hi from this moment" 

Girty eeased; a shade of melancholy passed ^ovor his dark and handsomely formed iiBataisf» as 
his ToiflS slightly faltered. 

•< We have many long years yet to live," said I ; « for if we are saved to avenge the mordsr of 
my iamily, it will require many long years to wash out the injury they have done me, and lo i a fl t hw g 
prophetic causes me to imagine that that is what we are spared for." 

" It appears to me,*' interrupted Girty, « that we have already contribated a great deal to avaoge 
that diabolical marder. We have already killed many of the bravest Indian warriors, thus dspiiving 
many families, peihaps, of a fiither. This is a deep and deadly revenge. We have hmn Idwa 
posoosa by the members of the same families, doobtleesly, whom we have depofsd of fiMhio^ and 
Atj m fstom gave yea joor Jibarty— that was m^goaDiflu^." 



THE MIAMI VALLBT. 143 

" And then, like cowards, they tried to kill me directly afterwards." 

" Which you know, S— — , is nothing more than human natufe. They murdered yours, and 
you sought revenge ; you murdered theirs, and you cannot accuse them of being cravens for taking 
the same privilege — am I not right V* 

I could not otherwise than admit, in my heart, that Girty*s reasoning was correct ; but I still con- 
tended that it was utterly necessary we should kill more Indians before I could feel satisfied. 

" Then wo will do it," said Girty ; ** I swore to assist you in accomplishing your revenge, and I 
will do it till the death. Should I not survive, cherish the memory of one whose prime was spent 
at least in assisting you.'* 

And I have cherished his memory; and now, in my old hge, it is as p:reen as the ivy which hangs 
around the dilapidated turrets of a deserted castle, where all else is fallen into decay save its own 
bright foliage. 

We had reached the Ohio river before daylight next morning ; the day succeeding was bright and 
pleasant, and we were now awaiting the arrival of Walker. We had given up all fears respecting 
the Indians following us this far, and only awaited Walker's arrival to cross the (3hio river. After 
waiting some hours, we agreed to return, hoping to meet him on the way, and if not, to continue 
our search to the spot where he had his eyes put out, (as he said,) where we feared he might still 
lie hid, unable to find his way out, if what he said was true. It was a day's journey from the Ohio ; 
still we had travelled it the evening previously, and reached the Ohio some hours before dajlight. 
We had not gone many miles, when we heard a cry similar to the scream of a large owl, whkh 
was answered repeatedly in various directions around us. Owls never aruwer each other's cry ; and 
this knowledge of the habits of the owl put us immediately upon our guard. We now were awaie, 
but too late, that we were sunounded by savages ; we sat upon a log, and, in a low Taice, held a 
consultaiton, and finally concluded, that to escape them, it would be necessary to take a course di- 
rectly towards their town, for we knew the Indians would all hurry for the Ohio river, in erder to 
overtake us before we could embark for the other side. 

We arose and started in a brisk and stealthy walk, when two Indians suddenly appeared but a 
few yards to our right ; they stopped, and one of them, thinking we were of their par^, set op a 
shrill owl scream, whuvh Girty answered as near like his own cry as possible — they hurried on to- 
wards the Ohio. This little incident happened the evening subsequent to our leaving the Ohio for 
I forgot to mention that we thought it piudent to remain hid through the day, and travel by nhrfat 
During the lime we were hid, it appears the savages had been to the bank of the river, and finiUni; 
the raft still in its place, were returning and searchmg for us ; this we were not awaie ot and imi^ 
ined they were on our trail. 

It was dark when the Indians, thus deceived, left us ; and while they hurried in the direction of 
the Ohio, we still continued our course towards their village, thinking that with each step we were 
leaving them behind, and so we probably were; but in thinking of those behind us, we entirely for- 
get that there might be more before. ^ 

About an hour before day, we heard the same ominous cry, about fifty yards before us. We were 
walking at a brisk gait at the time, but as soon as we heard the cry, we stopped ; but the Indians 
heaid us as we trod on the leaves, and cried their signal again, whidi we answered, and three de- 
liberately walked towards us till within a few feet. I raised my gun and fired, and one fell • the rest 
retreated about twenty yards and fired at random; but it was so dark that none of their shots came 
neat us. Here we all remained tiU almost dayUght, when the Indians called the distress halloo 
which brought one fellow directly where we lay hid, whom Guty killed with his knife, but not till 
he had made a manful resistance. Daylight at length appeared, and to our joy we discovered we 
were opposed but by two Indians, who kept a continual noise and firing, but we kept close behind a 
large elm, and reserved our fire till at length both Indians delivered their*s at once, when we both 
mrfied upon them and fired. One of the scoundiels ran off and left his companion to reu> the re- 
ward of his boldness. He was a medium-sized man, and with his knife he stood undaonted and 
although he was severely wounded in the leg, still he maintained his ground ; but Girty killed' him 
with one throw of his b^tchet We took their scalps and steered directly south, and the next dar 
reached the Ohio river, about thirty miles below the spot where we crossed as captives. Here w« 
remained lurkmg about all that day, and in the evening constructed a raft, by lying logs together 
with the bark of papaw, which can be pealed off" in long strips, and after paddling in a manner ra- 
ther ludicrous to an experienced boatman, we gained the Ohio side, and steered directly for Smith 
and Walker*s traps; for we had now co>t eluded that the latter was also killed. 

The next chapter will be devoted to an adventure of Thomas Girty's, which, for inticpidity and 
coolness amidst imminent perils, would outdo the greatest heio of a modem novel. 



THE RETURN 



A POEM. 



IT MRS. M. ST. LBON LOVD, P E 2? ^7 S T L T A ^ I A 



Impatient of delay, 
A way- worn traveller urged his panting steed, 
To gain his native vale ere darkness fell, 
Hiding faoiiliar objects from his view. 
Bark were his features, bronzed beneath the sun 
Of eastern climes, yet in their lines reveal'd 
An early manhood, ripen'd by deep thought, 
And lofty aspirations. He had toil'd 
And striven after fame ; and drank the cup 
Of disappointment to the very dregs. 

Then turned he, heartsick, to the quiet glen 
Where he had dwelt a boy ; and as he drew 
Kearer and nearer to his childhood^s home. 
The shadows which had gather'd o*er his soul 
KoU'd off like mists before the summer sun, ' 
And the bright past returned ; again he felt 
A free, light-hoaited boy — while i^om his lips 
A song of joy broke forth. 

« Behold! I come! 
Home of my childhood ! to thee, to thee ! 
Like a long caged bird to its native tree ; 
With a spirit torn from the world's embrace 
To find in thy bosom a resting place. 

I come ! and the sorrows of many years, 
The aimless hopes, and the fruitless tears — 
All, all, I have suffered hath pass'd away. 
Like a Uoubled dream at the break of day. 

Mother! I come to your arms once more ; 
You will kiss my brow, as you did of yoie ; 
You will bend o'er my couch with a pray'r and 

smile — 
Oh mother ! thy love will all caie beguile. 

Sister ! sweet sister ! to thee I come I 
Thou worshipped star of my early home : 
Thou'lt welcome the wand'rer, his toils arc o*er. 
He will leave his home and his hearth no more. 

Far and long have I wandetM from thee, 
Home of my childhood ! by land and sea — 
Peace and, repose have I sought in vain, 
Gladly the long lost returns again. 

His home was gained, 
His step was on the threshold, and hi& hand 
Upon tike latch — why doth he itart and pauee 'J 



Strange, unfamiliar voices from within. 
And words of fearful import met his ear. 
As if to questions asked, the gentle voice 
Of woman told the talc. <* Yes ! they are gone 
Who dwelt within this cottage, and their name. 
Like a forgotten sound, hath pass*d away. 
Well I remember, sporting round this hearth. 
Two lovely children, sireless, yet with one 
Whose all of earth was merg*d in their yoong 

lives. 
One was a fair and gentle girl, with eye 
Of meek and tiustful glance ; but in the brow 
Of the proud boy was written high resolve ; 
And he had vow'd e'en in his early youth. 
To win renown — this quiet, shadow'd glen^ 
Was all too narrow for his soaring views — 
He left his home. 

Long years of loneliness 
Passed o'er the widow and young Isabel, 
Till tidings came that Reginald was dead. 
Have you not seen the mower with his scythe 
Strike at the root of some pale, slender flower T 
Thus suddenly did Isabel depart 
From life, and youth, and beauty. 

From that hour. 
The mother of the lost ones smiled no more ; 
And when the rose, which bloom'd above the doit 
Of Isabel, did shed its leaves, they fell 
Upon the grave of her who placed it there — 
Mother and daughter slumber side by side.** 

The tale was done — slowly he turn'd away, 
And sought the church-yard path. In agony 
He knelt between the green and lonely graven 
Of mother and sister. Bitter are the tears 
Which fall hke burning drops from manhood's 

eyes. 
The holy stars which kept their silent WAtch 
Above the sleeping earth, alone beheld 
The lost wild struggle of his breaking heart. 

He sleeps in peace — oh Fame ! thy empty meed 
Hath lured full many a noble, generous heart 
To ruin and to death. The eagle soars 
Peerless, alone, a proud distinguished mark 
For every archer ; while the humble dove, 
Safe in the shelter of its native wood. 
Escapes the deadly shaA. 



THAUMATURGIA 



BT WILLIAX 1. BVKTOS* 



Felix qui potuit reniJn cofcnotcrre eatisu, 
Atque roctuf omnet et intoionbile fatiim 

^ * •» r 1 p^^i^, ^^^ CeorgU. 



P ABT BlCOirS. 

THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 

Tm expectant holiday makers passed the inteivening hours in deliberation, when our Yankee 
friend/ whose name, by the way, was mister Eph Brattle, proved a raloable acquisition. Long ere 
Bis Inlemalness left his regal couch, the plan of action was fixed, the assumptions of character de- 
termined, and the dresses donned. The English nobleman and the Roman epicure were disguised 
«s fashionable gentlemen of the present day ; Cato put his rigid philosophical carcase into the ha- 
hiliments of an orthodox quaker, with an undeniable and buttonless shad-bellied coat and drab con- 
tinuations. His hard lineaments were shaded by a broad-brimmed beaver. The queen of Palmyra 
ensconced her dignity in the close-fitting habit, poke bonnet, and green veil of a travelling matron; 
sjid the dark-faced son of Nomidia was compelled by the considerate Vermonter to assume the grey 
ftock and gold-bound hat of a colored gentleman in the service of the two fashionables, who were 
supposed to be from Europe. Mr. Brattle dressed himself in a now bright blue coat with shiny but- 
tons, a gaudy vest, and a pair of large and showy unwhispeiables; a white hat with a knowing bend 
in the brim, and a ferocious display of trinketry, including a breast broach as big as a door-plate, 
completed the outfit of this son of the mountains. 

His Majesty graciously incorporated the etherealities of his vagrant ffiends in the forms which 
they had chosen. After receiving the requisite means of existence upon earth, with a few valuable 
hints from the experienced potentate, the resurrectionists departed on tbeir trip. 

A heavy fog covered the face of the East River in the early part of the morning of the 15th of 
August, 183-, when a small boat arrived at the Manhattan landing, near Hell-Gate ferry, and four 
gentlemen, a lady, and a colored attendant, stepped ashore. In half an hour, they were safely de- 
posited in their respective chambers at the Astor House, in the very heart of the great metropolis of 
the new world. Their Yankee conductor, while superintending the entry of their names in the re- 
gister of the house, took care to speak plainly as to the high rank of the English noblemen under 
his charge, and hinted rather strongly about the immense wealth of the quaker, and the literary ta- 
lent of the bdy in the poke bonnet and green veil. This conduct excited the curiosity of the lis- 
teners, and our friends, the resurrectionists, found themselves ** the observed of all observers," and 
were elbowed, crowded, and mobbed whenever they dared to leave the privacy of their own apart- 
ments^according to the rule of the best society — and the lowest. 

As the day advanced, the heat of the weather operated sensibly on the various members of the 
party; they sufiered much from the warmth of the atmosphere, notwithstanding the high temperature 
of the country from whence they had just arrived. Cato, after escorting the queen of Palmyra over 
a portion of the city, retired to his room, fervently declaring that our good city of Gotham in tho 
dog-days was equally igniferous with the southernmost cell on tho Acherontic shore. Zenobia or- 
dered a sensible mug of iced punch, and retired till the gong announced the hour of dirmer; and 
Rochester and Apicius, limber and lazy, lounged across the marble slabs of the bar-room, and in- 
dulged in the faccolations of Foster, that incomparable mingler. 

*' And this is a julep ? Why, it is a living embodiment of the draught of Ganymede!*' said Rb- 
Chester, sipping from an ice-crowned goblet of cut crystal, tastefully decorated with bright green 
i^igs of meniha romana, 

** Helen's nepenthe /" sighed Apicius, after a long swig. 

** Had this nose-fireezing, soul-meltmg, palate-tickling, inestimable and most seductive green punch 
been invented in the reign of the second Charles, its vender would have realised a fortune in the 
purlieus of the court of St James." 

« Nero would have bestowed one of our conquered countries upon its concoctor.*' 

A noise in the hall, and a fr^nent repetition of the name of ** Brattle," induced the Yankee to 
leave his noble friends at the bur, and hasten to the scene of contention. The prince of Numidia, 
unable to tame his fiery spirit to the level necessary for the endurance of the indignities heaped upon 
Mm as a nigger footman, had knocked over a aaucy Irish waiter, who insisted upon Jugur^ha*s do- 
mestication with the other darkiea of the establishment The haughty monarch disdained to look 
upon the foul and degraded wreldiea ; be ibieed his way into a private parlor, and threw bisasffML 
upon a couch, before la open window. A bevy of read^ <*Yk^\.\MC* rooiGdd^.'a^TLX^as^^^si^ Ma%\a3^ 



146 burton's gentlemaiy's magazine. 

from the seat of honor. Brattle met them as they were hauling the unhappy Algerine along the 
mosaic pavement, -«n(I combatting his energetic struggles for fieedom. 

" Hello, folks! what on airth are yon dom' trith my friends* nigger 1 Skcet, every daddy's habby 
of you, or, by the ctamal, I'll wulk into you a Icetle slicker than a locomotive, you killniferous rip- 
tyles, you." 

An explanation with one of the owners, half an hour's conversation with Jugurtha, and a minute's 
reflection, convinced the Yankee that it was impossible to retain the African in his present position. 
His indomitable spirit, which even his painful death* had failed to subdue, rendered his situation as 
an underling an impossible existence. Brattle was vexed at his own want of forethought, but a 
ready wit suggested an expedient, which he forthwith proceeded to put into execution. 

The gentleman from down east quitted the Astor House, and slowly sauntered across the Park, 
closely followed by the gentleman of color. They were seen to enter a ready-made clothing and 
theatrical wardrobe store in Chatham street ; and, after an hour's delay, a hackney coach was called 
to the door, and received the wandering pair. The Yankee remained in his original blue, but the 
livery had slipped from the form of Jugurtha ; an Indian's blanket, moccasins, head dress, wampum 
belt, tomahawk, and knife, garnished the stalwart form of the Ethiopian, and he stood confessed, in 
his war paint, a chief of a delegation on their way to their gieat father, the president of the United 
States, bat, at tha present moment, under the guidance of an Indian agent, colonel Slangeo^ lepn- 
sented by our friend Mr. Brattle. 

The Yankee chuckled at the plausibility of his sdieme, and having engaged private looms im Ike 
^ abbergwyne" chisf at the American Hotel, he left Jugurtha in stately solitude, quite carelsss as lo 
what " didoes and shines" he might cut up in future — shaving so excellent a character to advance in 
lus defence. 

The noblemen, having " gone the liquor with a perfect loosensts, had become pretty eoosiderftb^ 
tight," according to the anomalous vernacular of Ahe fashionable modems. Jukpa had given w«gr 
to the <* cobler," a light vinous punch, exceedingly well iced, and grateful to the delicate casophagng* 
The insidious compound had worked its ofiects, although the wine-smitten lords afEeeted U> biwe 
the power of the son of Semele, and laugh off their enforced submiaiion to his potency. B s ch e s - 
(er leaned upon the sill of the open window, and kissed his hands to the pretty giils as they saun- 
tered up Broieuiway. Apicius coquetted, between drinka, with the crumbs of the rich cbeese that 
«tood upon the end of the bar— the auetu vermieuhuu, the table's pride in the luxurious days of 
Rome, was beneath comparison with the toothsome product of the Yankee dairies. 

The arrival of Brattlo was " a reason fair to fill his glass again." The epicure insisted upon his 
swallowing a cobler, and hailed Rochester to join the party. 

*< No, sir," stuttered the earl, " no more coblera — ^I have swallowed my last" 
*^ One more, for Brattle's sake." 

^* Nt $utar ultra crtpidam^ was the sensible advice of the painter of Cos. By Tantalus, then^s 
a divinity ! what grace ! the poetry of motion ! the glance of her eyes is even more fiery than tiie 
beams of this meiidian sun ! Had these specisaens of American lieeuty been available in the dajs 
of my royal and sapient Charley, there would have been seveial transatlantic ducheaaes depicted in 
his gallery, or I know nothing of human nature." 

The clanging of the gong summoned the boarders to the dinner-table. Brattle devoured an en- 
ormous quantity of viands, which were indiscriminately piled upon the same plate ; he studied va- 
riety and bulk more than quality. Rochester trifled with the wing of a chicken ; his morning's bi- 
bacity had blunted his appetite and afiected his brain ; half a doien foaming tumblefs of Heidaidk 
drove him sick and senseless to his room. 

When Apicius beheld the well-spread tables that filled the dining saloon, and contemplated the 
beauty and order of the arrangements, the richness and variety of the endless dishes— he sighed a 
confession of the nothingness of the ancient Roman feasts, whore rarity was prized beyond delicacy, 
and magnitude and number were the desiderata of the dishes. It is scarcely worth while to copy 
the contents of the bill of fare, in explanation of the entries and entremets discussed by the indus- 
trious gourmand ; the waiters had hoard of his supposed rank, and redoubled their usual attention ; 
plate after plate vanished in ready succession ; the treasures of the choicest vintages were pourad 
out at his command ; and the astonished resurrectionist admitted that the inhabitants of the Nepr 
World understood tho value of life and the nature of its true enjoyment 

Whilst meditating on the diflerence between his beloved dish in ancient times, the saheaeeaby, 
and his new delight, a Charlotte Russe, he received a thumping slap on the shoulder from tho huge 
paw of the restless Brattle, who, having swallowed his share of « pies an' things," and pocketed two 
oranges and a large apple, had smoked tho major part of a long nine while peregrinating up and 
down the cool lobby of the Astorial building. Thrusting the unburnt portion of his cigar into his 
hat, he drew forth a lump of sweet cavendish, and depositing a sensible piece in the receniB of Jiis 
huboard cheek, he sat down by the side of Apicius. 
< Waell, squire, I guess you've took the tuckerin' out of your innerds hf this tina ! Gaih, tat 



• StanratioB^inprisDQ,l)f Uieoidirof hiaooB^pwm,ICi^^ 



THAUMATUmeiA* 147 

it happifies me to xemtfk Uvat you grand furriners are jist able to get samthin* tew eat in o«r wood- 
ing country. The old nan and the lady up etain feel kinder streaked, aeein' as you ainter been 
anigh 'em the hull momin*. S'poeo we jiet go up etaini some, and eay how d*ye dew V 

** Not for the worth of your new world ! ' A movemant dudng a sympoaam interrapta the digea- 
tive process, and induces melancholy ; sit you down. Brattle, and in the deglutition of thia Bw« 
gundy, give up your soul to bliss !'' 

The next day 'twaa the same, and the nact, and the next 

Apicius resigned himself to the seasnalitiea of the table, and refused to budge an inch from hia 
new<^ound paiadise. Rochester, according to Brattle's account, was <* b^ for aparkin'," and the iiw 
resistible beauty of the Broadway belles afforded him several £ut excuses for his gallantry. The 
dingy Numidian sat in dull and dignified retirement in his hot room ; his impatieut spirit fretting at 
the constraint imposed upon him by the cunning Brattle, who, having hia own game to play, waa 
industriously moulding the puppets to his wish. He accompanied the queen of Palmyra and the 
quaker Cato in their rambles about thedty and its environs,from whenoa, in (act* he wished than to 
dflfMurt ; he therefore strenuously recommended that the object of their resurroctioa, a visit to the mo- 
dem cities of Rome, Utica, and Palmyra, should instantly be carried into efieet, leaving the immop 
▼able glutton to eat out the remainder of his time in his satisfactory quarters at the Astor House. 
The proposal was acceded to; berths were secured in the afternoon boat to Albany, and in due time 
the party proceeded on board. Cato and the Yankee walked arm in arm to the wharf; Rochester 
escorted the queen, while the Indian negro, aceonUog to Brattle*s stateaeat, had been previoosly 
placed in a snug stata^-oom, under the care of the captain of the boat 

As soon as the last bell sounded, Brattle left his friends in the cabin or saloon, for sn instant oalfy 
aa he said, while he et^H«d on deok to see that Jugurtha was comfortably «< fixed." In a fow ■■■• 
ntes the boat waa bounding acroas the biif ; but the anxious Cato looked in vain for the Yanhae's 
return. The truth must be told: while the earl, the queen, and the philosopher were '< steaming" it 
past the Palisades, the Yankee, the negro prince, and the gourniaBd ware silting down to a piivate 
dinner at the American, and ^jaitiinng ^on voffoge to their friends in foaming hrimmen of ^bsI dc 
perdrix* 

Cato felt that he had been nnjnstly treated by his brother resurreetioBiats, bat it waa not in hia 
nature to repine. He depended upon the axerdse of his own good aenaa, and a proper apptioatiaa 
of the funds which the Yankee had furnished him in exchange for his share of the haidk bilb 
drawn by His Infernal Majesty. Rochester laughed at the finesse of the oondueter, and Zenobia 
grinned with delight at the antic^Mtion of B ramie's sufferings after baa letuin to Hades, for the dia- 
obedienee he had sliown to His Majesty's express commands. 

It is not permissible, in our limits, to give any account of the resurrectionists' delight at the aca- 
nery of the Hudson ; or their admiration of the structure of the boat, and its wondrous motion on 
the glassy river. The imaginative reader will please to fancy all that may be fitting to the Tariooa 
events — we must confine ourselves to a plain narration of fscts. 

While Cato was listening to the outpourings of a states-rights' man from the weat, and Zesobia 
was playing pretty to a talkative mamma* who was convoying her triad of daughters to the annual 
campaign at the Springs, Rochester was firing heavy shot from the eye artillary at a young lady of 
canaiderable beauty, who was leaning upon the arm of a gentleman of mature age. The oaquette, 
for so her conduct proved her to be, smiled at the marked attention paid her by the earl, who ooih 
trived, during the temporary absence of her friend, to enter into a casual ohat, which terminated 
hfowever in a serious declaration of love. The return of the gentleman interrupted the gaUant'a 
piogress, but his experienced glance perceived a auffidency of encouiageaient to warrant a eaniinn- 
ance of the pursuit. At the Albany landing, while the gentleman was engaged with the luggaga, 
the earl ofiered his arm to the Udy, and walked with her to the hotel When parting with her in 
the passage leading to the chambeis, he endeavored to anatch a kiss, hot the design was barely evi> 
denced ere h^ received a stunning blew on the bade of his head, which sent him headlong to ihm 
Boor. He attempted to rise ; a pedalian application to his seat of honor sent him once more to ihm 
ground. 

<* You infernal scoundrel, how dare you kiss my wifo 1 I obeerved your conduct aboard the boait; 
there is my card— -if you have the courage of a moose, call me to account for the punishment yon 
have received. I shall remain here for the day ; but I scarcely expect to hear from you— the follow 
who is mean enough to inbult a woman, will seldom dare to fogs the anger of a man." 

Rochester knew at onee that be was in for a duel ; he had heard of such encounters, and lovad 
to glean particulars from the various honoiable murderers in the realms of Tartarus. A bystander, 
an officer in the U. S. Navy, volunteered to cany a message to the irate husband; particulars were 
aaon ananged ; both parties were in a hurry— and an hour had barely elapsed ere the victorious hua- 
band pursned bis way to Niagara, and the earl was lying on the broad of his badC with a doctor on 
each side of his bed, endeavoring to staunch the bleeding stump oC his nasal organ, whiciyhbvadp 
▼amry's fire had unfortunately carried away. , 



148 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

This second trial sorely afflicted the eqaanimity of the UticensiB, and the Palmyrene stormed oot- 
right. The immutably-fixed and limited time of sojoom on earth was rapidly passing away ; the 
purport of their resuriection was yet unaccomplished ; ;BLnd if they were to await the healing of the 
earl's nose, they would have to return to hell without *a chance of visiting the namesake cities of 
their love. Rochester, deeply mortified at the ugly wound inflicted upon his worldly embodiment; 
resolved to remain within doors till the Albany Galens had pieced his proboscis— a feat which they 
undertook to perform, and turn him out with a nose " petter as new.'' He desired, therefore, that 
the Roman quaker and the Syrian matron would at once proceed upon their pilgrimage, and call for 
him on their return. But who can shadow foith the events of his destiny ? The infernal power 
that resuscitated the frames of out heroes and our heroine, could not foretell the results of thdr 
worldly peregrinations ; and the petted favorites of the princely Lucifer were compelled to puboiiC 
to the dictates of the foul jade Miss Fortune, who reigns *< the sov'reignest thing on earth." Cato 
and his companion departed ; Rochester remained, noseless and sad — ^but the landlord's niece offici- 
ated as his nurse, and her rosy cheeks and plump and pulpy lips, aroused him from his ** loathed 
melancholy." A week had elapsed from the date of the duel, when, one morning, loud and plero- 
ing shrieks from the sick man's room summoned the household to the rescue ; Rochester vras dis* 
covered in his villany, and the young girl's lover, a thick-headed and hard-fisted Dutchman^ oow- 
hided the amorous Englishman on the spot. 

With piteous moan the lord hO'Whaled his fate. 

Hs scorned to reside even the remainder of his very limited period in a land where nobility wtm 
denied its privileges — where the ladies were insensible of the honor of his addresses, and the men 
rudely resented the exerdse of his gallant propensities. The <* Rochester" steamed him from Al- 
bany ; the Hdl-Oate foiry boat was a good jumping-ofi* place ; and the New York papers teemed* 
for'twelve hours, with the ** extraordinary suicide" of a wellpdresied man, whose body '* had not been 
discovered." 

Cato went sadly on his way; but the jiggle of the rail-road car, and the novelty of his situation, 
caused a full sufficiency of excitement, which the conversation of hb fellow passengers served to 
maintain. His heart beat fiercely when he heard of Troy, with its mounts Ida and Olympus. 
The town of Syracuse brought up strange and almost^brgotten thoughts of Archimedes, and the 
gentle Theoaitus. The beauty of the valley of the Mohawk attracted his attention ; the industry 
of the inhabitants, and the general well-doing of the towns and villages, excited his admiration ; but 
when he heard the names of Seneca, Cato, Cicero, Attica, Marcellus, Homer, Pharsalia, Romulus, 
and Rome, applied to the places of residence, he burst forth in eulogy of a nation that evinced a lau* 
dable desire to revive the hallowed appellations of the classic ages. His nerves were somewhat lock- 
ed when he heard the helmsman chattel ing with the driver of the boat horses, respecting a tremen- 
dous Dido that he had cut at Carthage. When Cato found that the slang phrase related to a drunken 
fistycufT matter about a colored girl at the above-named little village on the Genessee, ho sighed, 
and thought of the pious iEneas and the love-lorn daughter of king Belus. 

Zenobia Septimia, the lovely and luxurious Asiatic, sat apart, and mingled not in the chit-chat of 
her travelling companions ; she c^red not for the new-sprung glories of the modem land, while the 
moss-covered ruins of her own unrivalled Palmyra were cumbering the trackless desert. Resuscita- 
tion acted on her high and polished mind with efiects essentially diflferent to the results produced 
on the ascetic Roman, who deprived himself of life rather than witness the triumph of his rival. 
The soldier-sage looked with a philosophic eye upon human nature in its newest phase ; although 
hu Roman prejudices induced him to denote the countless throngs that met him in his present path 
as barbarians, he was unable to deny their unequalled activity of purpose and execution. The ani- 
mals Apicius and Rochef^r had their individual tastes to gratify ; the Ethiopian, groaning in the 
unexpected bondage imposed by the Yankee, sat at the window of his tavern prison, and longed for 
a free ramble over the green earth in the heat of the noontide sun. But Zenobia, felt weary of her 
resuscitation in the first hour of its existence. A sad impression of the mortal nature of humanity 
weighed upon her mind ; she thought of the countless thousands whom she had led to battle; of 
the hosts that fought beneath the banners of her foes — myriads of warriors — the conquerors of the 
earth ! AIhf, their bones bad long since been transmuted into the dust of by-gone ages, and the 
names of their chiefs were but the passwords of antiquity ! The log hut and the rum shanty on 
the banks of the canal were, in her estimation, of equal value with the mansion of the millionaire 
and the palatial hotel of the metropolis; the rust of time would equally corrode Yhem, and render 
vain the care and pride of man. She smiled at the boasting of a Bufialonian, who was describing 
the wonders of his ** queen of the western waters ;" she remembered the Tadmor of king Solomon, 
the city of palaces and palms, the glory of the desert, the warehouse of the riches of tho east, the 
capital of a queen who ruled the land between the Euphrates and the Mediterranean ! And "yet 
this wondrous city was now in ruins ! tenanted by some half-dozen frimilies of squalid Arabs, whoee 
mod-ndsed hovels stained the marble halls of the magnificent temple of the sun ! 
t [To be eoiitinMd.3 



A CHAPTER ON SCIENCE AND ART. 



A WRiT£R in the last Soathem Literary Meeeenger proposes the endowment, at Washington, of 
a Central Scfiooi of Natwrai Science, as the best disposition of Mr. Smithson's bequest. This academ j 
should have, it is suggested, a perfect apparatus, good cabinets, and the rudiments of a library, to be 
increased as means would permit The institution should commence its operations of instruction at 
the point where oui highest universities close— none of which profess, in mathematics, for example, 
to cariy their pupils beyond a general acquaintance with the principles of the Caculus. In natural 
philosophy itself, the universal de6ciency of apparatus is a lamentable drawback vpon the utility of 
our colleges. They have no facilities for the conduct of our young men fieurther than the mere ves- 
tibule of the temple. Yet we, above all people of the earth, have the most need of the highest phy- 
sical instruction, prefaced and aided by the profbundest analytical science. We are, beyond all other 
nations, a nation of physical wants, means, and oppoitunities— this not less from the character of our 
population, than from the extent and general nature of our tenitory. The entire spuit of the age, 
too, tends rather to physical than to moral investigation. We want means for the immediate develop- 
ment of all our powers and resources. It may be said, moreover, in favoi of physical knowledge, that 
it is the property not of any individual, or of any people, but of mankind. All are interested in its 
pursuit ; its profits all share ; and herein consisu its great superiority to mere literature ; for whose 
advancement, indeed, we have already abundant means — whose guidance and contrd may be rnfe^ 
left to the press. 

In the attempt at establishing an ordinary National University we should meet with insuperable 
difficulties ; at all events, with wearisome delay. The jealousy of State Colleges would greatly inter- 
ftre ; for it cannot be doubted that an institution at Washington, endowed as sometimes proposed, 
and immediately fostered by the Government, would tend materially to the injury of other universi- 
ties. Taking this ground. Congress would not act promptly upon the question — indeed, not at all, 
imtil the views of the States be ascertained. Moreover, the funds left by Mr. Smithson are inadequate 
to such a purpose— as the interest alone is to be used. An institute for men, beginning where other 
institutions leave oS, would conflict with no established interest, and might be carried at once into 
eflbct. In respect to the designs of the testator, no doubt should be entertained. He meant to found 
a College for the advancement of Science. His whole life is a plain commentary upon thu intention-— 
and this intention should, in the present case, be made a paramount law. We fiilly agree with the 
Correspondent of the Messenger in the expediency of a Central Academy as sugg^ted. 

Some time ago, Mr. Charles Oreen, of England, published a statement of the grounds upon which 
he bases his assertion of the possibility of pussing, in a balloon, across the Atlantic, from New York, 
to Europe. His facts should certainly be depended upon ; for they are the result of observations 
made during two hundred and seventy-five ascents. For our own parts, so far from gainsaying one 
word that the sBronaut asserts, we have for a long time past wondered why it was that our own 
Wise had not sronauted himself over to Europe — than which nothing could be a more feasible 
manoeuvre. Pure hydrogen must be discarded, as too subtle for our present means of retention. 
Balloons inflated with carburetted hydrogen (common coal gas) will retain a good inflation for a 
great length of time. Mr. G. states that be has had gas of this kind brought in small balloons, to fill 
his large one, from a distance of five or six miles; and we observe (what Mr. G. has not) that in 
Vienna, according to a simple method invented by M. F. Derionet, the gas is conveyed in hermeti- 
cally sealed bags, on carriages constructed for the purpose, from the fiictory to all parts of the town 
daily. Why do not our gas companies avail themselves of this plan 1 What an incalculable saving 
would ensue in regard to the laying down of pipe, ect. ! 

As to making a voyage from America to Europe, the data of the eronaut are plain, and perfectly 
well based. He has, in the first place, travelled two thousand nine hundred miles with the same 
supply of gas, and could have continued its use for foui months if necessary. In the second place it 
is demonstrated that a current of air is continually passing round the earth, at a stated distance from 
the surface, in the direction of west-noith'West — in the third place a balloon like the celebrated Nassau 
can' carry with ease three persons, with the necessary provisions and equipments for four months. 

Tne Curators of the Albany Institute, have been presented by Henry James, Esq., now in Europe, 
with a fa&>simile in plaster of the Rosetta Stone — a copy of which, we believe, did not before exist in 
this country, except in engravings. All our reodeis know that the Greek, Coptic, and Hieroglyphic 
ioscriptions on this stone are what led Dr. Young, of Oxford, and afterwards Champollion, of Paris, 
to find the key to the hieroglyphical alphabet. 

The new mode of engraving introduced by Hulmandel, of London, has great advantages in the 
Mving of labor and expense. The process is described by Dr. Faraday as very simple, and the re- 
sults as precise and certain. The first impression is directed by spreading oil over the plate, the in- 
tentices being filled by a watery solution of gum. The plate is then covwed with Tarnish, and 
when immersed in water, the gam is dissolved, when the parts required are eual3 vMiJQK^Xrs ^w^^^n^ 



150 BURTON^B GBNTLEMAN^B MAGAZINS, 

tis. The method is principally applicable, however, to cotton and silk printing, and is not very well 
adapted to the fine arts. Hulmandel is a man of astute intellect, and has a singular tact in the com^ 
monication of knowledge. His treatise on Uthography is one of the most luminous books in the woild. 



A gentleman of Liverpool announces that he has invented a new engine, immensely superior ia 
every respect to the old steam engine. The power is created by air and steam. It will consame 
only ono'half the quantity of fuel of the old one ; and the rapidity by which a vessel propelled by it 
will sail, will enable it to cross the Atlantic in six days. Owing to a particular way in which the 
power acts upon the vesael, twenty miles per hour can be realized with the greatest possible ease. 
The weight of machinery will be only on»4ialf that required by the old steam-engine, and instead of 
fltraining and weakening the ship, will brace and strengthen it. By this method the steam power is 
more than doubled. DoubtfoL 



Tax Philadelphia Steam Frigate will be ready for lannching by the first of September. The diip 
carpenters have conmwnced laying the bend or wail planking. The engine is also in a fair state of 
progress. Messieurs Merrick and Towne are its makers. The Frigate will not carry many gniMy 
but all are to be of huge dimensions. 

The largest steamei in the British navy is the Oorgon, recently built Her burthen is 1 150 tona» 
builder's measurement. She will carry twenty days' coal, one thousand soldiers, one hundred and 
fifty-*8tx crew, with stores and provisions far all for six mentbs. The engines are of three hundred 
and twenty horse pofser, and the ship is so constructed that the steam-machinery cannot be reached 
by shot. 



An instrument has been invented by a Mr. Conger of New York, by means of which the existence 
of file within a boilding can be ascertained by a person outside. A small box, containing an air* 
pamp, is placed within the house, in contact with the fiont wall or door, and'from the box, metd 
tiftea, like a gas pipe, communicate with each story of the boilding. By pulling a knob, soch as is 
asnally attached to Che wire of a door-bell, the least symptoms of smoke in any pait of the building 
na lendered paroeptible. Coincident with this invention is another somewhat similar—* that of a 
o al f acting fiie-aiarm belL The principle on which it is made is that of the expansion of metals by 
faaat From a piece of hollow brass, a metal communication leads to a bell, the tongue of which is 
moved by a spring, not nnhke that of an ordinary mouse trap. The fire acts upon the brass, ex- 
panding it and causing it to move the apparatus, so as to set the bell ringing. It will strike whea 
the heat is at ISO degrees of Fahrenheit's thermometer, or even at a lower temperature. 

It is weU known that when atmoipherical air is suddenly larefied, as when it issues ffom the muxsle 
of an air gon into which it was previously condensed, a fissh of light is perceived, which has been 
generally attributed to electricity, excited by tho sadden expansion, ^me interesting experiments 
on this subject have been made by Mr. Hait, from which he arrtve»at a different conclusion with re- 
gard to the origin sf the light. 

In his first trials in which he discharged the gun under a variety of circumstances, using dry^ 
damp, and warm air, and discharging it in warm, cold, dry, and moist weathei, be failed in procuring 
light. In these the gon was unloaded ; but when loaded, light was instantly perceived ; he ther»> 
fore supposed that it might be occasioned by the friction of the wadding on the sides of the bamly 
which induced him to try a variety of substances possessing different electric powers ; as dry dXk, 
woolt feathers, shell lac, sugar, and sKps of gla»s. With the first four he occasionally succeeded, but 
be never failed with the lost two, the glass always giving the most vivid light, which was of a green* 
ish color, extending a foot and a half from the monle. In repeating some of these experiments, Ihn 
old silk which had been lying on the floor, and which had become moist and dirty, was again used, 
snd by it a much mote brilliant light was emitted than by an|f of the others ; the same was also the 
case with pieces of i^it lath, and even with damp saw-dust picked up from the floor. He gnn after, 
this was discharged without any wadding in the bairel, when it alwayii gave light ai tkejirtt thot 
after the magazine was charged. From this it vras suspected that as its muzste rested against a wall 
during the charging, some sand or lime might have fallen in, the attrition of which during the di^ 
charge may have caused the luminonsness. Accordingly, on taking preeaotions against this, no light 
could be obtained, which induced Mi. Hart to introduce a little sand, by which a beautiful stream of 
light was produced at each discharge. From those experiments, it is evident that the eftcts were 
occasioned by attrition, and that the sand adhering to the old wadding, saw-dust, split lath, etc, was 
the cause of the light; hence on trying these when quite clean none was observed. To ascertahi 
whether the light from these was pi educed by the abrasion of particles of iron firom tiie inside of the 
barrel, like sparks from a cutler's wheel — sand, fragments of spar and sugar, were held at the mosle 
of the gun when discharged, by which they appeared slightly luminous. When a grating composed 
of clean and dry thermometer tubes was held in the same situation, there was no light— proving that 
the luminousness is not occasioned by any electrical appoaranoe excited by the air stifldng against 
the obieels: we must therefore consider it ss caused aot by any disnge whiefa the condensed air im* 
dergsesy bat nMtely by ottsition, and thsnfcra similar to what oecms in eommsa cases of friction. 



EETIEW OP NEW BOOKS. 



Saend PhUosopfiy of the Seoions ; JUuiiraiing the Perfections of God in the Phenomena of the 
Year. By the Kev, Henry Duncan, D, /)., Huihweli, SeoHond, WUh Important Additions^ 
and some Modifieatians to adopt it tu American readcrt. By F, W. P, Greenwood. In four 
volumea. Marsh, Capen, Lyon and Webb, Boston. 

In our last numbei we had barely room to acknowledge the reception of this Talnable work, and 
to speak of it in general terms of commendation. A careful perusal has since assured us that we 
did not err in our opinion. The book will recommend itself wherever seen, as a well-arranged and 
well-digested compendium, embracing a vast amount of information upon the^arious topics of phy- 
sical science, and especially well adapted to those educational purposes for which the volumes are 
designed. 

We are not aware of the precise period at which the American edition was actually passed 
through the press : and one er two ap])arent inaccuracies which have arrested our attention may 
have been understood as truths at the time of Mi. Greenwood's supervision. 

It is questionable whether there be not something of a philosophy un peu passt in a passage 
where a certain argument is spoken of as not proving the absolute permanency of our solar system 
'* because we know from the more sure word of piophecy that it is not destined to last forever." 
Wc believe there are few intelligent men of the present day — few, either laymen or divines— who Are 
still willing to thiidL that the prophecies here referred to have any further allusion than to the oib 
of the earth — or, more strictly, to the crust of this orb alone. Tbe*«^ntire system never was meant 
to be included, Upon this topic we refer the reader, in perfect confidence, to the excellent obseiva- 
tions of Dr. Dick, in his ** Christian Philosopher.^' 

At page 2^, of the fourth volume, and subsequently, there are some passages which strongly m* 
sist upon the literal fulfilment of the biblical piophedea in regard to the city of Petra, in Idomea, 
the ancient Cdom : and, in connection with this subject, the work of Dr. Keith on the Prophede* 
is greatly extolled. ** This singular place," (Pclra) says Dr. Duncan, ** has only lately been minutdj 
surveyed, and indeed little was known of it till after the commencement of the present century, 
when it was visited first by Dr. Burckhardt,, and afterwards by captains Iiby and Mangles." To this 
the American editor adds in a foot-note, " Yet iqore recently, these wonderful ruins have been visits 
ed by our countryman, Mr. Stevens." (Stephens.) 

There is, we confess, something heio of which we do not altogether approve. Dr. Duncan is per- 
fectly justifiable in avowing that implicit contidence which he no doubt feels, in the accuracy of 
the statements of Dr. Keith, and in the force of the arguments supporting his favorite doctrine — t).o 
literal fulfilment of prophecy ; but we think Mr. Greenwood i^ould have observed, by way of ofi^t, 
that the work in question has been more than once thoroughly refuted ; and once, especially, in an 
unanswerable argument in the pages of the London Quarterly Review. Moreover, as the book of 
Mr. Stephens tuas alluded to, it would have been as well to say that this book itself affords a very 
singular, and certainly a very positive refutation, nut only of the general argument of Dr. Keith, 
but of the very portion of it now in question. 

It is said in Isaiah, respecting Idumea, that " none shall pass through thee for ever and erer." 
Dr. K. insists upon undeistanding this in its most strictly literal sense. He attempts to prove that 
neither Burckhardt nor Irby passed through tfi/e country — merely penetrating to Petra, and retnm- 
ing. But then, Mr. Stephens entered Idumea with a full and deliberate design of putting the qne^ 
tion of this prophecy to test ; he determined to see whether it was meant that Idumea should not be 
passed through, and he accordingly passed through it from one end to the other. The truth is that 
a palpable mis-trarulation exists in the passage of Isaiah referred to: a passage which Dr. Keith 
ahouUi have examined critically in the original before basing so long an argument upon it. Thia 
laia-translation, and several others upon the same topic, we pointed out ourseWes, not very long ago, 
in an article in the New York Review. The words in question are found in Isaiah 94, 10, and nm 
thus : Lenetsach netsaehim ein over bah. (We have not the Hebrew Type.) The sentence, word 
for word, is as follows : Lenetsach, for an eternity ; netsaehim, of eternities ; etTi, not; ooer, mov- 
ing about; hah, in it ; that is to say, << for an eternity of eternities, ( there shall) not (be any one) 
moving about in it,'* not through it. The participle oocr refers to one moving to and fro, or up and 
down ; and is the same term which is rendered '• current" as an epithet of money, in Grenesis 28, 
16. The prophet simply means that there shall be no mark of life in the land ; no living being there ; 
no one moving up and down in it He merely refers to its general abandonment and desolation. 

In the same way wo have received an erroneous idea of the meaning of Ezekiel 35, 7, where the 
same region is mentioned. The common version runs — ** Thus will I make Mount Seir moat de- 
solate, and cut off from it him that passeth out and him that retumeth" — a' sentence which Jh, 
Keith views as he does the one mentioned above — that is to say, he supposes it to forbid any ti*' 
Telling in Idumea under penalty of death, instancing Burckhardt's death shortly after his return, aa 



152 burton's gbntleman's magazine. 

coDfirming his opinion, on the ground Ihat he died in conaeqaence of his rash attempt Now the 
words which ha^e been construed by ** him that passeth out and him that retuineth*' are '< oMr 
vasal" and mean strictly ** him that passeth and repasseth." Here, as before, the inhabitants an 
referred to. Our veision is sanctioned by Gesenius, and there is something veij analogous in tli9 
Hebrew-Gieek phiase in Acts 9, 28 — Kau »? /urr' AU/Tonr ynro^wo/Anoc juu airo^tvo/Atfoe t? 'U^cua-dXtfitp 
" and he was with them in Jerusalem, coming in and going ouL" The latin veraatus est hits it aS 
exactly. The meaning is, that Saul, the new comer, was on intimate terms with the true belieren 
in Jerusalem, moving about among them, to and fro, or in and out 

But we have been led off from our immediate purpose; which was chiefly to dissent, in geneni 
terms, from the views of Dr. Keith, and to express a regret that a gentleman so well qualified to 
speak upon this subject as Mr. Greenwood, should not have appended some observations to the le* 
marks of Dr. Duncan. The « Philosophy of the Seasons" is a book of which every one must think 
well. Its great comprehensiveness, its general accuracy, its ingenious and luminous arrangemcnl, 
render it, in every respect, a valuable work. Its mechanical execution is exceedingly good, and doei 
high credit to the taste of the publishers, Messrs. Marsh, Capen, Lyon and Webb. 



Mtmoira and Reminiscences of the French Revolution, By Madame Tussaud, Edited by FfWUSM 
Hervdt Esq,, author of a** Residence in Greece and Turkey,* etc, etc. Two Volumes, Lea and 
Blanchard, Philadelphia, 

These personal memoirs and reminiscences — another drop to the ocean of books on the same to- 
|ttc — ^have still a vivid interest, and will no doubt be favorably received in America, where incidents 
of the French Revolution are more eagerly sought, and more tenaciously remembered, than in any 
other portion of the globe. Madame Tussaud has here introduced nearly every character and cir- 
cumstance of note connected with the stupendous events in question, and at the same time has fiit^ 
borne to dilate upon those disgusting and revolting scenes of simple honor with which too manj 
nnular works abound. With the editor of her book, Francis Heiv6, Esq., we have had the honor 
of a personal acquaintance, and well know that the task of bringing the work before the public could 
not possibly have been in moie competent hands. 



The Letter Bag of the Great Western ; or Life in a Steamer. By the Author of Sayings and 
Doings of Sam Slick, etc etc Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphia, 

This lively and piquant little book, from the pen of Judge Haliburton, embodies a dedication, a 
pre&ce, and twenty-eight letters. The dedication is " to the Right Honorable Lord John RuaseU,'* 
and is a piece of Hting satire as well as capital burlesque. Sam Slick, or Judge Haliburton, which- 
ever the reader pleases, very candidly infonns his lordship that he is selected as Meccenas, not on 
account of his quick perception of the ridiculous, or his powers of humor, but solely on account of 
the very extensive patronage at his disposal. ** Your lordship," says oui writer, " is a colonial mi- 
nister, and I am a colonial author ; the connexion between us, therefore, in this relation, is so natu- 
ral, that this work has not only a claim to your protection, but a right to your suppoiL All the 
world will say that it is in vain for the whig ministry to make protestations of regard for the colo- 
nies, when the author of that lively book, * The Letter Bag of the Great Western,' remains in ob- 
ccurity in Nova Scotia, languishing for want of timely patronage ; and posterity, that invariably 
does justice, (although it is unfortunately rather too late, always) will pronounce that you fiiilfld 
in your first duty, as protector of oolonial literature, if you do not do the pretty upon this occa- 
sion." AAer a number of sly thrusts, the dedicator thus concludes — " It does not become me, my 
lord, to say what I do expect for myself ; but if the office of distributor of honors and promotions 
among colonists, is vacant, as there are no duties to perform, and the place is a sinecure, it would 
suit me uncommonly well, and affi>rd me leuure to cultivate talents that are extremely rare among 
the race of officials." 

In the pre&ce, the judge, after acknowledging that his coming into possession of the Latter Bag 
cf the Great Western, and perusing its contents, are circumstances of a somewhat unaccountable 
nature, declines giving any information upon the subject, but refers the inquisitive reader to Spring 
Rice. « Ask Spring Rise," he says, <* who is ^ frank man." The letters themselvea are varied in 
every respect but one— that of a broad, an excessively broad, burlesque. They are supposed to be 
written hy aU kinds of odd characters, and are somewhat entertaining. In our last nnmber we woo 
enabled, through the kindness of Messis, Lea and Blanchard, to give our readers an excellent spe- 
cimen, in ** The Journal of an Actress"—* qnb upon Fanny Kemble. The rest are equally good, 
■omebetter. A " Letter from a Traveller befoie he hiui trmvelled/' is a fiucical affiur, aatin^ 
TroUope and Manyatt race. 



JtETIBW^OF NBW BOOKS. 1153 

« The Letter Bag of the Great WeeCem" ia a hook which every body will read, and which will 
occaaion many a hearty laugh. The mere style of Judge Haliburton ia not no good aa it might be. 
There is a looeenen about it which especially detracts from its piquancy and force. He misses many 
a fine point through want of epigrammatisn. His coaiseness is disgusting. In the Latin motto 
on, the title page is a blunder which has an awkward appearance. 

TViaU of the Heart. By Mrs, Bray, author of'* Trelaumy** " The Borders of the Tamar and 
Tavy," « The Talba," *» The White Hoods;* « Warleigh;' etc. etc Ttvo Volumes. Lea and 
Blanchard, Philadelphia . 

The writings of Mrs. Dray are, we believe, not very well known in this country, but have been 
received with some favor in England. The New Monthly Magazine pronounces hei " one of the first 
female novelists of the day," and ** De Foix" and '* The White Hoods/' are mentioned in terms of 
warm commendation by the Quarteily Review. "Trials of the Heart" embodies four narratives of 
merit—" Prediction ;*' " The Orphans of La Vendee ;" " The Little Doctor," and *« Vicissitudes." 
The general title of the book, and its ground-work, are deduced from the personal experience of the 
lady-author herself, who has been called upon to endure more than usually falls to the lot of mor- 
tality. This circumstance gives, in many cases, a painful viaisemblance, and consequently a deep 
interest to her stories. 



Momanee of Travel, comprising Tales of Five Lands. By the Author of** Pencilings by the 

Way:* S. Colman, New York. 

This volume includes nine narratives — Lady Ravelgold ; Palette's Bride ; Violanta Caesarina ; 
Pasquali, The Tailor of Venice ; The Bandit of Austria ; Oonder Hoofden, or The Underdifi*; The 
Picker and Piler ; Stratford on Avon ; and Charlecote. There is a dedication, very brief, to Hufus 
Dawes ; and no pre&ce. Altogether, thete is much less of petty affectation about the outworks of 
the book than was at one time usual with Mr. Willis. We are not quite sure, however, whether he 
himself is entitled to credit for the improvement There are some circumstances which induce us to 
think that the author of the " Inklings," and the ** Pencilings," and the ** Jottings Down," had no 
direct agency in the getting up of the " Romance of Travel." The absence of preface is especially 
auspicious. Be this matter as it may, however, we feel confident that our author could not have seen 
the proofs of the present publication, which, we are sorry to say, abounds in gross errors of either 
haste or typography — so greatly indeed, that, had we |)erused nothing else than this work from the 
pen of Mr. W., we should have called him one of the loosest writers of a day when loose writing, 
liabitually practised and permitted, is making irreparable inroads upon the purity and stability of the 
language. But we happen to be quite sure that the many blunders in the volume before us are, at 
least, not deliberate perpetrations. In the minor morals of literature our author has scarcely a su- 
perior in America. 

In regard to the more important features nf the Tales, we find Mr. Willis still Mr. Willis. We 
observe his usual range of subject, his customary mode of handling, his ordinary points of ornament. 
The best story here, upon the whole, is that called ** The Picker and Piler.*" Its striking, yet im- 
perfect, inconsistent, and inconsequential incidents, are stiongly characteristic Aa for plot, proper- 
ly conceived, of that our poet never should be accused — and certainly not in the caae of the ** Picker' 
and Piler." The story runs thus. A privateer captain, at the close of the late war between England 
«nd America, not choosing to become a pirate by continuing his cruise, is set ashore a beggar by his 
crew. Unfitted for social life, and doubly disgusted by the conduct of relatives at home, in whose 
charge he had left a daughter during his own absence at sea, he determines upon the rigid seclusion 
of the maiden from the woild, and for this end, can think of no better plan than that of burying him- 
self and her in the western wilderness, where hb mode of life resembles nothing more nearly than 
that of a salamander. For example; he first cuts a clearing of an acre or ao, in the heart of a dense 
forest, and afterwards a narrow and intricate lane, from this clearing to the prairie. He then sets 
fire to the whole wood, and lives like a conjurer within a charmed circle. When the treea are fairly 
burned down, he takes up other quaiters in a similar way. It so happens, however, that a atranger 
£nds his way, one day, through the lane, and by this stranger the young lady is not treated precisely 
«8 one could wish. The ex-captain resolves upon the death of the lover, and the manner in which 
Ihia death is brought about, forma the pith of the whole story — the sting in the tail ef the bee. A 
hnming pine has fallen across an ash, uprooting the latter in its descent. ** The eatth and stones 
tiad followed the uptom mass, forming a solid upright wall, from which, like struggling fingers, 
sitretching back in agony to (he ground from which they had parted, a few rent and naked roots point- 
«d into the cavity." ** The sequel," says our author most inartisticaUy, ** will ahow why I am ao 
pattlcniar in this desaiption." The truth is that the lover goes to sleep, like a fool, jost in the hollow 
beneath the roots of the tree. Hereupon the ex-captain jumpa up, with his axe, upon the still smonlder- 
iag pine, whose weight alone holds down the elastic aah. A smgle stroke suffices to sever the bom* 



154 burton's ohntlkh^n'b magazine. 

ing tzimk — the ends slide off in oppeate fiMctione-^Ihe aih upriies — end Uie ileeper is buried. Hera^ 
beyond doubt, is a striking and, we believe, an original idea — an idea which, in competent handi^ 
might have been made to piodoce an electric efiect. But Mr. 'Willis has done nothing with it at alk 
He <* dawdles" too long with his theme, and fritters away his main interest in irrelevancy. We get 
angry with him as we read, and feel an itching to kick him along. Instead of finding our attentioii 
riveted to the coming catastrophe — a catastrophe, by the way, which every reader is weakly permitted 
to foresee for at least half an hour before it occurs — we are perpetually reminded of the writer of the 
story — whose image is sure to jump up every now and then before us, in an embroidered morning 
gown and slippers, with a pen in one hand, and a bottle of can de Cologne in the other. The con- 
cluding words of the narrative are a case in poinL " A struggle — a contortion — and the leafless and 
wavering top of the recovcicd and upright tree rocked with its effort, and a long sharp cry had gone 
out echoing through the woods, and was still." All this is very good — it might have been better, to 
be sure — but still it is very good. The catastrophe is over — the story is ended. No— the writer has 
yet five words, as usual, to say of himself. ** I felt my brain reel /" Body of Bacchus ! — we were 
talking about the crushing of a fcUow creature to death, and not about those everlasting brains of Mr. 
Willis. Who cares the matter of two pence halfpenny whether that gentleman has any brains at 
aU? 



Hambks in the Footsteps of Von Quixotic, By the late H, D, Inglis, author of*' Spain,** " T%e 

Tyrol** etc London, \Vhittaker and Co, 

This is not, as one might suppose from the title, a road-book, describing with statistical accuracy 
the hamlets, ventas, and posadas, which the author visited in the romantic footsteps of the>Knight 
of La Mancha. It is the work of a mind capable of relishing the inimitable humor of Cervantea, 
and of enjoying with perfect gusto the beautiful and grotesque images with which the adventursf of 
Don Quixotte abound. In his rambles the writer is accompanied, like the knight, by a guide, a Bar- 
ly barber, who entertains enthusiastic admiration for Cervantes' immortal work. This is in fact « 
national feeling with the Spaniards, as the following striking anecdote, which we extract from tha 
•trly pages of the volume, will show : — 

I had no passport to go beyond Toledo, having intended to return to Madrid ; and when I apptied 
to tha dispenser of passports for permission to cross the mountain to La Mancha, my request was 
met by a direct refusal. <* But," said I, " my only object is to visit a country hallowed by the geniim 
of Cervantes ; I am going to travel in the footsteps of Don Quixotte." Instantly the man's £m» re- 
laxed ; he could not resist the compliment paid to his country. ** See," said he, turning to his com- 
panion vidth a triumphant look, *< how these EngUsh venerate our Cervantes !" and my poasport 
was instantly made out, and deUvered to me with the air of a man who receives rather than confm 
a fiivor. 

Mr. Inglis has adopted throughout the work a singular species of abandonment to the delightliii 
fiction of Cervantes — which makes the Spaniards speak of it as if the characters there drawn had 
really existed. This delusion is described in the following characteristic dialogue which takes placa 
between the author and the barber of the little village of Miguel fistcvan — at their first meeting :-«- 

*' Good evening, Master Nicholas," said I, entering and seating myself; *< and how are year neigb- 
bors, the curate and the bachelor Sampson Curasco, and have you heard any tidings lately of thf 
hidalgo, who is sumamed Don Quixotte 1" The cunning eyto and expressive smile of the barber 
showed at once that he understood me. *< And so," said he, ** yon, who are a foreigner, have 
found out the village of Don Quixotte, when travelleis from our own towns and provinces go to 
Quintana, and Quero. and £1 Probencio, and Pedemoeo, and every village of La Mancha, but the 
right one 1*^ *< And this, then," said I, " is really the village from which the Knight of La Mancha 
set out in search of adventures 1" " Certes it is," replied the barber, " what other village should it 
be than Miguel Estevan 1 Quintana it could not be, because there is not, and there never has been 
any barber's shop in Quintana : as little could it be Quero, where there is not a house good enough 
for an hidalgo, scarcely even for a curate or a licentiate. £1 Probencio it could not be, because £1 
Probencio is not in La Mancha ; and neither could it be Pedemoso, because if the knight had gone 
from Pedemoso to the place where he encountered the windmills, he mast have passed £1 Toboso» 
the village of Dulcinea, which would surely not have been omitted in the history of his sally." I 
perceived that the barber was a shrewd fellow, a true enthusiast in the work of Cervantes ; and de- 
sirous of trying to what length the confusion between truth and fiction would carry him, I said, 
** But you speak of the house of the hidalgo, as if he had really existed, and of the barber's shop, as 
if the barber had in reality consulted with the curate about burning the knight's books, whereas you 
know" — *< Oh I know very well," intenupted the barber, evidently disconcerted ; " bat we always 
speak BO here, and if you will step out with me to the comer of the stieet I'll show the identioi 
house." A carious morsel tliis for the metaphysician — an admirable illustration of the cfiect which 
thought, constantly directed in a wrong channel, may have in warping the judgment ; and while I 
submitted to the operation of shaving, I reflected upon the extraordinary genius of Cervantes, iB 
having drawn fictitious scenes with so much troth, as not only to beguile the reader into tampoiary 
belief of their reality, but even to disturb one's settled convictions of truth and fiction. 



BURTON'S 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN MONTHLY REVIEW. 



APRIL, 1840. 



THE FIRST OF APRIL, 



BT WILLIA3C £. BURTON, P R T L A S A . 



April, sweet month, ** ye dayntyestc of all !" mounted on the lusty Taurus, " wanton as a kid 
whose horn new buds," brings in the young and teeming beauty of the year. What is the oft-sung 
and be-praised Mafa more than elder sister to the young Aperio ? — the staid sobeinesaof womanhood 
succeeding the lovely freshness of juvenility ? An April mom, the eternal simile for love's estate, 
floats over the earth with rainbow-colored wings, diffusing life and light — insuring the production 
of the riches of the earth in their respective seasons, and driving the tears of winter, shed at a con- 
strained departure, before the sun-lit beauty of her smiles. 

A rustic poet has said that 

The earliest flowers are aye the sweetest, 

and April, to the lover of nature, is undoubtedly the most delightful period of the year. The voicM 
of the streams are spring-subdued, and run their destined course with wonted harmony — their bub- 
bling ripples gleaming in the bright blue glory of an April sky. The swallow tribes return from 
their long, long flight, and skim across the lea and over the winding rivulet, with short and sudden 
jerks, in keen pursuit of the innumerable insects which already have been warmed into life. The 
song birds, up before the sun, arc ** cheerily hymning the aw(Ucened morn ;" the bees are on the 
wing, with loud and busy hum, eagerly sipping the spring dew on the buds. Nature is aroused ; 
and, dofling the cold rigidity of sleep, lovcUly smiles in her returning happiness. 

On the first of April, according to mythological chronology, Venus arose from the sea — VenUy 
the goddess of beauty, the mother of love, the mbtress of the graces. On this day, the Roman ma- 
trons performed ablutions under the myrtle tree, sacred to Venus, and, crowning themselves with its 
leaves, ofiered sacrifices to the goddess whoso birth-day they had met to celebrate. The marriage- 
able maids repaired to the temples of Fortuna Virilis, and exposed any personal deformities they 
might happen to possess, praying the dcity'to conceal their faults from the knowledge of those who 
wished to espouse them. This practice, I verily believe, is the origin of the custom of fool-making 
upon the first of April ; the husbands, who believed the chosen of their hearts to be perfection, and 
afterwards discovciVd their blemishes, might, while deprecating the imagined influence of the god- 
dess, declare themselves the fools of the first of April. 

Brand, who obseives that nothing is known about the origin of this curious custom of fool-making 
but that it is very ancient and very general, supposes it likely to be a remnant of the Festival of 
Fools ; but that feast was held about Christmas-time, and not upon All Fools' Day. A correspond- 
ent, in the GentlemanV Magazine, April, 1766, supposes that *< the strange custom prevalent through 
out this kingdom, of people making fools of one another upon the first of April, arose firom the 
ytus formerly beginning, as to some purpose, and in some respects, on the twenty-fiAh of March, 
which was supposed to be the incarnation of our Lord ; it being customary with the Komans, as 
wcD as with us, to hold a festival, attended by an octave, at the commencement of the new year— 
ivhldi festival lasted for eight days, whereof the first and last were the principal ; therefore the first 

VOL, TI* — jro. IT. G 



156 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

of April is the octave of the twenty-fifth of March, and, consequently, the close or ending of the 
foast, which was both the festival of the Annunciation and tlie hep^inning of the new year." 

In corroboration of his surmise, the writer might have quoted Bloomlii^Id, who, in liis history of 
the antiquities of Norfolk, in England, mentions a pageant exhibited in Norwich, on Shrove Tues- 
day, in the month of March, when one rode through the town having his horse " trapped with tyn 
fbyle and other nyso disgysyngcs,'* crowned as King of Christmas, in token that the year should 
there end. 

Mr. Maurice, the author of << Indian Antiquities," considers the custom of fool-making as one of 
the sports originally introduced to celebrate the festival of the vernal equinox; but the learned anti- 
quarian has not been more fortunate in his supposition than the rest of his compeers. The obser- 
vance of All Fool's Day is not confined to one climo. Upon the first of April, fool-making is, or 
was, universal. At Lisbon, it is thought very funny to pour water upon the passers-by, or to jerk 
white powder in their faces ; but to do both is the perfection of wit. The poor monks of the Char- 
trcux, in Provence, were much annoyed by novices being sent for peas (jjois chichea) which they 
were told the monks were obliged to give to every body who would come for them on this day.-— 
Torcen, the Swedish traveller, says : " We set sail on the first of April ; but the wind made us 
April fools, for we were forced to return." In Scotland, <' gowk-making" is a source of much amuse- 
ment : " gowk" means a cuckoo, or silly bird, and is a term in frequent use in the north of England 
for a stupid fellow. The Frenchman's poisson cT Avril is exactly similar to the English April-fool. 
In the second volume of the Asiatic Researches, colonel Pearce gives an account of the same cus- 
tom among the Hindoos. Upon the last day in March, at the termination of the Hull festival, high 
and low join in making fools of one another. They carry the j(»ke there so far as to send letters, 
making appointments in the name of persons who it is known must be absent from their houses at 
the time fixed upon ; and the laugh is always in proportion to the trouble given. The late Surajah 
Dowlah, although a Mussulman of the highest rank, was very fond of making Iluli fools. 

The follies of the first of April have never flourished in America. A practice may occasionally 
be observed among the recent importations, or in the family circles of some fun-loving folks from 
the old country ; but the clear heads and business-habits of the A mericans are anomalous to tho 
old-fashioned observance of tho day. The custom is declining even in merry England, where tho 
first of April has long been tho season for <* most exquisite fooler}'." They have dethroned tha 
King's Jester, and the office of the Lord Mayor's Fool is abolished ; no one careth for the observ- 
ance of All Fool's Day, for personal interest in its mysteries hath waxed weak. Oh, for tho de- 
parted glory of tho seven wise men ! Now-a-days, all are leanied ! The strides of the schoolrr^a?- 
tei have been accelerated by steam, and thouf^ands of ten thousands receive their weekly quantum 
of intelligence with mechanical regularity. Children no longer cry after cakes, caYidy is uncarcd 
for, gingerbread is becoming obsolete, and a plaything is a reminiscence. Penny Magazines and 
Cyclopiedias engross the pocket-money of the rising generation ; half-fiedi^cd philosophers contr»* 
diet theit grandaras and talk ethics in the nursery, and apprentices instruct their masters in tho 
usages of the divine science. There are, now-a-days, no " sealed" books ; the treasures of biblio- 
graphy are attainable for a tiifie, and the hoarded wisdom of the sage may be had for a handful of 
cents. 



THE APRIL FOOL. 

Mister Robert Muggridge resided in a small country town in the west of England. He was s 
bachelor, and formed a sort of fag-end member of the squirearchy ; his income afforded him " a bird 
and a bottle," and the means of indulging in his darling passion for dress. He was tho undisputed 
dandy- monarch of the district, and walked forth, every Sunday morning, a peripatetic magazine of 
gentlemen's fashions. " The Muggridge rut" was the beau ideal of elegance in tlic shaping of 
woollen cloth, and " the Muggridge tie" was an ambitious achievement to all youngsters when they 
first sported a cravat. Bob, as our hero was familiarly termed among a large circle of acquaintances, 
readily imparted his stores of tailor wiisdom, and condesceni ingly perused, with a loud voice, the 
quarterly letter from his London agent, a brother fopling, who, in transmitting the rents of certaia 
town tenements that constituted a chief portion of Bob's income, obligingly favored bis principal 
with an opinion upon fashionable matters and revolutions of tastes. 

Mister Muggridge's dwelling was a snug little cottage ome'f, some twenty yards from the turn- 
pike road that wound its way through the centre of the humble town. In his young days, for be 
it known that mister Muggridge had unfortunately passed his meridian, though again it must per- 
force be acknowledged that mister Muggridge wore lemarkably well for his age — in his young dayi^ 
we S9y, our hero attended every display of " Field Sports and Manly Pastimes" that occurred with- 
in twenty miles of his domicile ; but fat, not fate, interfered with his recreations, and although hs 
endeavored to confine his obesity within the magic circle of a patent elastic belt from London, yet 
he was laccefsively compelled to resign skating, rowing, fox hunting, partridge shooting, tnd cooiK 

r 
[ 



THB APRIL FOOL. 15T 

try dancing, although he continued to glide ponderously through the mazes of a quadrille. If s 
pigeon-flutter occurred within a moderate distance, Bob was to be found amongst the gazers at tho 
pulling-cnd of the trap string, betting his half crown upon the gun, or upon the bird, according to 
the fancied strength of the blue rock's wing, or the general estimation of the sportsman's skill. Bob 
has also been seen at a poultry quarrel, but a north-country feeder stuck bis spur into him for a cod 
hundred ; since when, Bob has incontinently voted the sport a vulgar matter and a bore. 

Mister Muggridgc endeavored to supply the lack of excitement attendant upon his neglect of field 
sports, by a more fervent attention to the duties of the table. He sat longer ovei the long corka, 
and indulged in several glasses of" hot stuff" after the final removal of the ladies and the tea-tackle. 
But while attending to the gratification of his inward man, let us not suppose that he neglected the 
adornment of his outward form ; the money which had hitherto gone off in gunpowder and horse- 
flesh, served to pay his extra shot with his tailor and barber — yes, we confess it ! his barber! Mis- 
ter Muggridge had seen, with melancholy eye, an obvious and rascally determination in his luxu- 
riant hair to turn beastly white, with a side-door sort of inclination to a rutlian red in the bend of 
his beautiful whiskers. His London friend was made the depository of his wo; the next mail brought 
the desponding Bob a small parcel of cosmetics. The overjoyed Muggridge retired to his room, 
with a hyacinthian flow of sleety hair and a captivating pair of foxy whiskers. He opened tho 
box ; agreeal)lc to the directions, he poured the contents of certain phials into the basin, and casing 
his hands in a pair of leather gloves, he rubbed the inestimable compound, with surprising vigor, 
over every hairy portion of his head. He then confined his locks within the oily precincts of a silk: 
cap, and laid his head upon the pillow, satisfied that they were "dyed in the true faith." But, alaa, 
the wash was a mineral solution of a most determinate blue — •* <larkly, deeply, beautifully blue" — 
and its incori)oration with the red whiskers changed the lovely lines of beauty into coarse lumps of 
purple wool ! Its effects upon the grizzly curls of the head were yet more distressing, for the bluo 
dye of the wash turned the half gray, half sandy locks into wondrous but positive specimens of pes 
green hair ! 

Poor mister Muggridge raved — and rubbed — and washed — and wept — and stamped — and sciubbed, 
and swore — but all in vain ; the blue was true blue, and refused to strike its colors. Muggridger 
was in an agony ! he meditated suicide, and drew his razors from his dressing case. The sight of 
his razors changed his mind, and he resolved to have his head shaved. A London p^rruquier was 
invited down, per mail ; a week in his bed-room, under the plea of a malignant fever — the danger 
of contagion keeping away all his rustic friends — served to effect the lequired change, and mis- 
ter Robert Muggridge came out of his confinement as well as could be expected, safely delivered of 
a green hcad-of-hair and purple whiskers, and blessed with as lovely an auburn wig as any elderly 
gentleman could desire. 

It is a cuiious fact in the natural history of wigs, and fact it is, although it may have escaped thcr 
notice of our readers, that whilst myriads of femi nines wear false hair without detection, a malo 
scalp, toupc-e, or perriwig, is certain of instant discovery. The ladies, bless their pretty faces, itody 
the harmony of colors and general fitness of things — but the clumsy-minded men, when compelM 
to rig their bare polls with another roan's hair, invariably select as strange and unL>ecoming a thatch 
as a backwood's shingling would be to a Chinese pagoda of gold fret-work and silken sheen. — 
Young men, if denuded of their top-knots by a scalping fever, always order a wig of raven color 
and of tendril curl. Old men go to the opposite extreme ; many a picayune face, with its thousand 
tell-tale lines and crow-foot wiinklct>, may be seen beneath a flaxen jasey, of a make impossible to 
nature. A learned barbatic has informed us that venerable bald-heads are imperative in their de- 
mands for soft and silky hair of a light color and a glossy look ; women's hair, therefore, is gene- 
rally employed. Many a dry and withered skull, bald and brainless as the head of Chronos, re- 
joices in a peruke made from the sunny locks of the bright and beautiful maidens who are now fill- 
ing an early grave ! Think of that, ye wigsbies, as ye twist with an agonising twiddle the frontier 
cuil of the spoils scissored from the tenants of the tombs. 

Mister Robert Muggrido^c's whiskers, in due time, grew again, and were trimmed into tho accos- 
tomcd fascinating twist. The wig wore well; and its wearer, with the usual infatuation of wigsbies, 
fancied that no one knew of his despoliation. Ehcu ! short-sighted mortal ! your flaxen caxon was 
the make-game of the maids, the sport of the spinsters, and the witwi[)e of all wives and widows. 

Mister Bob got along « pretty bobbish/' as ho expressed it in his elegant vernacular, for a time 
after his abrasion of the rough or out-door portions of his every-day life. But the days began to 
pass tediously away, despite the hour at billiards, the hour at the library, the hour at the coffee room, 
the dinner hour, and the rubber at whist, or the 83rmposium, and the cigar. One day, a friend who 
had observed our hero's lassitude, asked him why the devil ho didn't get married ? The question 
bothered Bob, and kept him awake daring the whole of tho night. VVAy did he not get matried? 
There was sound sense in the question, and he was unable to offer a pertinent reply. Mister Ro- 
bert Muggridge therefore determined to take unto himself a wife. 

It is not our purpose to describe the manifold wooings and disappointments that befell oar friend 
Bob in the onset of his courtship career. <* Self-Esteem, large,'* was marked in the chart of his 
cnmiam, and he evinced a ready faculty in the invention of reasons for the ladies' refusils that m^ 



158 BURTON'S GBNTLBMAN's llAGAZINE. 

tisfied his amour propre, and Served as food for the fun of hU friendd. At the aDnual aiiscmbly, 
held in his own little town, a young and lively girl from a neighboring city eclipsed the >^holc peml 
of the town belles, and turned the heads of mony of the beaux. Bob scorned to be outdone in gal- 
lantry by the younkers of the place ; he was regularly introduced, and danced his appointed bCt, 
but the arch little gipsy declined a second turn with mister Muggiidgc, unless he felt an inclina- 
tion for a waltz. Now, the waltz, iho gallope, the mazurka, and other modern inventions, were 
Bob*s abominations ; he knew not their I'lgurings, and cared not to attempt them, for an increasing 
plumpness and a correBpou<ling shortness of breath cautioned him against the whirlings and myiti- 
ilcations of the new-made viliunies. Wahz ! he might as well attempt the cachuca ! 

Bob stuck to his charmer with the assiduity of a pointer. He leinonaded her, and promenaded 
her, and wined her, and caked her, and ice-cieamed her ; and at the appointed time, he shawled her^ 
and carriaged her, and bowed her oil' with his hand gracefully placed upon the left side of his white 
waistcoat. 

Tho next morning, Bob dressed himself in an elegant frock, and picked his way down the road 
to tlic park gate of an old man&ion, the abiding place of the ludy of his love, who was on a visit to 
her uncle, the proprietor of the hull and its extensive grounds. 

" Oh, my dear mister Muggridge," said the charmer, with much animation, <* I am so delighted 
to see you !" 

Bob bowed, and chuckled witli delight, as he gazed upon the blank faces of several young fellows 
who were also rendering homt^ge at the shrine of the new beauty. 

" The young men of tho town aio about to estublish a cricket club — you'll join them, Tm sure,, 
for so agile a dancer mut^t bo a good cricketer." 

Bob bowed again, and wondered what the he-fools were tittering at. 

<* We are endeavoring to plan a day's sport, to take place before I leave this charming place. — 
,Keal old English pastimes, you know — leaping, foot racing, cudgel playing, wrestling — and other 
games that delighted our ancestors in tho good old days. My uncle's park will be a fitting scene 
for such a meeting. You will join us, will you not ? Thank you ; I felt sure that you could not 
Tefase me. In what game bhall we announce you as a competitor ] Will you run, or leap, oi 
wrestle ?" 

The old wainscottcd room echoed with the laughter of the youngsters, but Bobby's brow retain- 
ed its usual phase. With some adroitness, he turned the point of the conversation, but the little 
romp returned to her starting place. 

*' I doat upon country festivities and hill-side games. A foot race on the green sward is finer fuD 
than a fashionable tea pnrty. If I possessed a tythe part of the beauty of Atalanta, I would en- 
deavor to imitate her swiftness, and, like her, refer my lovers to a trial of speed with mo, promising 
to marry my nimble conqueror in the race." 

The mischievous beauty g:ivo such a peculiar glance at Bobby's person as she finished her pretty 
prattle, that the listeners again burst into a rude guilaw of almost interminable length; tho ladies 
were compelled to join in its hearty cachinnation. Bobby never felt so fat before. His tight-strapped 
pantaloons seemed ready to burst, and he was satisfied that his coat had slit ri^^ht down the back. 
He muttered something about the race not being always to the swift — stuck in his speech — stutter- 
ed, bowed, and backed out. 

But Bobby did not give up the pursuit. No ; ho was too confident of success. On the next 
night, he hired the services of the band of the ball room, minus its leader, who always camo from 
London for tho occasion and two guineas besides his coach fare, — and al»solutely attempted to give 
liis little romp a serenade ! We say attempted, for accidents will disconcert tho best regulated 
schemes ; Bill Smith, tho one-oyed clarinet player, made it a rule to spend his eainings in ale ; and 
as the proceeds of the ball eng.igenient had not quite evaporated in pints, when Bob required his ser- 
vices, poor Bill Smith was unfortunately drunk — not regularly done-up, but just comfortably corn- 
ed — sufficient to make him very noisy and very obstinate. Tho French-horn player lost his mouth- 
]>iece, as he was crotssing tho park, and spent a vain and fruitless hour in searcli of the precious 
morsel. When the band arrived beneath the windows of the mansion, Bob commanded perfect 
silence ; tho only fidler in tho party led off a plaintive melody, when his music was suddenly inter- 
rupted by a plug in the ribs from Bill Smith, who demanded of the fidler why ho dared to givo or- 
ders when ho. Smith, the leader, was present. The fidler returned tho blow with interest, and the 
discomfited Smith tumbled on the violoncello with a force that smashed " the big fiddle" into a thou- 
sand pieces, and almost knocked tho wind out of tho body of tho useless horn player. 

Bob strove to quiet the din that rose from the confusion made by the one-eyed clarinet, but the 
string instruments refused to accord, and the French horn sat on tho grass and breathed an adagio 
in B flat. Bob stooped down to whisper a promise of extra pay on the condition of silence, when 
he was suddenly assailed from behind, an.d felt such a powerful grasp upon his seat of honor that 
his sense of pain soon told him could only pfoceed from the jaws of one of the squire's bull dogi» 
Lights were seen proceeding from the rear of tho building, tho voices of servants were heard, and a 
strong detachment of the brute assailants were bounding onwards across tho lawn. Bob bolted ; 
there was no disgrace in the act ; his dibpidated pantaloons rendered him unfit to bo seen in conh> 



THE APRIL FOOL. 159 

pany, and he wu therefore compelled to decline the warm preparations made for his reception. He 
turned the torn part of his trousers towards the house, and fled across the park ; the faithful animal, 
his original friend, attended him to the gbte, occasionally giving (lie agitated Muggrldge a feeling 
remembrance that he was not far behind. Bob ran, and roaied, and ran ; he was astonished at his 
own speed ; and, in foci, began to think that if his charmer rcsoried to her Atalanta schemes, that 
he coold safely depend apon beating her in the race. Infatuated individual! the fascinations of a 
pretty girl are nothing in comparison with the persuasions of a bull slut ! 

One nights-one gusty, misty, nasty night — as roister Muggridge was standing at the door of the 
White Lion Tavern — the tavern of the town — a little girl slipped a note into his hand, and instant- 
ly evaporated in the surrounding darkness. Bob ran to the bar room, and by the light of its solitary 
mutton fat, saw that the letter was in the handwriting of a lady ! lie did not ftiint ! No, no; Bob 
knew his value, and always said to hinsclf that it must come to thait at last He did not faint« 
but he felt so much inclined to indulge in a small specimen of syncopation that he was compelled 
to swallow a bumper of brandy by the sensible host, who knew mister Muggiidge's " line of life, 
and habits, and things." Bob hastened home with his billc/t clutching the precious midsive in his 
fevered hand. The reader will leadily excuse the agitation of oui hero, when he reads the contents 
of the elegantly-written and well- scented note. 

*' If Robert Muggridge, esquire, can excuse the levity of a young and thoughtless girl, who has 
been compelled to conceal the depths of an absorbing passion under the garb of frivolity — if Robert 
Muggridge, esquire, is earnestly devoted to the object of his present attention — if Robert Muggridge, 
esquire, is ready to confer the dignity of wife u]H)n one who loves most wisely and most well — then 
let Robert Muggridge, esquire, meet the writer of this note, in all confidence and honor, very early 
to-morrow morning, under the park wall, near the turnstile, at the corner looking down Lady's Lane." 

Early to-motrow morning ! it was then nearly nine at night ; there was barely time for prepara- 
tion — certainly none for sleep. ** Very tarly to-morrow morning !" The dear creature evidently 
wished to sec him Iwfoic the &mily were stirring for the day. It would not do to disappoint her, 
or keep her waiting in the raw chilly air of the morning ; no — he would instantly commence his 
toilet. And poor Bobby, in the firm belief that he was about to meet his lively, lovely romp, com- 
menced, at the witching time of night, aAer a snap of cold meat and half a bottle of sherry, draning 
for the inteKiow at early dawn. It is impossible to mirror the brightness of the polish that he con- 
ferred upon his new Spanish leather gaiter boots; endless were the berbatic manipulations bestowed 
upon his cheeks and his chin, which eventually rivalled in smoothness tlio dressed hide of the kid. 
Various were the pantaloons and many were the vests that were donned, ere the particular taste of 
mister Robert Muggridge was satisfied. The tying of his cravat, for stocks were then and there un- 
fashionable, occupied him more than an hour; the polishing of his trinketry, the curling and oiling 
of his wig, the brushing of his broad-rimmed hat, and the putting-on of Lis lost new coat of the 
best port-tinted broad cloth, were matters of detp deliberation and resolve. But the primes! agtmy 
of the toilet, the sublimation of the beau ideal was yet to be cflected — a pair of delicate, straw co- 
lored, light-titting, kid gloves were drawn with solemn and slow dclilieration over the tips of the 
digits of mister Robert Muggridge; it was an efibrt requiring peculiar skill, and nollilng less than 
the csi»ericnco of a dandy who daily uses up a pair of ** gentlemen^s best sai)erfine," could pretend 
to pliice the cuticle'Coverings in their unwrinkled fitness. A braided riblion was festooned over 
the ample vest, and a fashionable lopinc deposited in the dexter pocket, while an eye-glass, of 
corresponding %aluo, [>ce]>od from the sinister side. A natty gold-hcaded u*/ra7i^ee, or cane, was 
daintily liandled by tlie fascinating Bobby, who, after many an admiring glance in tlie Psyche, start- 
ed forth to attend to his ajipointment. The glor}'-vi8aged Phoebus made his appearance at the same 
instant, and darted his beams with inquisitive eagerness into the face of the fall-diessed, middle- 
aged, young gentleman, who was so busily engaged in the service of the God of Love. 

Mister Robert Muggridge carefully picked his way along the footpath of the muddy street that 
formed the principal thoroughfare of the humble town. Josey Hunks, the methodist chandler, was 
taking down the three shutters of his little shop as Bobby ])assed mincingly by; the straight-haired 
puritan groaned audibly as he gazed upon the dandy trappings of our hero, who he supposed had 
heen engaged all the past night in the service of ISatan. The stunted pot-boy of the White Lion, 
while washing his beer tray at the parish pump, strained his gooseberry nyes in a long stare, and 
wondered why squire Bob hadn't l>ecn to l>ed. The little workhouse girl, that had just been in- 
ducted into the mysteries of housemaidery, rested on her long-handled broom, as she was washing 
the steps of the lawyer's neat brick tenement, and after a gaze of solemn earnestness at the well- 
ilressed mister Muggridge, vented her wondei in the sounds <* Oh, my !" 

Several hinds who were hastening to their labor, stopped in the i»athway, and stared with sur- 
prise at the unwonted spectacle ; but the resolute Bobby wended on his way, till he gained the cor- 
ner of the park wall, near the turnstile. His heart beat tumuUuously as he approached the rendez* 
vous, but the object of his hopes was not in sight. He resolved to wait patiently. Thoughts of 
the future, the joyous, rosy-tinicd future, glided over his agitated brain ; he mentally resolved to 
take his young wife to London for the honey-moon, and if her father or her uncle did the genteel 



160 BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

thing — if they came " down \vith the stampy" — ^why, he might indulge the Parisians with a resir 
dence in their capital. 

A petticoat flaunted in the morning hreeze ! it is tho — no, it isn't. Foolish ! how could he mis- 
tako the dairy maid for the lady of his lovo ? 

Some ploughmen, who were turning up an adjacent fallow, stood in a little group, and whisper- 
ed their opinions of the " town swell," who was still at the corner. A shepherd's dog disliked the 
appearance of our hero, and, planting himself at ahout six feet from mister Moggridgc's heels, com- 
menced an agitating bark, remarkably staccato and bold in its execution, with an enlivening move- 
ment every now and then at the shins of the frightened gentleman against the wall. Bob bought 
off bis adversary, a cowardly proceeding, by flinging half a crown to the shepherd, and desiring him 
to withdraw his animal. 

'* God bless my soul — why, its nine o'clock !" said the agitated Muggridgc, as he looked at his 
Icpine. " Well, early, very early in the rooming, may, in a lady's vocabulary, mean half-post nine, 
or even ten. Gallantry will sustain my couiage, I trusi, but I must confess that I feel tired, and^ 
oh, lord ! how I do want my breakfast ! Tills sharp morning breeze seriously alTects one's appe- 
tite !" 

" What bee'st Ptuck here vor?" paid an old beggar woman, who was hobliling her way to the 
next village. *• Thee haen't lost thee way, hast thee — or bee'st thee Flandiu' her vor a waager !" 
A shilling bribed the old woman to silence, and secured her retreat. 

«* I must have made a mistake," soliloquised Muggridge, as with laborious perseverance he essay- 
ed to reach the precious missive from his coat pocket. ** No— the words are * very early in the 
morning !' She could not have been here before me ! Dear me, dear me, I feci as if I should drop ;. 
and its half-past ten, I declare." 

A slight titter, of a feminine sprightliness, accompanied by a rustling of gowns, and a grating 
sound as if the edge of a ladder was being dragged against a brick wall, induced our hero to look 
around. He instantly became aware of the presence of his beloved, who, in company with a wick- 
ed looking Abigail, was peeping over " the corner of the park wall, near the turnstile." 

Just as Bobby do0ed his beaver, and began a salutatory bending, tho waiting maid exclaimed in 
a loud whisper, such as the actors use when the persons at their elbows are not intended to hear an 
observation th«it two thousand individuals at many yards distance distinctly understand— ^ Lawks* 
miss, see how old Muggy is bedizened up !" 

<* Good morning, angelic maiden," said our hero ; " I have been waiting in the dews of heaven"— 
" What is the day of the month, mister Robert Muggridge !" said the httle lady. 
** The First of April, dearest girl," said the unconscious victim. 

The feminines burst into a cachinnatory duett that roused the anger of the shepherd's dog, who 
again beset the heels of our hero. The ploughmen caught the infection of tho lady's laugh, and 
xoared a jolly bass. A subdued giggle was heard from the interior of the park ; and mister Robert 
Muggridge, now fully aware of " his most excellent fooling," endeavored for a moment only, to join 
in the universal laugh — but his vanity gave way — he roared, but laughed not. Suddenly, he turned 
to make his escape through the turnstile, but the envious post-way's narrow capacity prohibited the 
possibility of egress. Tho forks or arms of the turnstile embraced the corporation of Mister Mug- 
gridge, and held him as in a vice. In the furor of his struggles, his hat dropped from his head ; a 
"vricked sapling grew near the pathway — one of its tendril-like branches fastened itself amid the lux- 
uriant curls of the auburn wig that covered the bald pat(^ of Mr. Bobby. Another wriggle, and that 
l)ald pate shone uncovererl in the glare of tho glad April sun. <' The mirth and fun grew fast and 
Ibrious ;" mister Robert Muggridge bolted down the lane, homeward bound, under a press of sail 
that soon carried him beyond the reach of the enemy's sliot. The liondon coach, which passed 
through the town in Uie course of tho day, bore him away ere the joke had become generally known, 
and the billiard room, the whist club, the pigeon match, and the White Lion, w ere ncv^r again 
graced with the presence of mister Robert Muggridge. W. E. B. 



APRIL. A SONNET 



Fair, fickle month, now peevish as a child 
That frets in middle of the Pleasures' bowers; 
Now winsome as a bride bctrimmed with flowers, 
I/aughing like wit when exquisitely wild, — 
How like ait thou to grief by hope beguiled, 



Yet welcome, April ! for thy blessed womb 
Gave greatest 8hakspeare binh — he who, like 

thee. 
With mingling tears and smiles, strewed mo- 
destly 



"When thou look'st smiling through short, gusty Creation's fields with flowers of deathless bloom : 



showers ! 

How like to joy, that laughs, yet ere an hour's 
Quick flight weeps in the arms where roost he 
smiled .' — 



Proud be young May of her sweet floral crown. 
Be prouder thou, fair month, of his supreme 
renown ! 



O M N I A N A. 



Ererj tbing by starCt, but notblng hng. 

Drydcn. 

Variou* ( that the mind 
Ofdetullory nun, itudious of change, 
Aud plfTMed with norclty, may be mdulf;:ed. 

Cvtcpa: 



SCHOO L-D A YS. 

Since the sad experience of my school-boy days to this present wiiting, I have seen little to sos* 
tain the notion held by some folks, thai school boys arc the happiest of all moitals. JSays one of the 
wittiest writers of the day : — *< What are the beatitudes of a scholastic paradi^ t To be fagged. 
Hogged, thumped, coerced to mental labor, and constrained iu personal liberty. This may be all 
very proper and salutary, (sj is physic) but it is not happiness; and there is rarely, very rarely, an in- 
stance of a boy, while he is in one of these prisons of the body, and Ircad-mills of the mind, who 
is not always wishing to get out of it, and to get home/ 



»> 



READING. 

«• Reading," says Tessian, in his letters to the prince of Sweden, " is of universal advantage. In 
perusing the writings of sensible men, we have frequent oppi)rtunities of examining our own hearts, 
and, by that means, of attaining a more certain knowledge of ourselvess, for we And ihat we aie more 
sensibly touched with incidents, or reflections, of a certain nature ; and on the contrary, that we 
pass over others without the least emotion." Thus it is easy to discover which of our passions pro- 
dominate ; and which, consequently, require the most attention. We learn to love virtue, and to 
shun vice. By reading wo also learn to judge of the diHerent style of various authors, and insenn* 
bly improve our own. If we happen to be blest with a strong memory, we not only recollect fre- 
quent lessons, and examples for oui own conduct, but have many opportunities of instructing those 
with whom we converse. And if our memories are not the most extraordinary, it is veiy certain 
that reading will, at least hy degrees, improve our taste, our understanding, and our elocution. 



AGE. 

The infirmity of falsifying our age is at least as old as the times of Cicero, who, heaiing one of 
his contemporaries attempting to make out that he was ten years younger than he really was, very 
drily remarked, ** Then, at the time you and I were at school together, you were not born.* 



t> 



FRIENDSHIP. 

People may say what they please about a similarity of opinions being necessary to friendship ; a 
) similarity of habits is much more so. It is the man you dine, breakfast, and lodge with, ride or play 
I w ith, that is your friend — not the man who likes Virgil as well as you do, and agrees with you in 
I an admiration of the music of Bellini and Von W^eber. ) 



UNAVOIDABLE RUBS. 

However well icgulated may be one's temper, by the aid of religion, philosophy, and a great in- 
tercourse with mankind in the different situations and circumstances of life, he who has acquired the 
highest attainments in tl;e art of self-control, w^ill, nay must, acknowledge the occasional jostling 
of his complacency by the rubs it falls to the lot of none to be exempted from. 



THE GOODS OF LIFE. 

ISpeaking of these. Sir William Temple says : — ** The greatest pleasure of life is love — the great- 
est treasure is contentment — the greatest possession is health— the greatest ease is sleep, and the 
greatest medicine is a true friend.*^ 



THE SHAMROCK. 

It would seem from an account given by the late Rev. John Brand, in his « Popular Antiquities," 
that this plant, used as the national cognizance of Ireland, ii trefoil; and of the s[»ecies used in hus- 
bandry commonly called clover. It is said that when St. Patrick l.indod near Wicklow, in the yeai 
433, the pagan inhabitants were ready to scone him, he re(]ucsted to be heard, and endeavored to 
explain God to them as the Trinity in Unity, but they could not understand him, until plucking a 
trefoil from the ground, he said, " Is it not as possible for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, as for 
these leaves, to grow upon a single stock?" It is said this illustration produced immediate convic- 
tion on his hearers. 



162 BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

, DANCING. 

* I am an old fellow/' says Cowpcr, in one of his letteis to Hurdis — ''but I had once my dancing 
days as you have now, yet I could never find that I could learn half as much of a woman's real cha- 
racter by dancing with her, as by conversing with her at home, when I could observe her behaviour 
at the table, at the fire-side, and all the circumstances, all the trying circumstances of domestic life. 
We are all good when we aie pleased ; but she is the good woman who wants no fiddle to sweeten 
her."( 

EXTRA. HOUSE TO LET. 

An advertisement in the (London) Times newspaper, of July, states that there is '' To let, in tho- 

Toagh stote of repair, a most capital house, with the exception of the ground floor, which is distmct 

frwn the other pari, etc" Thb house must surely have been built upon the long auppofled prepo** 

terous principles adopted by a set of architects called aerial castle-builders, and must doubtleas pos- 

delighlfol Urd-eye views of the soi rounding country, though situated in the heart of the town* 



\ 



( 



PRIDE OF DRESS. 

I Diogenes, being at Olympia, saw, at that celebrated festival, some young men of Rhodes arrayed 
most magnificently. Smiling, he exclaimed, " This is pride.*' Afterwards, meeting some Lacedemo- 
j nians in a mean and sordid dress, he said, *' This is alio pride." ^ 



YES, I'LL FLY TO THE PRAIRIE. 



IN ANSWER TO DR. MITCHELL'S POPULAR POEM. 



Br e. H. H., FHILADELPHIA. 



Yf.s, ril fly to the prairie— 1*11 fly there with Ihcc — 

And happy we'll be, love, oil, happy we'll be — 

Our life in calm pleasure shall glide sweetly by. 

Like the music that's breathed from love's tremulous sigh — 

The beautiful fawn, bounding gaily away. 

We'll watch in its fearless and light, graceful play ; 

And then on our coursers outstrip the fleet wind, 

And leave in the chase the swill deer far behind. 

Tlie woodman may talk of his shade and his trees. 
But the wild, boundless prairie, love, ever will please ; 
I'll gaze on its beauties, and think, then, with pride. 
That thou art its master, and I am thy bride — 
The sweet scented flowers spring up at our feet. 
As if with their fragrance our presence to greet ; 
Thou shalt weave me a garland, to twine in my air. 
Of the " rose of the prairie" and jessamine fair. 

And at night — hand in hand — when the summer winds die. 
With ecstasy hush'd, we will gaze on the sky ; 
And fancy we hear sweet, fiunt music afar, 
Breathed forth from each distant and glimmoting star. 
Each day shall biing joy, and each evening repose — 
At night, we'll be happy as when the sun rose — 
Our life in calm ploaaore shall glide swifUy by, 
And together we'll pass to our " mansion on high." 



THE MIAMI VALLEY 



BT ▲ PIOKSKB or OHIO 



He leaos upon hk hand— hit manly brow 
Contents to death, but eonquen agony. 
And his drooped head tiniu gradually low— 
And through hb aide the last dro^, ebbing $\mw 
From the red gaih, fbll hearily, one by one, 
Like the flrtt of a tAunder-clioirer ; and now* • 



JyrM. 



CONCLUSION 

Makt trivial incidents which transphed during our hunting I paM over as unworthy of recount- 
ing, and proceed to the holdest deed that perhaps was ever attempted by man ; although many might 
say that necessity might drive us to attempt any thing. After passing through so many perils for 
no other reasons than revenge, Girty and I came to the conclusion that we might reap the double 
advantage of revenge and profit in the same expedition. Cincinnati was becoming now quite a 
village. There were two hat shops in the place, and they wanted furs, and as we were too poor to 
buy traps, they clubbed in, and bought us enough of those necessary articles to supply them with 
stuns, and wo again — despite the numerouF examples we had had of Indian hatred — prepared for 4m 
expedition to our old hunting ground. Indians were now becoming troublesome, and so many false 
talcs had been told of their prowess and cruelty, that no man appeared willing to accompany us ; 
and we were glad of it, for we preferred being alone, and trusting to our own woodcraft and courage, 
than having fellows with us who might only be in tho way when most needed. Wo took a horse 
along to carry the traps, furs, etc., and staitcd one afternoon about four o'clock. We carried out of 
town that day, with us, an exuberance of animal spirits — we shouted, we sang, we danced, and with 
a thousand other indications of our joy, we passed along through the thick wilderness, utterly regard- 
less of all futuie troubles — which, after all, is the wisest philosophy — the only true philosophei's 
stone ! About dark wo encamped, and hobbling our horse, turned him loose to pick up his supper. 
Wc built a large fire, and, after cooking supper, recounted all of our adventures, and all of the ad- 
ventures of other people, till we gtcw tired, when wc lay down, and wrapped our blankets around 
us to sleep. Wc had lain but a few moments when Girty stealthily arose. I instinctively followed 
his example, for I was always on the alert. 

*• You may sit here apd I will bring you a present," said Girty. ** Do you not see yonder fiery 
eye balls'!" pointing in the diiection with his finger. But his sight was keener than mine, for I could 
not see them. 

*' Then I will bring them to you, and you can see them by the light of the fire." 

" Then I will go along with you," exclaimed I — for my pride was a little touched with Girty*s last 
lemark — but he would not consent. 

" You stay here ; and when you hear me halloo come to my assistance, for I may want a corps dc 
reserve — stir up the fire." 

I staid behind, and Girty started to shoot the panther, as we took it to be. For a long time I 
listened, but heard no sound ; and for the first time since we had started I now heard every noctur- 
nal cry of birds and animals — sounds, which we never notice, unless listening thus attentively ; for 
our car becomes familiar with them, as is the same with any sound which becomes monotonous — 
the tick of a clock for instance. At length I heard the crack of a gun, and my impatience to join in 
the sport became irresistible. I seized my rifie,and bounded off in the direction of the sound. Before 
I had ran two hundred yards, I heard a second crack, and I increased my speed to a literal flight ; 
but in tumbling over logs, I lost my direction, and a third crack informed me that I had ran too far 
to the west. I soon rectified my mistake, and ran with all my might, for a suspicion flashed across. 
my mind that Girty might be shooting at something more than a panther ; for these nnimnla were 
not very plenteous in that part of the country. 

I had not gone far when I met our horse, which had broken the ropes that bound his feet, and was 
running with all his might and snorting, as is peculiar with those animals when frightened. I called 
to the horse and he stopped, and permitted me to walk up to him — he was trembling with fear. I 
mounted him and rode in the direction in which Girty was firing, with all the speed I could, for I 
Tv'as now confident that Indians were lurking about, since nothing but Indians can so frighten a horse, 
and this animal possessed the power of smelling them if any where near. I found Girty, who had 
been shooting at a panther; but it was so dark he could not shoot straight, for he had not yet killed 
it, although from the unnatural noiso it mode, he had certainly wounded it. Wo steered for the 
camp, and when within about two hundred yards from the fire we beheld an Indian standing between 
it and us. He was in a stooping posture, and apparently reconnoitering. Girty took a delibcrmti 
TOX. Ti. — K#, IT. • 



164 BURTON^S GENTLEMAN^S HAQAZINB. 

^tm and fired at him. He yelled, and disappeaied. We went to the fire fluid failed aU safe, packed 
every thing on our horse, and started on our journey. 

We reached the Miami without any other accident to disturb na, and set our traps. The river 
was in good order for trapping, and otter sllideswere around us in abundance, and promised aplenti* 
ful harvest; the sky was clear, and the amokiness of the aJ;(no8phere indicated a continuance of the 
l>eautiful weather. The second day after we arrived, we were visited by Daniel Reed, who lived 
ftbout two miles from where we were trapping. He had bought some land at goveriunent prices^ had 
erected a small log cabin, cleared his patch of ground, and despite the deadly enmity of the savages^ 
was with his wife and her sister, living there — like myself many years before— he was trusting all 
that was valuable to him on earth, to so capricious a &te. He was just starting to Cincinnati to boy 
powder and lead, and a few other necessary articles, and begged of us as a favor that we wouM aleep 
in his house at nights — " for the women," said he, ** are not afraid dnring the day, but as soon aa 
jiight comes, they begin to talk about Indians and panthers. If you stay,'' continued he, ** till I come 
hack, I will reward you with as much powder and lead as you want.** We promised to sleep in his 
house, and shaking us affectionately by the hand, he went off whistling, liRle anticipating the fate 
that awaited his wife, whom he loved with an ai dent worship, for he could not have been more than 
twenty-five years of age, and his wife appeared to be quite a girl. It is a wise dispensation of provi- 
jdence that man is blinded, so as to see no farther than the present. What a world of misery is 
thereby saved ! What an eternity of torture in anticipating that which Would not be so awful as the 
anticipation ! Still many do strive to search the inscrutable future; for 'tis thus that man b ever 
eeeking the means to render himself miserable, and would consequently be so, did not the laws of lAi 
allwise maker prevent it. 

We set our traps befoie dark, and, taking our horse with us, we started for the hoQse of Reed. It 
Jay a mile and a half from the banks of the Miami river, in a beautiful level plat of rich land, covers 
«d with huge oak trees, which reared their tall heads in the air, and protected the house from the 
wind. Things looked neat about the premises, and the oak floor was as white as ic could be made. 
It was the boast of a female in those days to keep a clean house with her own hands, while at the 
present age it appears to be their boast that they are utterly ignorant of all domeatic learning. That 
sight passed off pleasantly ; we sat up late before a bright fire, and recounted to the women a few of 
our merriest adventures — for we would not tell of any others for feai of frightening our auditors — 
who listened with great glee. We then retired to bed — time passed rapidly by, and apparently in » 
few moments we were awakened by the sun's light. We hurried up^ and partdiing of a good break- 
fast, bade nur friends farewell till evening. 

" If any thing frightens you, and you think danger is near, blow your tin horn, and we will come 
to your aid." 

This precaution of mine they promised to observe — and we hurried off to take the game from ous 
traps, and rebait them for the next evening. It required the greater part of tbe day to skin our game, 
atretch out the skins to dry, and rebait. About four o'clock we got through with our work, and 
started for the house. The evening was beautiful — the sun sank behind the horizon unobscmed by 
clouds ; the birds sang merrily, and the fawns skipped by us gladly, unconscious that we were their 
deadly enemies, but then we did not harm them ; we never killed such an inoffensive creature till 
necessity drove us to it in order to supply our own actual wants. 

We arrived at the house, and found our new friends busily preparing our supper; and while they 
were thus engaged, Girty and I shot at a mark for amusement. We continued this sport till suppei 
time, when we hod remaining but four bullets each. As the evening was warm, with a brisk air 
stirring, we sat outside of the house. Every tbing was done wrong that evening; but fate so de- 
creed it — we sat till about nine o'clock listening to Girty 's tale of his first and last courtship, which 
was interesting to me, as he had never before told it to me, and it was none the less interesting to 
the other listeners, particularly the unmarried one — who beard every word Girty uttered, for she had 
taken a particular fancy to my friend from the first moment she saw him. 

«* I came from North Carolina," said Girty, " and I will tell you what was the cause of my coming 
to this wild country. I was about twenty years of age, if I recollect aright, when I first beheld Sally 
Smith. i$he was a beautiful brunette— of artless manners, and full of life, and at first sight I was 
completely captivated. I loved her with all the strength of a first love. She seemed to roe above 
all other females I had ever beheld, in respect to beauty and amiability, and I determined to marry 
her from the moment I first saw her ; but it appears this beauty did not look upon me with the same 
feelings of love with which I looked upon her ; but on the contrary bestowed all of her affection upon 
one Bill Winton — a big awkward fellow, who happened to be born rich. My spirit was then like 
an untamed lion's, and I could not brook disappointment. When I found out the truth of the matter, 
and that the girl whom I loved was already engaged to be the wife of another, I, of course, got into 
a desperate passion. I did not sleep that night, but lay awake devising means to make away with my 
rival. Many were the plans that I thought of, but nothing suited my purpose. I was deteiminod 
to kill him. but could devise no death cruel enough. About daylight I arose, ill humored, through 
want of sleep and disappointment His farm lay next to my father 's, and thither I went. I shouldered 
.joy gun, telling my father I was going out to shoot squirrels^ and after putting in my rifle a large 



THB MIAMI YALLGT. 165 

load, I hurried to his home. I skalked in the woods near it for somo time, but could get no eight 
of my rival ; at length my patience gave way, and I marched boldly up. Bill was at the door with 
his arms folded. I stood at such an angle firom him that the corn-cr[l^ hid me from his view — ^he 
offered a &ir maik for my rifle, and my blood boiled with revenge. I cocked my gun and aimed it 
at his heart ; but as I aimed a sense of shame stole upon me, for thus cowardly taking advantage of 
one imarmed, but I was determined that he or myself should die, and I did not care much which. 
I uncocked my gun, and walked up to him ; he gazed at me with a look of contempt, and turned to 
walk into the house, but before he had walked two steps, I had my hand upon his coat collar. 

He was much larger than I, but he had mere flesh, and although I was not so stout, I was full as 
strong. 

" What do you mean, fellow," said he, at the same time jerking my grasp loose. 

** Do you consider yourself a brave man or a coward ?" said I, in a low voice, for I did not wish 
to distuib any of the flEimily. 

" Why do you ask me that, sii 1" 

" Because," said I, ** if you consider yourself a man of metal, follow me." 

He deliberately thrust his hands in his pockets, and followed me out of the door. I will give him 
the credit of being a brave fellow, if he did cheat me out of a wife. 

" I want you to biing your gun with you," said I, ** for I wish to try who is the coward." He 
did not change countenance, but turning about, he disappeared, and soon returned with his lifle. 

"There has been a deadly enmity for some time existing between our families," said he, (which 
was the case,) ** and we will now end it with blood." 

*' Follow me, and cease your prating," I only exclaimed. I took a course for the thickest woods, 
where we stopped. 

« Do you see yonder stump," said I. He nodded assent, while he grasped the trigger of hi^gun. 

'* When I get there, and say * ready,' you are at libcity to shoot me, and you can rest assured I 
w)(l shoot you, sir, if I can." He again nodded assent, and I started for the stump, and stood by its 
side ; I raised my gun and gave the word, but instead of firing he sprang behind a tree, and I quickly 
followed his example. We skirmished foi some time, but I proved the most experienced woodsman ; 
I soon deceived him, and he fired and missed me, and commenced loading, but I gained a march on 
him and got a shot, and he fell. I did not wait a moment to see if he was dead, but I awoke to the 
dreadful reality — that I had killed a human being, and would be hung. I huiried off as I then was, 

in a western direction, ." Girty was here inteirupted by a distant cry similar to that of a tuikey. 

We looked at f|ch other, and our gazes conveyed the same meaning. 

« What did you stop for, Mr. Girty 1" asked Mrs. Reed. 

" I thought I heard the cry of a panther, and I would not mind shooting you one of those creatures 
to-night." Then turning to me with a look which conveyed a meaning that I could not mistake, 
he said, « suppose, S , you go and shoot the creature, while I finish my story." 

" Is there much necessity," said I, in as an indifferent a tone as I could command. 

** Why, I think," said Giity, in the same indiflerent way, " you had better go, for these women, I 
dare say, never saw a panther." 

They both urged me to shoot the panther, so I went in and got my gun. In order to cre-ate no 
suspicion, I leaned against the door side for a few moments, and while I picked my flint that my gun 
might be sure, I asked, «* and did Bill Winton die 1" 

" Oh, no^he was only slightly wounded, and was about soon after I left — but go and shoot youi 
panther, and mind that you keep a sharp look-ouii or he might injure you." 

As soon as I got into the woods, I hurried stealthily in the direction I heard the fatal gobble. My 
heart l)eat loud, and I labored under antinxiety which was before a stranger to me. I was scared 
at every stir of the breeze ; still I did not wLsh to return, for it was not fear that I labored under, but 
nervousness. 

After going about two miles, I sat on a log and listened to every slight sound that I could catch ; 
but I heard nothing that made me fear the proximity of Indiana, and finally I became composed. I 
sat on this log for, perhaps, an hour, listening, when the crack of a rifle in the diiection of the house 
brought me on my feet, and I hurried home as fast as I could run ; and that was not very fast, for 
although the moon shone brightly, the woods were so thick that I could not see the logs. I had not 
ran far when another ciack reached my ear, which was immediately followed by others in such quick 
succession that I could not count them. I hurried forward — I knew what was the matter — that the 
house was attacked by Indians — but I was now cool and determined ; I no longer trembled. Soon 
a bright blaze came over the tree tops, and I heard the demoniacal yells of the exulting savages. 

" Oh ! my God ! save Girty," I exclaimed, iji my agony, as I rushed up to the very edge of the 
woods, and not more than one hundred yards from the house. My anticipations wM realized. On 
the giound lay the dead wife of poor Reed, while her murderers were dancing arouna the house with 
their guns cocked, waiting to shoot any peison who might rush out. The house— particularly the 
bottom part — ^was all on flames, and the roof was catching. What could I do but look upon the 
boirible scene ! for should I fire, deatli would be my portion. I lay still, but my heart was icady to 
burst, as I saw the flames slowly crawl up the roof of the house, and the dense smoke cone out from 



166 burton's gbntlbman's magazine. 

the inddc. Still like a hero, Giity laid four Indians dead oq the ground— e^ery one of hit baUa wait 
frae. At length the Tvhole house was in flamea, and I bad jiMt made up my ndnd to niih amoeg die 
flames end die with my friend, when all at onoe the roof biifatoat^-4he burning brands weieseattcr- 
«d in eveiy diiection, and Girty, covered with fire, leaped from the loof of the house among the 
sarages. O ! it was an awful leap ! — the savages fell back with affiight, so sadden was the a^Mn- 
tion presented among them. Girty drew his knife, and plonged it into the breast of one who mp" 
peered to be their leader, and leaving the knife in the wound, he bowided off in die diiection I lay 
bid. The savages soon recovered from their consternation, and with a hellish yell twenty liAes wen 
fired at the fugitive. I sprang firom the log as Girty neared me, and yelling to the extent of my 
Toice; I shot dead the nearest Indian. The rest letreated back behind the burning house ; pro- 
bably thinking me a company coming to the rescue. Girty seized me by the arm, and we ran for 
■dlKmt two miles and readied Uie Miaau river where my poor friend sank upon the ground. We 
had just emerged from the woods and the light of the moon fell upon his face— it was deadly pale. 
My joy was turned into giief— ** Girty," I exclaimed, *< Girty, my dear Girty, speak-^are you hurt." 
I raised him in my arms, and placed him against a log-4iis Ups gTew*pale — ^he clutched me by the 
arm, and raising himself partly up, exdaimed— '* I have kept my oath, and your family is revenged." 
His eye lost its lustre — his grasp slowly loosened, and he saidc uimmi the log-^Thonns Girty was 
dead. My brain grew giddy — I became sick at heart-*the woods whirled, and I fell upon the body 
of my friend insensible. When I awoke the sun was at its meridian. 

Nearly half a century has passed away since these scenes were enacted, and still one of the prin- 
cipal actors survives ; but time has been bosy vrith him. The old man has acted his part on the 
stage of life, and the dark curtain will soon descend, which will hide him for ever from those who now 
road of his last act. Still his palsied limbs support his feeble body, as he totters along to visit the 
grave wherein lies buried his friend, and his own heart. Here he may be seen from the moment the 
first songs of the birds awaken the morning, till the declining sun reflects the riiadows of the tall 
trees far away to the east — ^here, ho bends over the moand, and strews upon it the first flqwera that 
weleome the sun ; but he drops no tears — the fountain has run dry. Tears ! they are for the hope- 
less akme— but the old man's bosom swells with joy ; for he knows the time is not far distant when 
he vrill meet his friend to part no more. Years have passed away since that small grave-stone was 
erected— thousands have been bom and passed away from this earth — the young, and the beautifully 
and the happy — yet he who has asked death a hundred times, still survives. The furrows of tiOK 
are deep in my brow, and my old^ limbs are withered and powerless — the (diseases lof age have 
stolen upon them ; no longer do my eyes possess their eagle keenness, but layless and dun, they con- 
vey but faint impressions to my weary brain. The machine has worn out ; ail human passions have 
diminished to nought What arc the praises or the contumelies of the workl to me ? They are 
not worthy of a single thought. 

Reader, I take you by the hand, for we now part, and perhaps, for ever. Long yean of health 
and contentment may be yours ; the blessings of peace reign around you ; and upon this luxuriant 
soil wealth may be showered upon you ; but while you enjoy it, cherish one feeling of remembrance 
for the old man who fought for those blessings, and who is now — after clearing the way for so many 
to advance— living in indigence — no arm is stretched forth to relieve his wants — no benevolent hai^ 
to smooth his pillow. J. M. S. 

IHjton, Ohk>. 



BILENCE. A SONNET 



BT EOOAR ▲. P0£. 



'Tbibe aro some qualities — some incorpoiate | Some human memories and tearful lore. 



things 

That have a double life — life aptly made. 
The type of thl|^ twin entity which springs 
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. 

Thero is a two-fold Silence — sea and shore — 
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places. 
Newly vrith grass overgrown. Some sclemn graces 



Render him terrorless — his name s ** No MoreJ" 

He is the corporate Silence— dread him not ! 
No power hath he of evil in himself; 
But should some urgent fate— untimely lot ! 
Bring thee to meet his thatlow (nameless sl^ 
Who haunteth the dim regions where hath trod 
No foot of man)— conunend thyself to Ged ! 



/ 7, . •■ . / ■Is : ■. ' . 



FABLES IN RHYME 



FROM THE POLISH OF ARCHBISHOP KRASICKI 



BT THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, X. D. rHILAOELPHIA. 



THE TWO PAINTERS. 



Two painters, once 'tis said, there were, 
Each horo a wond'rous name ; 

But one far o'er the other stood 
In point of noisy fame. 

The best no cash nor hlessing got, 

The worst one had them both, I wot. 



The first his portraits made fiom nature, 

True to the copied one ; 
Correct in every form and feature. 

With faithful care 'twas done. 
The last drew little on truth's store, 
Embellishing from fancy more. 



THE CHILD AND THE ROD 



The father whipped his child because 

He was so slow to learn ; 
Imagining the smart would make 

Him smarter to discern. 
But e'er that way again he trod 
His son and heir had burned the rod. 



Next time when little John deserved 

A heavy punishment, 
The father, to the usual place. 

To find his weapon went. 
And, as 'twas missing, he was fain 
To use instead his walking cane. 



THE SHEPHERD AND HIS SHEEP. 



A shepherd shearing sheep one day 

Declaimed most zealously 
Upon the care was ta'en of sheep,' 

From utter charity. 
How they had homes to rest their feet. 
And in Uie winter food to eat. 



The sheep he held was mute— 

The angry peasant cried, 
« Ungrateful ! no acknowledgment" 

When calmly it replied — 
" Well, God must pay men for their care :- 
From what is made the coats they wear 1" 



THE CAPTIVE BIRD. 



** Why weepeat thou 1" a youngling bird 

To older one appealed, 
^< Art thou not better in this cage 

Than in yon dangerous field ? 
For me the prison-house and care, 
'Fore danger and the open air." 



» Peace !" said the elder bird," be stiU I 

Within this thou wert born ; 
But I have known the hallowed sweets 

Of freedom in life's mom. 
. Bright liberty once sunned my brow, 
1 1 weep that I'm a prisoner now." 



THE ATHEIST. 



There lived somewhere, in oklen time, 

A proud philosopher, 
Who, fixed in his opinions, thought 

That he could nevei err. 
Progressed through life without assistaBcc, 
And aoofied tUe thought of God'a existence. 



But sickness came, and with itt pangs 

Came loss of fortitude ; 
And he who measured heaven's space, 

And farthcr'st planets viewed, 
Came, not alone a God to know* 
But all the fiends of heU, abo. 



THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE. 



BT fl. J. nURn, VEW lORR 



CnvKT Karl Wilhf.lx Anstif.n was early celebrated for his superior talents, and won at 
college great credit for bis profound scholarship. He was possessed of a large estate in the north 
of Germany, aad his family was one of the most ancient and distinguished in the whole of Europe* 
Upon the death of his father, the young count chose a trusty old servant, in whose honesty he had 
full confidence, and to him he gave the charge of his whole property, determined to spend all his 
time at his books. 

Chemistry was his favorite study — astronomy his pastime and recreation. From the last he wai 
gradually led into astrology, and living in a country famous for its mysterious legends, it is not re- 
markable that the mind of the young student, being early impressed with the horrid tales of the 
Hartz mountains, should cling to the supernatural influence of the stars with all the stubborn de- 
termination and fixedness of his countrymen. 

Astrology had a great influence upon his future life ; for, being fond of the marvellous, every lit- 
tle incident, good or ill, was attributed to the favorable or malign influence of particular stars. His 
closet was strewed with papers marked with curious hieroglyphics, and quires of horoscopes filed 
bis trunks and covered his table. At last, however, the philosophers stone attracted his undivided 
attention, and he devoted the whole of his time to the discovery of this stupendous secret. The 
perpetual motion was of httle consequence in his eye, when compared with the magnificent results 
to be obtained by the possession of the grand wish of the alchemist. 

It is to count Alstien that mankind are indebted for the discovery of many valuable earths, and a 
great variety of chemical preparations, before unknown to the scientific student. It was he first 
disclosed the properties of muromia, and recommended the compound afterwards so celebrated m 
the relief of rheumatic afiections. It was he first gave the idea of the detonating powder, and al- 
though the faculty have basely endeavored to rob him of the credit, the fact is suflTiciently well esta- 
blished to brand for ever his villanous slanderers. You can scarcely mention a single chemical in- 
vention of the age in which he hved, but is in some way connected with the distinguished name of 
count Karl Wilhelm Alstien. 

During the prevalence of an epidemic which carried thousands to the grave, he was induced to 
vi^t Paris and London. There he examined into the nature of the disease, and out of three hun- 
dred patients in the former, and over four hundred in the Utter city, he lost but eleven. He neu- 
tralized the affects of the plague by new and powerful acids discovered by himself. 

After this, he retired to one of hu castles upon the Niesse, and day and night he was in his study, 
poring over his books, casting horoscopes, and experimenting with his crucible. Eight years of 
his life were passed in the utmost seclusion, and devetcd to his favorite pursuit 

At the end of this period, he had, as he supposed, nearly arrived at the conclusion of his labors. 
He was able to produce certain metallic appearances fiom peculiar earths, and all that he now want- 
ed was a particular description of clay. With this he did not doubt but he could produce the phi- 
losopher's stone, which would turn all things into gold. 

While in Lqndon, as we have already stated, a specimen of clay from America was shown him, 
which he doubted not was the very article he so much wanted, and he was induced now to make a 
voyage to this country, in consequence of a singular dream. 

He had fallen asleep beside his little furnace upon a bright moonlight night, and it seemed to him 
in his vision that a beautiful female form stood beside him, her feet wet with the dew of the moun* 
tains, which sparkled like water rattling upon yellow leaves in the fall. In her hand she bore a fresh 
wild flower that had been torn up by the roots, to which were attached particles of the very clay he 
was in pursuit of. As he gazed in rapture upon the lovely form, she gradually changed into the 
American eagle ; but still the flower was there, grasped in the talons of the proud bird. He snatch- 
ed at the object of his ardent desire — the eagle vanished from his sight, and he awoke. 

For many days this dream haunted him, and so great was the impression it made upon his mind 
that he resolved immediately to embark for the colonies of America. Having made arrange! 
ments by which he could obtain at intervals the revenues of his immense estates, he took ship and 
sailed for this port, where he arrived early in the spring. He remained in New York only long 
enough to make himself acquahited with the geological formation of different parts of the country, 
and then travelled to the west, to penetrate the wilderness in search of the long-sought earth. 

Count Alstien went to Pittsburgh, thence to St Louis, and from thence among the Indians, where 
he travelled from tribe to tribe, constantly upon the look-out ; but it was not until the fall of the se- 
cond year, tliat he discovered the long desired article upon the banks of the Arkansas river, about 
four hundred miles from its mouth, and upon one of the immense prairies of that beautiful country. 
Althongh it was in the dcuk of the evening when he found the clay, so great was his joy, and so 



THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE. 169 

ardeal his dedre to perfect hu wish, that he immediately took out his crucible, built a fire of dry 
gnu^ and commenced his refining operations. He threw a portion of the earth into the receptacle 
and it flashed and cracked for some miuutes. When the noise and light had subsided, he gatheied 
more grass, and in Ms search for the driest blades, he found Uic carcase of a dead eagle. On turn- 
ing over the bird, he saw a flower grasped in its claws. It was the same flower and the same eagle 
which he had seen in his dream nearly three years before. 

He was now confident of success, and leaped for joy ; and he took the pretty weed from the bird 
and cast the roots of it into the crucible. He had no sooner done this than the bird was restored to 
life, and uttering a piercing shriek, flew directly to the heavens. 

The astonishment which this created caused count Alstien to pause a moment in his operations ; 
but he soon concluded that the bird could only have been stunned, and that in moving it he had re* 
stored it to consciousness. 

He replenished the fire, and, placing his watch on a stone beside him, pursued his burning with 
moie assiduity than ever. As he emptied the contents of a small vial of the extract of mummia 
into the crucible, the contents rose in bubbles to the top, and drops of bright yellow rolled about the 
jDiiUue, 

When the hands of his watch pointed twelve, he again heard the flapping of the eagle's wings, 
and looking toward the river, he beheld the waters rising in a pyraoiid from the centre. At first hs 
contemplated escape, but as the wavy mountain did not appear to break, but formed a solid mass, he 
gazed in wonder and admiration upon the singular phenomenon. 

He added to the mixture one drop of lizard's blood, and a feather from the wing of the eagle, 
which he had unconsciously plucked while taking the flower from its claws. Instantly, the clouds 
became dark, and the moon was concealed. The only light that pierced the darkness of the night 
"was thrown from the liquid mountain of the Arkansas river. The waters rushed in torrents down 
the steep sides of the pyramid, with a continual noise, like the loudest thunder, and a pure white 
cloud hung^upon the top of the roaring pile, as if to curtain it from Alstien*s eager gaze. The 
mound did nut diminish in size, but drew its current up through the centre as fast as it fell over the 
sparkling sides. 

Presently, the cloud rose slowly from its resting place, and the count discovered an angelic form 
standing upon the very pinnacle of the river mountain. It was the same lovely figure that had 
blessed his vision in his own country ; but as he viewed in wonder and amazement, he perceived 
that she wore delicate silver wings upon her heels, wrists, and shoulders. By her side, stood the 
bald eagle of America, and a large white owl. AS the mixture in the crucible became hotter, first 
the owl flew towards the count, and uttered a shriek that rung for minutes over the flat prairie. The 
contents rose to the top, and the eagle, leaving the side of its mistress, rose in the air, made a broad 
circle in the heavens, and, sinking to the earth, took op its station near the owl. 

The centre of the mixture rose to a point, and, bursting open, threw out a golden flame that reach- 
e<l far above the head of the experimenter, as he stood erect beside the crucible. At this moment, 
the spirit glided gently from its watery throne, and paused not until it reached the spet on which 
the count was fixed. In a sweet and heavenly tone it addressed him. 

" What would'st thou, daring mortal, with the spirit of the golden clajp V* 
Wonderful genii," said the count, ** all my days have I labored to discover the means of turning 
all things into gold, and now I do beseech thee instruct me in the mysteries of alchemy." 

<* Dark and fearful is thy request,*' returned the genii, " but I have not the power to deny thee. 
Thou hast summoned me from my purple arbors beneath these quiet waters, where I have reigned 
in wealth and luxury thousands of years ; but let me tell thee, foolish man, the secret is full of ter- 
ror and disappointment. The philosopher's stone has been in the possession of millions, but they 
have been unconscious of the treasure they held. Thou thyself hast had it many years, but knew 
not how to use it. Seest thou the ring that even now is in the crucible V* 
He looked, and perceived a small gold ring at the very top of the mixture. 
" Draw it from its resting place, and put it upon thy first finger. Fear not the fire ; it will not 
burn thee." 

The count hesitated but a moment, and then, snatching the bauble, he did as he was bid. Ne 
sooner had he touched it, than the mount<un of water began to sink in the river, nor did it stop when 
it reached the level of the banks, but went down until it formed a hollow as deep as it had been 
high. The spirit drew a line around the spot where they were standing, and Uie earth rose up until 
it formed a boat. The genii sat down beside the count, and the eagle and the owl put their claws 
into the bow of the vessel, and flew with it to the bank of the Arkansas. Thousands of l)eautiful 
spirits rose from the waters, singing most enchanting music, and as they hovered about tlieir mis- 
tress and the count, the boat glided down the watertj. The whole party sunk beneath the wave, and 
the stream assumed its usual appeararice. 

When he saw his danger, count Alstien would have leaped from the barque upon the shore ; but 
an invisible power held him in his seat. The waters rushed over his head, and he expected to be 
overwhelmed in an instant ; but the same power which had prevented his escape, now protected 
him, and a cover was thrown over him which held the waves from touching his person, and he 
breathed as freely as he ever did upon the surface of the blooming earth. 



170 BURTON^S OBNTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

With the rapidity of lightning they descended to the very centre of the world, and then rose at 
speedily for some seconds. The gargling of the waters could no longer be heard, and the air was 
filled with the richest and most delicate perfumes. Presently they came to a magnificent garden, and 
myriads of golden lights flung their brilliant rays upon roads paved with ingots of precious metals, 
and forests of small trees bearing fruit resembling diamonds, and idl kinds of valuable stones. 

The count now peiceived that what he had inuigined a boat, was changed to splendid azure car, 
and it was drawn not by the owl and the eagle, but by beautiful winged animals such as he had 
never seen before in all his travels. The speed, too, was reduced, and instead of dashing impetuooaly 
along, they moved slowly through the shining rows of trees, so that he had time to admire die be- 
witching scene by which ho was surrounded. He was delighted with the charming prospect before 
him, and beseeched the fair genii that she would stop the car whilst he gathered some of die frait, 
but she reminded him that he was in search of the philosopher's stone, and when he had received it, 
these fruit would leap from their branches into his lap. 

Thoy now approached a gay temple, where all was life and joy. Through the decorated windowi 
he could perceive light spirits dancing to harmonious music, performed by an invisible band, nnd 
delicate winged creatures were gathering on the vast poitico to welcome the genii who sat beside 
him. As the car halted in front of the temple the ciowd on the piasoa surrounded their queen and 
her guest, and sung this song: — 

Welcome to the earth again, 

Sweet Artina, welcome home. 
Bend the shout through every plain — 

Our queen, our queen ! Artina's come. 

The golden ringlets quickly bring. 
The purest perfumes o'ci hei fling, 
Songs she ever loved wcMI sing, 
Sweet Artina, welcome home. 

Kindest maid of heavenly birth, 

Sweetest mistress, welcome home, 
Sovereign still of all the earth. 

From thy throne no longer roam. 
The golden ringlets quickly bring, 
The purest perfumes o*er her fling, 
Songs she ever loved we'll sing, 

Loved Artina, welcome home. 

Whilst they were singing, Artina took the count by the hand, and led him into the temple. She 
seated him upon her throne, and, taking a place beside him, waved her hand, when all the spirits 
joined in one grand chorus, and danced before their sovereign. 

As they moved lightly over the floor of pearl, suddenly a table rose before the throne, covered with 
all kinds of delicious fiuit, and the queen motioned to the count to eat. He reached to one of the 
dishes, but his hand could not clutch the article he wished. The lights grew dim, and a horrid 
yelling was heard without. TheValls of the temple shook like the leaves of a slender tree in a storm, 
and the count began to fear that the edifice would soon come tumbling about their ears. The dancing 
fairies screamed with terror, and crowded together behind the golden pillars of the spacious hall. 
Laying her hand upon the count's arm, Artina bade him take her seat, whilst she took possession of 
her throne. " 

Suddenly a large trap-door in the floor of the temple flew open, and beasts with hideous foims and 
fiery eyes rose from the earth beneath. Their bodies resembled lions, and they had arms like men. 
In their right hands they bore various weapons, and in their \e(i torches that shed a blue and death- 
Uke light upon the surrounding objects. Twelve of thcee horrid creatures formed a circle round the 
trap, and then rose a form still more fearful, with tongue of flame and wings of Are. As soon as this 
last had reached the floor, the trap closed, and he stood upon it. Artina addressed him : — 

" Why are my peaceful and happy domains disturbed by the presence of thy disgusting slave t** 

" Artina," replied the beast, *' I am the keeper of the golden mines, and mortal cannot approach 
the sacred deposits until I consent. Why is Uiy guest here 1" 

" Fearful spirit," said Artina, « he has the signet which thou dar'st not disobey, and if he use it 
rightly hereafter, though freed fiom thy presence, thou shalt deal out to him the most preoious of 
thy treasures." 

" Sorceress, thou liest !" exdaimcd the monster, " and thy temple shall perish, and thy gold and 
jewels shall be sloretl in the sacred mountains !" 

So saying, he was about to seize Artina, when the count caught him by the throat with his left 
hand. The queen whispered « thy right, thy right hand !" 



beauty's decay. V 

The count raised hU light hand, but the moment the magic ring touched the beast, he fell prostrate 
before the throne of Aitina, and exclaimed, «* I am thy slave, what wouidst thou 1" 

<< Depart, for ever, from this temple, exclaimed Alstien, " and be thou the slave of Artina." 

*< Down, monster, with thy myrmidons," cried Artina, " and before the day is past fill my grotto 
vriih the choicest fruits of earth. Heap it with piecious gems, and spread a couch of softest down 
of earth for my guest, thy. master." 

As she concluded, the trap again opened, and the griffin and his followers sunk into the earth be- 
neath. As soon as they had disappeared, Aitina thus addressed the count, •* Now thou has done 
more for me than all the attentive spirits I have about me. Untutored thou didst speak the charm 
that broke the spell by which I have been held in bondage to the griffin, I shall be no longer troubled 
with his presence." 

The remainder of the day was spent in feasting, dancing and music ; and as the night came on, 
Artina lead the count to the grotto. The griffin had fulfilled his orders; the elegant retreat was filled 
with precious ores, and a luxurious couch was spread in the centre, surrounded by pillars of gold, 
diamonds, and pearl. Here Artina, perceiving that the count grew drowsy, told him she would now 
instruct him relative to the philosopher's stone. He listened attentively while she spoke thus : — 

« The ring I have given thee contains the object of thy search. The eagle which visited thy study 
left a feather upon the table, which got mingled with thy papers, and deposited in one of the drawers* 
When thou returnest to thy home, rub the ring with that feather, and the secret will be thine. Had^st 
thou not freed me from the presence of the griffin I should not have sudered thee to depart ; but tht 
great service thou hast rendered me has caused me to favor thee. Sleep, and thou shalt soon be ra« 
stored to thy home." 

She left the grotto, but her spirits hovered around it, and sung until the count fidl into a prafoond 
slumber. 

The sun was high in the east when count Alstien awoke. He looked for the pillars of gold, 
diamonds, and peail, but they had vanished. The gtoiio was gone, and he was sleeping upon the 
ground by the banks of the Arkansas, on the same spot where he had seen the geniL The craflible 
was there, but the fire had gone out, and the clay was dry in the earthen vessel. 

** Can it have been a dream !" exclaimed he, in anguish, " and are all my hopes (o be thue blasted 
in a moment. Are all my years of toil and labor to produce nothing.'' 

He felt something strange upon his hand. It was the magic ring. ^ No, Artina," be cried, « thou 
bast not deceived me. The secret I have, and I will hasten home to do thy mysterious bidding." 

Gathering some of the clay, and packing up his vials and the crucible, he began to retrace his 
steps. He returned to New York, and sailed in the first vessel for Bremen, whence he made his 
way as soon as possible to his castle on the Niosse, where he found all his papers just as he had left 
them years before. Nothing had been disturbed — the old steward had taken excellent care of the 
property entrusted to his supervision, and the estate was in a fiourishing condition. He hastened to 
his study. The moon threw her calm light through the window that opened towaid the mountains, 
just as she did when the spirit and the eagle first visited his chainl>er. Wilh eager hands he unlock- 
ed the diawer of his secretary, and the first article his eyes fell upon was the sacred feather. He 
snatched it impatiently from iu resting place and rubbed it upon the ring. He could perceive no 
change. He forced the quill part around the inside, and unconsciously touched a secret spring. The 
ring fell in two parts, and he discovered engraven upon it these words — 

« Industry is the Philosopher's Stone. By it wealth shall be thine." 

He threw it down in anger, but his anger did not last long, for he4r»on picked it up and replaced 
it upon his finger, vowed that he would profit by the lesson which had cost liim so much anxiety— « 
so much labor and so many sleepless nights. He lived for many years after, devoting his whole time 
to scientific pursuits, but never again did he resort to idle mixtures to turn clay to gold. He died one 
of the wealthiest noblemen of the country, and left many excellent works which have been the con- 
stant study of chemists since his death. 



BEAUTY'S DECAY. 



BT THOMAS CAREW, 1620. 



Hx that loves a rosy cheek, 
Or a coral lip admires. 

Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
Fuel to maintain his fire { ; 

As old time makes these decay, 

80 his flame most waste away. 



But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Order'd thoughts and calm desires. 

Heart with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fines. 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes i 



COLUMBUS. 



A HISTORICAL POEM 



Br FB£D£RICK WEST, X S Q. . , NEW TOBK 



CAXTO THIRD. 



THE VOYAGE. 



As when some weary traveller ncars the home I 
To which his heart haadiawn him, fccis his frame, | 
Before deliberate, nerved with new Ufe ; 
So did Columbus, in his narrative, 
The end of his probation being nigh. 
Recount his voyage and its consequence. 

** O ! faith, thou art all mighty here. 

And miracles within thy sphere 

May be performed. The scripture saith 

Mountains may be removed by faith ; 

By &ith for seventeen tedious years 

I combated, with doubts and fears. 

And triumphed — pcrsevciance stood 

A rock in fuith. It mattered not 

That dlsaDpointmcnts were my lot^ 

Many and strong. Faith through the night 

Waited the morning's dawning light; 

Paitb did at last the mountain move, 

Of prejudice against me strove. 

The squadron sailed, and Palos" sliore* 
Receded. The bright waters bore 
Me on their bosom, their own child, 
Then had my heart with transport wild,-}* 
Exulted, but I feared my crew 
No faith like mine, their spirits knew. 
To man their hearts. The bitter teais 
Of fond affection fed their fears 
"When we embarked. They toft the shore 
As those who part to meet no more ; 
And more than half believed the sea 
Destined their sepulchie to be. 

*'I blame them not. If pitchy night 
Barken'd Spain's sages* menial sight — 
If prelates deemed impassable — 
If not a passage straight to hell — 
These unknown seas — in ignorance 
Grim terror could be no offence ; 



I only feared their fears might mar 
The glorious light of hope's bright star. 
And sank this fear of theii control 
An incubus upon my soul. 
So passed the day — upon its close 
The virgin's vesper hymn aros^. 

" There is a sweet benignity 
In prayer and praise, most dear to me ; 
How sweet in life, where rank decay 
Moulders us gradual away. 
Where disappointments cohstantly 
Tear from the heart its dearest joy. 
Where death in sudden awful form : 
Sword, fire, plague, thunderbolt, and stoim. 
Snatches us in a moment hence, 
Showing OUT strength, its impotence. 
How sweet to look where power and might 
Supreme in gloriousness and light 
For ever rei^p:!, and in fond prayer 
Humbly comn\and the spirit there. 
The ills of life which seemed to rise 
Towering above us to the skies 
In this, our more expanded sight. 
Have but the mole-hills pigmy height 

" On the third day a Caravel 

Splintered its rudder. It W4S well 

That the Canary Isles were nigh, 

We put in for them presently. 

The ciicumstance upon me weighed, 

I feaicd that I had been l»eirayed ; 

The balk disabled purposely : 

It was impressed unwillingly 

Into the service. I perceived 

The spirit that might mar me. Grieved 

T' encounter such impediment, 

I roused myself to circumvent 

Each ol>stacle, I now foresaw, 

Would round my fated voyage draw; 






:-6>^ 



• The squadron consisted of three small vessels . the Sinla Maria, on board of which Columbus 
hoisted his flag — the Pinta, commanded by Martin Alonzo Pinzoh, accompanied by his brother, 
Francisco Martin, as pilot — the third, the Nina, commanded by Vinccnto Yuncz Pinzon. These 
vessels contained one hundred and twenty persons in all. Columbus set sail on Friday, the third of 
Aucust, 1492. 

f The exultation of Columbus at finding himself, after so many years of bafllcd hope, at length 
fairly launched on his grand enterprise, was checked by his want of confidence in the resolution and 
perseverance of his crews. It may bo as well to state here that the incidents narrated in the voyagie 
are all historical facts, and that the reader who wishes for more full information upon the subject, 
cannot do better than to possess himself of that great national work, Irving's Columbus. 



COLUMBUS. 



173 



Plnding no other vessel, we 
Eepaired the bark and put to sea. 

** We passed the peak of Tcneiifife — 
The superstitious crew's belief, 
Seeing it spout foitb smoke, and fire, 
"Was, that it warned them to retire, 
!Nor dare the pathless waters. Fear 
Hung on each circumstance, to &care 
Their souls. Ev'n with tht^ cause explained 
Terror within their hearts remained. 

** Ignorance is a hag of night ; 

Knowledge, a spirit robed in light ; 

Ignorance makes a man a s!ave, 

Knowledge — bold, free, erect, and brave : 

Happy that land through wh«>se conOne 

Knowledge iu strength and might shall shine, 

Even as the snn — chasing away 

The mists of ignorance — the sway 

Of evil passions. There shall man 

Then in his maker's image — scan 

His maker's works. Then shall he feel 

The strength doth liberty revoal. 

Tyrants and bigots may unite 

To keep the world in slavish night, 

Let but the light of knowledge cast 

On earth its rays, their power is past. 

Knowledge is strength — knowledge is power. 

Power for the million. In that hour 

Men learn the riddle they shall bo 

Piom the strong arnl 2^17^ fir: free— 

Defy the tyranny of sod. 

And own no sovereign lord but God. 

** Banger encompassed me — my crew 
"Were quailing, stout in heart were few. 
King John, upon my watery track. 
To capture me, and bring me back, 
Had sent three Caravels, and they 
At Ferro's Isle were under weigh. 
All things seemed inauspicious. Yet 
Was I confident. All sail I set. 
But the wind calmed for three long days ; 
At length fiom these adverse delays 
I was relieved. The slilTning wind 
Bellied the canvas — now behind 
Stood Fcrro, the extremcsl land, 
Which, to our maiincrs, did stand 
The teeming eaith's far ccnlinel. 
Beyond whose ken no life could dwell. 
Back, in the distance, thut s:ime day 
It faded from our sight away. 

<* When the last trace of land was gone, 
And the salt desert they looked on. 
And nothing met the anxious eye. 
Could claim the heart's aflinity, 
No trace of life on every side. 
The boundless watcT:^ swelling wide. 
The crews despaired — their courage fled, 
They looked upon themselves as dead. 



Cut off from man and life — the wave. 
Their dark, cold, lonely, dismal grave : 
Behind them was their sunny Spam, 
Before them the mysterious main 
Peopled with terrors. The strong tics 
Of home — hearth — kindred — filled their eyes 
To overflowing. Hope effaced. 
On the men's visages i traced — 
The living stream, the iron cheek 
From the pent lids at length did seek, 
And wetted, though for many a year 
Till now, unconscious of a tear. 
Danger in flesh they still had braved. 
Nor quivered, but their rainds enslaved. 
Saw phantoms they could not control, 
Which held in awe each trembling soul. 
I still consoled them with such cheer 
As from man's heart may banish /bar. 
Painted the glories of the land 
I ^pon wh(»se shore our piows should strand. 
The wealth that each would share, then bade 
Their spirits be no more dismayed. 

" I had given orders to each bark. 

That sailed in company, to mark. 

Should accident divide us, Trhen 

Seven hundred leagues were passed, and then 

They should Ue to from dead midnight 

Till morning's dawn ; for land in sight 

About that distance must appear. 

For mine own part \he craven fear 

Of mine own crew induced a cheat, 

(The time's sad exigence to meet,) 

I put upon them. Every day. 

From the ship's log I took away, 

Some leagues achieved. A true record 

I still kept privately on board. 

I felt my project on a hair 

Might split, and that my utmost care 

Must sleepless watch, lest the bright goal 

Should be debarred my anxious soul. 

" I watched for hours incessantly ; 

Sleep, the rest needed, seemed to me 

Almost superfluous — I've read 

Of Hindoo votaries, who've led 

A life of torture, that has mocked 

Nature's strong laws, our reason shocked 

In its belief — •of those whose eye 

Has braved the sun's intensity. 

Nor blighted — of lon^ vigils kept. 

That seem beyond endurance — slept, 

lias my unl^ulief. The mind, 

In its intensity confined 

To some fixed object, for a time 

Does triumph over nature. Mine 

Has tiiumphcd ! In the lengthened night. 

When terror has forgot its fright. 

And the tired mariner, in mind. 

Has wandered to the friends behind 

Sorrowing he's left, and the dirk seas 

Have vanished for llie orange trees 



• We read of this species of religious self torture among the Hindoos, and our own talented coun- 
trymen, Cutlin, bears testimony w similar tortures endured by the Mandans and othiT Indian tribes. 



174 



BURTON S GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 



Midst whicli, a boy, he wondered— when 
In spirit he is there again, 
And their sweet breath bis fancjf steeps 
In joyous pleasure, as he sleeps — 
When on Uie deck the watch alone 
Hath kept his \igils with my own ; 
Still have I stood and in the skies 
Fancied some star my enterprise 
Might shine upon with holy light, 
To guard it through the sleepy night 

'< The stars ! the glorious stars ! lieaven's book, 

I ne'er could on its bright page look, 

Nor feel my soul exalted. They, 

As bright ministere, have seemed to say, 

Peeping from heaven's blue vault, * behold 

He in his own right hand doth hold 

Our glories, and he bids us shine 

Upon this troubled world of thine ; 

He who to darkness thus gi%-cs light. 

Is with thee, in the silent night. 

And ho can guide through perils drear ; 

Confide in the supreme, nor fear.' 

<< Ye midnight monitors ! Ye blight 
Beatitudes ! Ye clothed in light ! 
Incomprehensible ! Sublime ! 
Voicclessly eloquent ! Tis thine, 
From the desires with which is fraught 
Our earthly heart, to lift the thought, 
And to the other of thy sway, 
To liH wic spikii from the clay 
That hems it in, and bid it roam 
In fancy to the far off home 
Beyond thy lustre. My rapt soul, 
liiftcd by thine dix'ine control, 
Has all forgotten, foi n space, 
Its transient fleshy renting place, 
And panted for the glorious sphere 
From which it deems *lii< banished lirrc ; 
The happy home — the bright alnHle 
Of spiiits blosscd — en&hrincd with (Jod. 

*' Three days from Ferio, floated past 

The ruins of a stately mast ; 

With their own tenors deep imbuctl, 

Sadly the wreck tlie sailors viewed. 

It was the dark destroyer's spoil. 

In their own planks might shortly coil. 

<* Two hundred leagues from Fcrro'i? i«le,* 

Five days fiom land, watching the while, 

I noted a phenomenon 

Not marked l>eforo. As we soiled on 

The needle varied. Dav, bv dav. 

As we advanced, some points away 

From the north star it veered. I knew 

If 'twas proclaimed, the timid crew 

Would stand appalled. But, vain disguise, 

It met the pilots' searching eyes. 



They were dismayed ; they deemed the laws 
Of nature changing from some cause 
Unknown ; as if the influence 
Of a New World, the incomjietenco 
Of the old science made appear : 
But tlieir most terror-stricken fear. 
Was that the comi»ass' virtues lost, 
Witliout its guide they would be toss'd 
At mercy of the winds and waves 
Till in the deep they found their groves. 
I told them then, and since believe 
That the true steel does never leave 
The point unknown, invisible. 
To which it holds. But that right well 
'Twas known, the north star had its change 
': And revolution, and did range 
In circle round the pole each day, 
They were content — their fears gave way. 

" On the sixth day, two land l)ird8 flew 
About the ship, and cheered the crew 
With happy omen. The next night 
A falling meteor, bathed in light. 
Renewed their terrors. It might bo 
That in this unknown, dreaded sea, 
The fragments of each by-gone world 
Consumed by heaven in wrath, weie horied; 
And, therefore, yet had no one durst 
Trespass upon a spot accursed. 
There was no wild or strange conceit 
Thcii terrors did not jump to meet. 



*' The favoring winds for some days blew 
From east to west. Our vei?eel flew, 
With all its wings expanded, on ; 
Thus of our voyage leagues we won. 
If any thin" the hearts could cheer 
Of men were par.ilysrd with fear. 
This was the time. The Jitino?pbcrc 
Was in its sunny Kloiir..? clear. 
The air was fresh'ninp:, yet not coo! ; 
The niorninTs brighily iKMiitiful, 
Ap Anduluuian spring time — all 
Was w.nnlins to complete the thrall 
Was the swi'ct son? of nightingale. 
In that bricht land floats on the gale : 
At eveniido, to mind was brought, 
The miracle the Saviour wrought. 
The sea in ruby lints did shine. 
And seemed the waters turned to wine. 

" As we advanced, the waters bore 
Patches of weeds, such as of yore. 
As Aristotle writes, did fright 
The ancient mariners. Our sight 
They blessed, for many recently 
W'ashe«l from the hind appeared to be. 
The men exulted — every eye 
For wishcd-for Und strained anxiously ; 



t Tliat is not five davs from Rilos, but from Ferro. The d.ilos are lienceforlh taken from 
the last extremitv of land of the old world. The vessels at this time had Ixjen from Palos forty 
days. 



COLUMBUS. 



175 



The doudfl, upon the horizon bung 
To nozth, looked land, and every tongue 
Urged me to steer there, but I knew 
These were illusions, such as lew 
But those well skilled might not believe, 
But those well skilled could not deceive ; 
A fairy land, by fancy made, 
Approached, as airy dreams would fade 
A fond delusive witchery — 
The ignis fatuus of the sea. 

*< Again the waters clear expanse 
Met the inquiring sailor's glance : 
^o sight of land, and day by day 
Large tracts of ocean passed away 
Far in their woke. Am on they sailed 
0*er the vast blank, their spirits quailod. 
Already they had voyaged o'er 
Seas that had ne'er been trod before. 
And on — on — on — appeared to be 
The waters of a boundless sea. 

*^ A new fear rose, and instant spiead 
In the men's hearts an added dread ; 
The favoring wind which still had blown 
From east to west, the only one 
Might be, that o'er these waters swept ! 
In the men*s cheeks the hoiror crept 
Of such a thought, which to their Spain 
Barred their return. I strove again 
To cheat their fears with reason's breath. 
From this more dread than daily death. 
On the twelfth day, the swift wind veered, 
And though adverse, the sailors cheered. 

« At this time singing birds, arc found 

In groves and orchards, Hew around 

The ship. They came with morning'fi light, 

And flew away again at night. 

Their notes bade hope dawn yet again 

In the cowed bosoms of the men ; 

Who hailed the song as harbinger 

Of land, they deemed must now be near. 

I hailed the song as voice from heaven, 

To cheer their fainting spirits given, 

And never yet was minstrelsy 

So dear to them — so dear to me. 

** The thirteenth day a dead calm fell — 

The waters owned no billowy swell ; 

And though light winds from south-west blew, 

They ruffled not the sea, which grew 

Calm as a lake, but covered o'er. 

Far as the eyesight could explore. 

With thick'ning weeds. The craven men 

With fear were paralysed again ; 

Some deemed the weeds would cling around 

The vessel, until it was bound 

In lasting fetters, even as those 

Within the frozen ocean close 

Round the devoted bark, and lie 

Till the doomed inmates starve and die : 

Others conceived the horrid fear 

That shoals and sunken rocks were near, 



I On which the ship womld strike and stay 
Until it rotted to decay, 
Piecemeal, within a wilderness 
Of waters, mocking their distress. 
They hoped not aid from human hand, 
Nor to escape to foreign land. 
In every point they viewed the case. 
Death grimly stared them in the face. 
Death swift or slow — death, horrible 
Death — death incontrovertible ; 
I sounded with the lead, but found 
No bottom, still tlicir fears had bound 
Them in such rank disease of mind, 
Despair was ever there enshrined. 
The constant calms, they said, would keep 
Them ever on the shoreless deep. 
Their murmurs rose. Their rage bespoke 
The gathering storm, which had it broke 
Had fallen on my head. At last. 
The seventeenth day, the sea upcast 
In heavy swell, again dispelled 
The fear, till then their reason quelled. 



<< A holy calm fell on my soul. 
Which henoe mocked even doubt's control ; 
No natural cause — no storm, no wind. 
Heaved up the waters, calm, confined- 
It was His voice which worked the spell 
Performed the Red Sea's miracle : 
Even as to Moses, so to me 

j In this my sad extremity, 

I Heaven in its might appeared. I felt 
His presence, and my spirit knelt 
In grateful trust. As low I bent 
I felt myself His instrument. 

** Oh, the blcss'd power, to lonk bryond 
The present hour ! With rapiurc fond 
Fell strength in weakness by the aid 
Will in our need not be delayed : 
Dangers may ihreatrn — storms may rise. 
Darkness may steal upon our eyes, 
Terrors surround us, and grim death 
Seem as enamoured of our breath. 
Still we are calm. These do but seem 
And fade like horrors of a dream. 
Need had I of this faith— my crew 
Ere this, still more impatient grew. 
My hope failed to convince them. They 
Were plunged in yet a new dismay. 
Should the provisions fail 1 Each eye 
Told that tlic thought worked fearfully. 



" One night, when they supposed I slept. 
The crew a solemn council kept ; 
My thoughu were picturing the fame 
Of earned success, when mine own name 
Oa uttered from the future, brought 
At once my anxious wandering thought 
* A scheming desperado,' cried 
The speaker, * and we're all allied 
To one who, having naught to lose. 
And all to gain, cannot but choose 



176 



burton's gentleman's magazine. 



To urge us on. He values not 
His life in this assay one jot 
That he has staked on the bate chance. 
Success bis interests may advance. 
If his own life were all, 'twere well ; 
His folly then might ring his knell, 
And his ambition meet that death 
'Which desperate deeds encompasseth. 
But ^tis not all. In the same mould 
Our lives are cast, if still we hold 
On to his will. The moaning wave 
That sings his requiem is our grave ; 
And we obeying madness* breath. 
Are authors of our every death. 
Shall we press onward then, or force 
This madman from his insane course 1 
You do not fear his voice in Sphin 1 
'Tis impotent as on tho main 
'Tis mighty. He has neithei friends 
Nor interest to make amends 
For foreign biith. No Genoese 
Against Spain's sons may war when these 
Have done what ne'er was done before ; 
And leagues and leagues have travelled o'er 
Seas where no flag has fluttered. Spain 
"Will welcome us to land again, 
(Our darling land.) our wisdom own ] 
Which life from recklessness bath won : 
And thcic are those of high estate 
Whose hearts would be with joy elate 
To find the visionary's scheme 
Unto the world proclaimed tho dream 
It is. Then let us now compel 
A coursL* for home, l?eloved so well. 
And all olicJience firmly spurn 
To our own land bars our return.* 

<« « Wc will ! we will !' they cried. One said, 
* His blood let be on his own head 
If he refuse. Let tlie dark sea 
The visionary's cradle l>«. 
And let him find upon its bed 
The grave in quest of which he's led 
So many gallant hearts to death. 
Perhaps, with his accursed breath. 
We can give out that, too intent 
Heading the stars, a ship's lurch sent 
Him in the billows from aid's reach. 
And who our statement should impeach!* 
This black and bloody plan piopo8(xl, 
Was by no single voice opposed. 

" I turned away — my pallet prcss'd, 

And sank into as sweet a rest 

As love itself may fondly own 

When dreaming of a passion won. 

For ere upon my couch I laid, 

My heart in fond assurance said : — 

' Thou who dost mark a sparrow's death. 

Didst give and canst redeem my breath ; 

No power of man can circumvent 

Thy own inscrutable intent: 

No earthly threat my soul can shake, 

My life is thine, not theirs to take.' 



** There came with the miraculotis swell 

Favoring winds — I knew full well 

That if my theory was true. 

Land shortly must appear in view. 

Martin Alonzo Pin7.on, too. 

Thought, with roysi'lf, that our course drew 

Nigh to Cipango. As I pored 

Upon my chart, our site explored, 

A joyous shout the Pinta sent. 

The stilly silence fieicely rent — 

' Land ! land !' Martin Alunzo cried, 

' Land ! land !' was echoed far and wide. 

'Twas land appeared, and every eye 

Hailed the blessed vision rapturously ; 

Joy sat where joy for many a day 

Had been a stranger. Hope's glad ray 

Beamed on each dusky countenance. 

And banished gloom with such bright glance 

As sumbeams on the cold dark earth 

With golden lustre, call to birth. 

Upon my knees I fell, and poured 

My grateful thanks to the adored ; 

Gloria in excMs rose 

From Pinzon's bark, and at the close 

My own glad crew the heavenly strain 

Poured forth in rapture yet again. 

" The seamen, mad>.Iened with delight, 
Clonib the mast-heud, and thence the sight 
Confirmed. All now was ecstasy : 
They laughed, embraced, and wept to see 
Land which they'd longed, hoped, prayed for, 

bless 
Them in the deptli of their distress. 
Each eye strained tow'rds it, 'till night's sbix>a<] 
Gathered it in its sable cloud ; 
The morning dawned, our rapture fled. 
The land — a mist — in vapour sped. 

" From this time signs of land upheld 
The hearts had ehe with terror quelled ; 
But hope on hope was prostrate cast. 
Till signs infallallc at last 
Were deemed delisions — mockery all — 
As if enchantment worked this thrall 
Which placed the nectar to the lip 
Forbidding it the juire to sip^ 
And bade the thought Elysium mark. 
To paint a hell more stem and dark. 

" And now the whispering dipcontcnt. 

Like muttering tliunder, found full vent. 

And burst with fury on my head. 

» No more they'd tempt their fate,' they said, 

* In travelling on a shoreless sea, 

The waters of eternity.' 

Fiercely they bade me, one and all. 

Find swift deliverance from this thrall. 

And leave a vain delusive track 

Ere 'twas too late, and bear them back* 

** I strove by gentle words, by prayers, 
Promise of wealth that should be theiri. 
With nine-tenths of their voyage won 
Not to abandon, ere 'twas done. 



COLUMBUS. 



in 



This glorious ventare. I went o*er 
AH they'd endured since their homo-shore 
Faded behind them ; and I asked 
Was it in vain that they had tasked 
£ndur3nce thus 1 and answered No ! 
A bright reward its rays would throw 
Around their brows, and such bright fame 
Should gild the lustre of each name 
Of us adventureis, that no light 
More glorious should grace men's sight: 
But if with wild insanity 
They turned from the discoTcry, 
Now just consummate, all the past. 
Courage, endurance, would be cast 
Into oblivion, while the ray 
Of our attempt should Ught the way 
For other hearts, less bound by fear. 
And all the glury men hold dear. 
Precious, and lasting, they would tear 
From ours, on their own brows to wear. 
It was in vain, the clamorous ciew 
More maddened and impatient grew. 

«* I urged no more — I prayed no more, 

But by the duty which each bore 

His Sovereii^n's will, I did command 

In their obedience each should stand, 

Nor mock Spain's will. And more that I 

Commissioned for discovery 

Of India's coast, would not turn back 

With craven fear on homeward track, 

liet come what might of their intent 

To mutiny and circumvent 

The cause, 'till by God's will Fd found 

The shores for which our barks were bound. 

** They drew apart, and whispered low ; 

I stood alone, and eyed them so 

And feared them not. Though from each eye 

Of this now open mutiny 

Glared murderous thoughts, which did bat wait 

To grow familiar — my estate 

With all my golden hopes to cast 

For ever in the silent past. 

'Twas strange, I hardly cared to live, 

I felt that man awhile might give 

Th' ambitious schemer's sounded name 

To cold contempt, or dee})er shame ; 

But well I knew posterity. 

From the black pitch in which might lie 

My memory, would wash it white, 

And bathe it in truth's chrystol light. 

^* The following day such signs of land 
Appeared as all could understand ; 
A branch, whereon fresh berries grew, 
A reed, a small board, came in view. 
And, above all, a staff carved by 
Some unknown means, most curioosly, 
Banished all gloom. The mutineers 
dent to the winds their long nursed fears. 

** Again, as usual, at day's close 
Sahe Regina to heaven roie. 
Then I addressed the sobeied crew. 



And all God's goodness brought to view ; 
How he had brought them o'er a sea 
Where no rude wind coursed fariousfy. 
But gentle favoring breezes blew 
That to the destined land still drew 
Their barks, and when their fears arose 
Did in his might such signs disclose 
As cheered them on. I bade them trust 
From this the eternal and all just. 

" I bade each vessel now lie by 

From midnight, till the eastern sky 

Was tinged with morning's dawn. Its light 

I deemed would bring us land in sight. 

I bade a good look-out be kept — 

'Twas needed not, none that night slept. 

" Evening closed in. Once more with night 

The mask that dressed my face in light 

Dropped from it. The anxiety 

That racked my soul shone in my eye. 

I knew the morning light must bring 

Kuin or fame upon its wing ; 

And though I felt I'd rather die 

Than yield to terror slavishly, 

Yet still the fervent hope was mine 

To live to see the great design 

Had been my study day and night 

Accomplished to the world's broad sight 

" Night ! how I loved thee ! Thou to mo 
Companion wort when none but thco 
Owned fellowship. I never dressed 
My face in smiles, when ill at rest. 
To gaze on thee, but, as a child, 
Minor'd each pas&ion that l>egui!ed 
The passing hour. Thou blessed night ! 
Which giv'bt the wretched brief respite. 
By me wert worshipped, for the balm 
I ever drank from thy sweet calm ; 
Which thou, as loving my devotion* 
Didst give to quiet each emotion 
Of the vex'd heart, which fretful day 
With feverish force had called in play. 

'* I strained my eye over the vast 
Expanse of waters. There was cast 
No shadow on the far off sky ; 
My feverish fears could now helie 
Doubts, hopes, emotions, troop on troop 
Marshalled before me, as a loop 
Was opened in my brain — for these 
Wild and fantastic phantasies 
Had peopled it, since I had caught 
First dawning of the glorious thoughL 
But still no land — all phantasy ! 
No sweet fond bright reaUty. 

" Suddenly, as to mock my sight. 
Dancing afar, a glimmering light 
Appeared — I gazed meet anxiously. 
Fearing it but a mockery 
The o'erwrangbt sense had raised. Yet still 
It danced before me palpable. 



178 



BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



I closed my eye, yet almost feared 

To shut the light out that so cheered 

My soul. Again I raised my eye, 

No— it was there — no mockery — 

A faint clear glimmering light — the star 

Of Bcthlem to my hopes, which far 

Pointed the haven. Ah, pigmy fire ! 

No new found star could e'er inspire 

The wrapt astronomer of night 

"With such wild, fervent, fond delight. 

As thy pale flickering hcam — the sun 

Proclaimed my wondrous voyage done. 

'Tis circumstance which gives ibe glory 

To trifling things renowned in story : 

A glove a moment's space hath staid 

Upon the fingers of a maid — 

A flower, has lingered on her bicast — 

A lea^ her rosy lips have pressed, 

Is to the lover costlier, more 

Dearer, and nobler than the store 

The miser doats on — so that light 

Was to my heart than sun more bright. 

Two gentlemen to where I stood* 

I called. The selfsame light they viewed, 

And deemed it torch in fisher's boat. 

Upon the rippling waves afloat. 

In four hours more the Pinta*s gun 

Assurance gave that land was won, 

It was, and I had lived to see 

The truth of my fond theory. 

<* It was a moment when my soul 
Seemed as 'twould burst its bonds' control. 



i And mount into the stany sky 
In bliss of too vast ecstacy 
For earthly bearing. Since that time 
Far spreading honors have been mme ; 
But not the joyous shoot of Spain 
That welcomed me with such acclaim 
As mocked the pealing thunder's voice — 
Not when a nation did rejoice— 
Nor soveieigns hailed me as if I 
Had lent their sceptte dignity 
And been their brother — no ; nor when 
Proud Salamanca's learned men 
Who had despised my theory, 
Bowed low to my discovery — 
Not then has been my swelling breast 
With such wild ecstasy possest 
As stirred it now. It could not bear 
Again such God-like bliss to wear. 
Then was the immortality 
Of ages manifest to me. 
And each with honor swelled my name 
rill all the earth echoed my fame. 



>'p: 



<< I do but mock my feelings then 
Striving to give them breath. But when 
Expression can be given to thought 
JSwiftly as in swift fancy wrought. 
When utterance can brightly cast 
The future, present, and the past. 
In words shall own as brief a space 
As come the emotions they would trace. 
Then could the feelings lie expressed 
Which now lie buried in my breast" 



♦ These where Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the king's bed-chamber, and Rodrigo Sanchez, of 
Segoria. 

J.Nn OF CANTO TJIIRl). 



THE WARFARE OF THE CLOUDS. 



BY A SOUrHRON, WILMINGTON, X. C. 



A >'iniiT of darkness — roars the moaning breeze, 
Like some fell demon, tortured t.*) despair. 
Or storm-king wheeling through the Inrid air. 
And sighing sadly with the groaning trees : 
Palled in dark vapor, is the glorious sky, 
And hid in gloom is every beaming star ; 
See the dim clouds, careering from afar. 
And floating o'er the azure fields on high. 
And fast, and thick, the pattering rain drops fall, 
And the loud tempest roars with wildest glee, 
Clouds, misty wanderers, wreathe an ebon pall, 
And storm, and darkness, hold their revelry— 
Oh ! night! thou hast thy s'.em and dreariest iem 
When reigns supreme the daring spirit of the itoim ! 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 



Bxmo AK Account or thx Fibst Pabsagx acboss the Rockt Moviitaivs oy Nosts 

AVXBICA XTEB ACHIXYXD BT GlTILIZSI) MaV. 



CHAPTER IV. 



[We left our travellers, on the fifth of September, apprehending a present attack from the Sioux- 
exaggerated accounts of the ferocity of this tribe had inspired the party with an earnest wish to avoid 
them ; but the tale told by the friendly Ponca made it evident that a collision mast take place. The 
night voyages veerc therefore abandoned as impolitic, and it was resolved to put a bold §a^ upon the 
■latter, and try what could be effected by blostering. The remainder of the night of the fifth was 
flpent in warlike demonstration. The large boat was cleared for action as well as possible, and the 
fiercest aspect assumed which the nature of the case would permit. Among other preparations for 
defence, the cannon was got out from below, and placed forward upon the cuddy deck, with a load 
of bullets, by way of cannister shot. Just before sunrise the adventurers started up the river in high 
Imtvado, aided by a heavy wind. That the enemy might perceive no semblance of fear or mistrust^ 
the whole party joined the Canadians in an uproarious boat song at the top of their voices, making 
the woods reverberate, and die buffidoes stare. 

The Sioux, indeed, appear to have been Mr. Hodman's bugbears par excellence, and he dwells 
upon them and their exploits with peculiar emphasis. The narrative embodies a detailed account of 
the tribe — an account which we can only follow in such portions as appear to possess novelty, or 
ether important interest. Sioux is the French term for the Indians in question — the English have 
connpted it into Sues. Their primitive name is said to be Darcotas. Their original seats were on 
the Mississippi, but they had gradually extended their dominions, and, at the date of the Journal, 
eecupied almost the whole of that vast territory circumscribed by the Mississippi, the Saskatchawine, 
the Missouri, and the Red River of Lake Winnipeg. They were sub-divided into numerous clani. 
The Darcotas proper were the Winowacants, called the Crens du Lac by the French — consisting of 
about five hundred warriors, arid living on both sides of the Mississippi, in the vicinity of the Falls 
of St Anthony. Neighbors of the Winowacants, and residing north of them on the river St Peters', 
were the Wappatomies, about two hundred men. Still farther up the St. Peters' lived a band of one 
hundred, called the Wappytooties, among themselves, and by the French the Gens des Feuilles. 
Higher up the river yet, and near its source, resided the Sissytoonies, in number two hundred or 
thereabouts. On the Missouri dwelt the Yanktons and the Tetons. Of the first tribe there were 
two branches, the northern and southern, of which the former led an Arab life in the plains at the 
sources of the Red, Sioux, and Jacques rivers, being in number about five hundred. The southern 
Vranch kept possession of the tract lying between the river Des Moines on the one hand, and the 
livers Jacques and Sioux on the other. But the Sioux most renowed for deeds of violence are the 
Tetons; and of these there were four tribes — the Saonies, the Minnakenozzies, the Okydandies, and 
the Bois-Brules. These last, a body of whom were now lying in wait to intercept tiie voyagers, 
were the most savage and formidable of the whole race, numbering about two hundred men, and re- 
siding on both sides of the Missouri near the rivers called by Captains Lewis and Clarke, The 
White and Teton. Just below the Chayenne river were the Okydandies, one hundred and fifty. 
The Minnackennozzies — two hundred and fifty — occupied a tract between the Chayeime and the 
Watarhoo ; and the Saonies, the largest of the Teton bands, counting as many as three hundred 
warriors, were found in the vicinity of the Warreconne, 

Besides these four divisions — the regular Sioux — there were five tribes of seceders called Assini- 
boins ; the Menatopte Assiniboins, two hundred, on Mouse river, between the Assiniboin and the 
Missouri ; the Gens de Feuilles Assiniboins, two hundred and fifty, occupying both sides of White 
river ; the Big Devils, four hundred and fifty, wandering about the heads of Porcupine and Milk 
rivers ; with two other bands whose names are not mentioned, but who roved on the Saskatcawine 
and numbered together, about seven hundred men. These seceders were often at war with the paren 
or original Sioux. 

In person, the Sioux generally are an ugly ill-made race, their limbs being much too small for the 
trunk, according to our ideas of the human form — their cheek bones are high, and their eyes protrud- 
ing and dull. The heads of the men are shaved, with the exception of a small spot on the crown, 
whence a long tuft is permitted to fall in plaits upon the shoulders ; this tuft is an object of scmpu- 
loos care, bat is now and then cut o£r, upon an occasion of grief or solemnity. A full dressed Sioux 

TOt. VI. — HO. IT. B. 



180 BURTON^S GENTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

chief presents a striking appearance. The whole surface of the hody is painted with grease and 
coal. A shirt of skins is worn as far down as the waist, while round the middle is a girdle of the 
same material, and sometimes of cloth, about an inch in width ; this supports a piece of blanket or 
fur passing between the thighs. Over the shoulders is a white-dressed buffalo mantle, the hair of 
Tvhich is worn next the skin in fair weatlier, but turned outwards in wet This robe is large enough 
to envelope the whole bodv, and is frequently ornamented with porcupine quills (which make a rat- 
tling noise as the wariior moves) as well as with a great variety of rudely painted figures, emblema- 
tical of the wearcr^s military charactei. Fastened to the top of the head is worn a hawk's feather, 
adorned with porcupine quills. Leggings of dressed antclojie skin serve the purpose of pantaloons, 
and have seams at the sides, about two inebcs wide, and bespotted here and there with small tafia 
of human hair, the trophies of some scalping excursion. The moccasins ore of elk or bufialo skin, 
the hair worn inwards ; on great occasions the chief is seen with the skin of a polecat dangling at 
the heel of each boot. The Sioux are indeed paitial to this noisome animal ; whose fur is in high 
favor for tobacco-pouches and other appendages. 

The dress of a chieftain's squaw is also remarkable. Her hair is suiTcrcd to grow long, is parted 
across the forehead, and bangs loosely behind, or is collected into a kind of net Her moccasins do 
not differ from her husband's ; but her leggings extend upwards only as far as the knee, where thej 
are met by an awkward shirt of elk-skin depending to the ancles, and supported above by a string 
jroing oi^er the shoulders. This shirt is usually confined to the waist by a girdle, and over all ia 
thrown a buffalo mantle like that of the men. The tents of the Teton Sioux are described as of neat 
construction, being formed of while-dressed buHklo hide, well secured and suppoited by poles. 

The region infested by the tribe in question extends along the banks of the Missouri for some hun- 
dred and fiAy miles or more, and is chiefly prairie land, but is occasionally diversified by hills. These 
latter are always deeply cut by gorges or ravines, which in the middle of summer are dry, bat form 
the channels of muddy and impetuous torrents daring the season of rain. Their edges are fringed 
Vfhh thick woods, as well at top, as at bottom ; but the prevalent aspect of the country is that of a 
bleak low land, with rank hetbage, and without trees. The soil is strongly impregnated with mineral 
substances in great variety — among others with glauber salts, copperas, sulphur, and alum, which 
tinge the water of the rivei and impart to it a nauseous odor and taste. The wild animals most osual 
are the buffalo, deer, elk, and antelope. We again resume the words of the Journal.] 

September 6. The countiy was open, and the day remarkably pleasant: so that we were all in 
pretty good spirits notwithstanding the expectation of attack. So far, we had not caught even a 
glimpse of an Indian, and we were making raj)id way through their dieaded territory. I was too well 
aware, however, of the savage tactics to suppose that we were not narrowly watched, and had made 
up my mind that we should hear something of the Tetonsat the first goige \\hich would afford them 
a convenient lurking-place. 

About noon a Canadian bawled out " The Sioux ! — the Sioux" — and directed attention to a long 
narrow ravine, which intersected the prairie on our left, extending from the banks of the Missouri aa 
far as the eye could reach, in a southwardly course. This gully was the bed of a creek, but its 
waters were now low, and the sides rose up like huge regular walls on each side. By the aid of a 
spy- glass I perceived at once the cause of the alarm given by the voyageur. A large party of mount- 
ed savages were coming down the gorge in Indian file, with the evident intention of taking us una- 
wares. Their calumet feathers had been the means of their detection ; fur every now and then we 
could see some of these bobbing up above the edge of the gulley, as the bed of tlie ravine forced the 
wearer to rise higher than usual. We could tell that they were on horseback by the motion of these 
feathers. The party was coming upon us with great rapidity ; and I gave the word to pull on with 
all haste so as to pass the mouth of the creek before they reached it. As soon as the Indians perceived 
by our increased speed that they were discovered, they immediately laised a yell, scrambled out of 
the gorge, and galloped down upon us, to the number of about one hundred. 

Our situation was now somewhat alaiming. At almost any otlier part of the Missouri which we 
had passed during the day, I should not have cared so much for these freebooters ; but, just here, the 
banks were remarkably steep and high, partaking of the character of the creek banks, and the savages 
were enabled to overlook us completely, while the cannon, upon which we had placed so much re- 
liance, could not be brought to bear upon them at all. What added to our difllculty was that the 
ciurent in the middle of the river was so turbulent and strong that we could make no headway against 
St except by dropping arms, and employing our whole force at the oars. The water near the northern 
shore was too shallow even for the piroque, and our only mode of proceeding, if we designed to pro- 
ceed at all, was by pushing in within a moderate stone's throw of the lefi or southern bank, where 
we were completely at the mercy of the Sioux, but where we could make good headway by means 
of our poles and the wind, aided by the eddy. Had the savages attacked us at this juncture I cannot 
see how we could have escaped them. They were all well provided with bows and arrows, and 
small round shields, presenting a very noble and picturesque appearance. Some of the chiefs had 
spears, with fanciful flags attached, and were really gallant-looking men. The portrait here annexed 
is that of the commander-inrchief of the party which now interrupted us, and was sketched by Thorn- 
Ion, at a subsequent period. 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 181 




Githei good lack opon oni own parli, or great ■tupidit; on Ihe parts of the Indians, relieved vf 
ynj uneipccledl; from Ihedilemma. The BaTageB, having galloped up to the edge of the clilTjustabovB 
oa, Mt up another yell, and comnienceil a varietj of gesiiculalions, whcwe meaning wo at once knew 
to be that nu ahould aiop and come un Bhorc. I had aipected tfaii demand, and had made ap my 
mind [hat it would b« moat prodenl lo pay no attenUon to il at nil, hut proceed on out courae. My 
lefuol to stop had at least one good cflect, for il appeared to myalify the Indiana moal wonderfully, 
nho conld not be brought lo undeiatand (he measure in (tie Icust, and Blared at us. aa we kept on 
Ool way without anawering them, in Ihe moat ludictoua amazement. Preaently they coniiaeDced 
•D agitated comersation among thcmaelTea, and at last finding that nothing could be made of ui, 
lairly turned their horaca' heads to the southward and galloped out of sight, leaviRg us aamuch nr- 
pritod as rejoiced at their departure. 

In the meanlimc we made the most of the opportunity, and pushed on with might and main, in 
order to get out of the region of sleep banks before the anticipated return of our foes. In about two 
hours we aqain saw them in the south, at a great distance, and Iheir number much augmented. They 
CBmB on at full gallop, and were Hoan at the ritcri batnutpnailion was now much more udvanlageons, 
fill the banka wereiJopinp, and there were no Ireeslo aheltorlbcBmoges from our shot. ThecuiiODt, 
moieoTcr, was not eo rapid aa before, and we wera enabled (o keep in nild-channel. The party, it 
Mums, had only retreated to procure an inlcrpreter, who now appeared upon a large gray horse, ami, 
coming into Iho riier as far as be could without swimming, cidled out lo ua in liad French lo nlop, 
■nd come on shore. To this I made one of Ihc Canadians reply that, to oblige our friends Ihe Sioui, 
wo would willingly atop, foi a short time, and converse, bat lliat it was inconvenient for ua lo coma 
on shore, as we could not do so wilhoul incommoding our i;real medicine (here tlic Canadian point- 
ed to the cannon] tcbo was anxious lo proceed on his voyage, and whom wo wereafiaid to disobey. 

At this ihey began again Iheii agitated whispciinga and gesticulations among themselves, and 
■eemed quite at a loss what to do. In the meantime the boals had been brought to anchor ID a 
bvorable position, and I was resolved lo Hgbt now, if necessary, and endeavor lo give the frebooterB 
•a WBim a reeeption as would inspire them with wholesome dread for the future. I reflected that 
il was nearly impossible to keep on emhI tei ms wilh these ^ioux, who were our enemies at heail, am; 
who could only bo rcstrjincd from pillaging and murdering ua by a conviction of our prowess. KhouIJ 
we comply with iheir present demands, go on ahoie, and even succeed in purchaung a temporary 
■aftly by concessions and donations, auch conduct would not avail us in Ihe end, and would be rath^ 
■ pallialion than a radical cure of the evil. They would be aura t.> glul Iheir vengeance sooner or 
later, and, if they suftcrcd us to go on our way now, might heteaitcr attack ua al a disadvantage, 
when it might be as much aa we could do to repel ihcm, lo say nothing of inspiring them with awe. 
Sinialed as we wera here, it was in our powor lo give Ibem a lesson they would be apt lo remember ; 
mnd we might never be in so good a situation again. Thinking thus, and all eicepl ibe Canadian* 
•gieang with me in opinion, I determined to assume a bold aland, and ralhet provoke hostilities than 
■Toid them. This was our true policy. The savages bad no fire arms which we could discover, 
except an old carabine carried by one of the chie& ; and their anows would not prove very cQeclivo 
iweapoiu when employed at so great a distance aa that now between us. In regard la their number, 
we did not care much for that. 'I'hoir position was one which would eipoae them to the full sweep 

When Jules (ihe Canadian) had finished Ma speech about incommodmg our great medicine, and 
when Ihe consoqucnl egltaiion had somewhat labaided among the aavagei, the interpreter apoka 
■gaiii and propounded three queries. He wished to know, first, whalher we had Euiy tobacco, or 
whiikey, or fire-guns — secondly, whether we did not wish Ihe aid of Ihe Sioni in rowing our large 
boat np Ihe Missouri as br aa the country of the Ricaraea, who were great fMCali— end, thicdlyf 
whether our great medicine wa* not a very large and strong green grasi-boppet. 



182 BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

To these questions, propounded with profound gravity, Jules replied, by my directions, as followg. 
First, that we had plenty of whiskey, as well as tubacco, with an inexhaustible supply of fire-guns 
and powder — but that our great medicine h(td jost told us that the Tctons were greater rascals than 
the Ricarees — that they wero our enemiea— that they had been lying in wait to intercept and kill 
us for many days past — that we must give them nothing at all, and hold no intercourse with them 
whatever ; we should therefore be «finud to give them anything, even if so disposed, for fear of the 
anger of the great medicine, who was not to be trifled with. Secondly, that, after the character 
just given the Sioux Tctons, we oould not think of employing them to row our boat — and, thirdly, 
that it was a good thing for them (th« Sioux) that our great medicine had not overheard their last 
query, respecting the *' Iai.!:;o green grasshopper;" fox, in that case, it might have gone very hard 
with them (the Sioux). Our great medicino wus anything but a large green grasshopper, and that 
they should soon see, to their cost, if they did not immediately go, the whole of them, about their 
business. 

Notwithstanding the imminent danger in which we were all placed, we could scarcely keep oar 
countenances in beholding the air of profound admiration and astonishment with which the savagei^ 
listened to these replies ; and I believe that they would have immediately dispersed, and left us to 
proceed on our voyage, had it not been for the unfortunate words in which I informed them that 
they weie greater rascals than the Ricarees. This was, apparently, an insult of the last atrocity, 
and excited them to an incontroUable degree of fury. Wo beard the words " Ricaree ! Ricaree!'' 
Tepeated, e\ery now and then, with the utn^ost emphasis and excitement; and the whole bend, as 
well as we could judge, seemed to be divided into two factions ; the one urging tho immense power 
of the great medicine, and the otlier the outrageous insult of being called greater rascals tluui the 
Ricarees. While matters btotid thus, wo retained our position in the middle of tho stream, firmly 
Tesolved to give tho villains a dose of our cannister*shct, upon the first indignity which should be 
ofiered us. 

Presently, tho interpreter on the gray horse came again into the river, and said that he believed 
we were no bettor than we :?hould be^that all the pale faces who had previously gone op the fiver 
had been friends of the Sioux, and had made them large presents — that they, the Tetons, were de- 
termined not to let us proceed another step unless we came on shore and gave up all (Nil fire-guns 
and whifJiey, with half of our tobacco— that it was plain we were allies o( the Ricarees, (who were 
now at war with tho Sioux,) and that our design was to carry them supplies, which we shonkl not 
do— lastly, that they did not think very much of our great medicine, for he had told us a lie in re- 
lation to the designs of the Tetons, and was positively nothing but a great green grasshopper, in 
spite of all that we thought to the contrary. These latter words, about the great green grasshopper, 
wero taken up bj the whole assemblage as the interpreter uttered them, and shouted out at the lop 
of the voice, that the great medicino himself might be sure to hear the taunt. At the same time, 
they all broke into wild disorder, galloping their horses furiously in short circles, using contemptu- 
ous and indecent gesticulations, brandishing their spears, and drawing their arrows to the head. 

I knew that the next thing would be an attack, and so determined to anticipate it at once, before 
any of our party were wounded by the discharge of their weapons — there was nothing to be gain- 
ed by delay, and every thing by prompt and resolute action. As Eoon as a good opportunity pre- 
sented itself, the word was given to fire, and instantly obeyed. The effect of the discharge was very 
severe, and answered all our purposes to the full. SSix of the Indians were killed, and perhaps thiee 
times as many badly wounded. he rest were thrown into tho greatest terror and confusion, and 
made off into the prairie at full spce *, as we drew up our anchors, after reloading the gun, and poll* 
'ed boldly in for the shore. By tho rne we had reached it, there was not an unwounded Teton 
within sight 

I now left John Greely, with three C nadiani^, in charge of the boats, landed with the rest of the 
men, and, approaching a savage who wa** everely but not dangerously wounded, held a conversation 
with him, by means of Jules. I told bin. ..hat the whites were well disposed to the Sioux, and to 
all the Indian nations ; that our sole object in visiting his country was to trap beaver, and see the 
beautiful region which had been given tho red men by the Great Spirit ; that when we had procored 
as many furs as we wished, and seen all we came to see, we should return homo : that we had heard 
that the Sioux, and especially the Tetons, were a quarrelsome race, and that therefore we had brought 
with us our great medicine for proteotion; that he was now much exasperated with the Tetons on 
account of their intolerable insult in calling him a green grasshopper (which he was not); that I 
had had great difficulty in restraining him from a pursuit of the warriors who had fled, and from 
sacrificing the wounde<l who now lay around us ; and that I had only succeeded in pacifying bim^ 
by becoming personally responvhle for tho future good behavior of the savages. At this poriQRIh 
of my discourse the poor fellow appeared much relieved, and extended his hand in token of amity* 
I took it, and assured him and his friends of my protection as long as we were unmolested, follow- 
ing up this promise by a present of twenty carrots of tobacco, some small hardware, beads, and led 
flannel, for himself and tho rest of the wounded. 

While all this was going on, we kept a sharp look out for the fugitive Sioux. As I concluded 
making the presents, several gangs of these were observable in the distance, and were endsntly seen 



THB JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 183 

by the disabled savage ; but I thought it best to pretend not to perceive them, and shortly afterward* 
returned to the boats. The whole interruption bad detained us full three hoars, and it was after 
three o'clock when we once more started on our route. We made extraordinary haste, as I was 
anxious to get as far as possible from the scene of action before night We had a strong wind at 
our back, and the current diminished in strength as we proceeded, owing to the widening of the 
stream. We therefore made great way, and by nine o'clock, had reached a large and thickly wood- 
ed island, near the northern bank, and close by the mouth of a creek. Here we resolved to encamp^ 
and had scarcely set foot on shore, when one of the Greelys shot and secured a fine buffalo, many 
of which were upon the place. After posting our sentries for the night, we had the hump for sup- 
per, with as much whiskey as was good for us. Our exploit of the day was then freely discussed, 
and by most of the men was treated as an excellent joke ; but I could by no means enter into any 
merriment upon the subject Human blood hud never, before this epoch, been shed at my hands; 
and althoagh reason urged that I had taken the wisest, and what would no doubt prove in the end 
the most merciful course, still conscience, refusing to hearken even to reason herself, whispered per- 
tinaciously within my ear—" it is human blood which thou hast shed.*' The hours woie away 
slowly — I found it impossible to sleep. At length the morning dawned, and with its fresh dews, its 
fresher breezes, and smiling flower<i, there came a new courage, and a bolder tone of thought, which 
enabled me to look more steadily upon what had been done, and to regard in its only proper point 
of view the urgent necessity of the deed. 

September 7. Started early, and made great way, with a strong cold wind from the east Arrived 
about noon at the upper gorge of what is called the Great Bend, a place where the river performs a 
circuit of full thirty miles, while by land the direct distance is not more than fifteen hundred yards. 
Six miles beyond this is a creek about thirty-five yards wide, coming in from the south. The coun- 
try here is of peculiar character ; on each side of the river tho shore is strewed thickly with round 
stones washed from the blufis, and presenting a remarkable appearance for miles. The channel is 
very shallow, and much interrupted with sand-bars. Cedar is here met with more frequently than 
any other species of timber, and the prairies are covered with a itiiOTkind of prickly pear, over which 
our men found it no easy matter to walk in their moccasins. 

About sunset, in endeavoring to avoid a rapid channel, we had the misfortune to run the larboard 
«do of the large boat on the edge of a sand-bar, which so heeled us over that we were very near 
getting filled with water, in spite of the greatest exertion. As it was, much damage was done la the 
loow powder, and the Indian goods were all more or less injured. As soon aa we fbond the boat 
«araeiing, we all jumped into the water, which was here up to our arm-pits, and by main force held 
the sinking side up. But we were still in a dilemma, for all our exeitions were barely sufficieiit U» 
keep from capsising, and we could not spare a man to do any thing towards pushing ofL We were 
relieved, very unexpectedly, by the sinking of the whole sand-bar from pndet the boat, just as we 
were upon the point of despair. The bed of tho river in this neighborhood is much obstructed by 
these shifting sands, which frequently change situations with great rapidity, and without apparent 
cause. The materia! of the bars is a fmu hard yellow sand, which, when dry, is of a biilliant glass* 
like appearance, and almost impalpable. 

September 8. We were still in the heart of the Teton country, and kept a sharp look-out, Biofppmg 
as seldom as possible, and then only upon the islands, which abounded with game in great vatiety— > 
bufllaloes, elk, deer, goats, black-toiled deer, and antelopes, with plover and brant of many kinds. 
The goats are uncommonly tame, and have no beard. Fish is not so abundant here as lower down 
the river. A white wolf was killed by John Greely in a ravins upon one of the smaller islands* 
Owing to tho difficult navigation, and the frequent necessity of employing the tow-line, we did not 
make great progrcEts this day. 

September 9. Weather growing sensibly colder, which made us all anxious of pushing our way 
through the Sioux country, as it would be highly dangerous to form our winter encampment in their 
▼ioinity. We aroused ourselves to exertion, aud proceeded rapidly, the Canadians singing and 
shouting as we went. Now and then we saw, in the extreme distance, a solitary Teton, but n» 
attempt was made to molest us, and we began to gather courage from this circumstance. Made 
twentf<«ight miles during the day, and encamped at night, in high glee, on a large island well stooked 
with game, and thickly covered with cotton-wood. 

[We omit the adventures of Mr. Rodman from this period until the tenth of April. By the last 
of October, nothing of importance happening in the interval, the party made their way to a small 
oreek which they designated as Otter creek, and, proceeding up this about a mile to an island well 
adapted for their purpose, built a log foit and took up their quarters for the winter. The location is 
just above the old Ricara'villages. Several parties of these Indians visited the voyagers, and belnrved 
with perfect friend liness^-they had heard of the skirmish with theTetons, the result of which hugely 
pleased them. < No farther trouble was experienced from any of the Sioux. The winter wore away 
pleasantly, and without accident of note. On the tenth of April the party resumed their voyage.] 



ADDITIONAL SKETCHES FROM 



THE LOG OF OLD IRONSIDES 



BT THE ATJTHOB 07 << OLB IB0:7SIP£S 07P ▲ XXE SHOBZ." 



Your i^lorions ttandard launch again, 
T» meet unutlier Ibe I— Camp, 



CONCLUDING CHAPTER. 

RoAMER of the stormy main — 
ScoRNER of the hurricane — 
Ruler of the ocean flood — 
Child of tempest, fire, and hlood — 
Terror of the western tides, 
Everlasting Iroi^sides — 
Listen on thy distant sea. 
Glory strikes her I^rc to thee. 

Tbs last sketch of the log of Old Ironsides is finished. It now remains for me to bring her event- 
fal hiftory down to the present hour, and then to leave her to her imperishable gloiy. Upon the 
Teturn of Mr. Livingston from France, she went out to the Mediterranean, under the command of 
Commodore Jesse D. Elliott, as the flag ship of the American squadron in that sea. In 1839, she 
returned to Norfolk, Va., where she was slightly repaired, and then sent to New York. At New 
York, she received the Minister of the United States to Mexico; and, under the command of Com- 
modore Claxton, ran down the coast to Tampico. Thence she spread her sails for the western Pa-^ 
cific, where she arrived the same season — and where her flag now floats amid the glories of the set- 
ting sun. Her commanders have been brave and lucky men. Her otlicers have been gallant spi- 
xits. Her decks have never been soiled by the foot of a conqueror — nor has her ensign-peak boen 
dishonored by an enemy's flag. Nobly has she fulfilled her yontliful promise; gallantly has she 
"withstood that flag whose meteor fold struck terror to the world. Many times has she been in the 
▼ery jaws of the enemy, and as of\en has she glided awny upon the gentle breath of the morning, 
iRrith her drums beating, her colors flying, and her cannon frowning upon the astonished foe. Her 
course has been onward — the ends of the earth have seen her — the isles of the sea have rejoiced at 
her coming, and the tyrant's minion has dipped his blood-stained flag to her as she swept along on 
her ocean path, with her old sides echoing to " the anthem of the free." 

It is with feelings of deep regret that I am compelled to bid adieu to the subject of my sketches. 
Xong and pleasantly, old ship, have we travelled along in company ; now amid the thunder of bat- 
tle, and now amid the piping of the dreadful tempest ; now hanging upon the blood-tinged wave, 
and now scudding like a flash of lightning along the breakers of a terror-spreading lee. Varied has 
l)een thy life — far and wide has spread thy fame — history delights to dwell upon thee, and memory 
lias marked thee for ever. Upon thy anchor, hope, angelic hope, makes her throne ; fleetness rides 
upon thy yard-arm ; terror perches upon thy cannon's rim, and victory flies upon thy bugle note. 

I see thee still in thy glorious beauty. I see thy star-glittering banner streaming proudly to the 
ivind of heaven. I hear the ripple singing sweetly before, and behold the dark waves closing fear- 
fully behind thee. The sea-eagle perches upon thy top-mast — the sun's last ray of crimson splen- 
dor kisses the western billow, night closes her curtains upon the ocean, and thou art hid from view.. 

Paiewell, Old Ironsides. 

JESSE ER8KINE DOW. 

IHTaihiBgtcm, March 8, 1840. 



A CRITICAL NOTICE OF THE 



PICTURE GALLERIES OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE. 



BT ▲ RECENT VISITER. 



The steps of tho young artist have chiefly been directed to the galleries of the south of Europe* 
It is in them that he has studied the works of the great masters, and gazed upon tho matchless pro* 
ductions of the Italian schools. The galleries of the North have as yet been little visited, and their 
contents aie only known to a few. Often, in his pilgrimages, must the artist have heard of the great 
works which formerly adorned the palaces of the Italian nobles, but which have long since disappear* 
ed from their walls. Want of money or want of taste has induced their owners to part with them, 
and the greater number have found their way into the hands of the potentates or nobility of tho 
North, who have thought to establish a high opinion of their judgment, and to afford a protection to 
the arts, by purchasing indiscriminately whatsoever, in the shape of a picture, has been offered in the 
market. It cannot but be expected, that among the vast quantity of trash, and the numerous col- 
lections thit have been thus transported from Italy, there should be many pictures well worthy of 
the artist's study, and of established fame. It is to be regretted, however, that many have passed into 
the possession of noblemen who do not think fit to allow them to be inspected by tho public, or into 
the hands of a monarch who affords little opportunity to the artist to study them. We should not 
recommend an artist to visit the North of Europe alone for the sake of the arts — he will find little 
encouragement or facility afforded him for eiaming or copying pictures. 

Wo propose to ofior a few remarks upon the picture galleries of Copenhagen, Stockholm, and St» 
Petersburgh, and on the state of the arts in general, in those cities. Wo will commence with Co- 
penhagen. 

The picture gallery of Copenhagen is in the attics of the Royal Palace. The visiter having'ascend- 
ed some five or six pair of dirty buck stairs, is ushered into a cold bleak suite of rooms, of decent 
size, indeed, but in the same piimitive state as they were left by the brick-layer. Not a chair, or a 
piece of furniture of any kind, except an old three legged table, on which lie some half-a-dozen dusty 
catalogues for sale, contribute to the comfort of the visiters. No doors exclude the cold-giving 
draughts which whistle through the long line of apartments. The half-painted wood, and half white- 
washed ceiling, are in perfect harmony. No pale-faced artist bends industriously over his easel un- 
disturbed and unconcerned, long accustomed to the prying curiosity of impertinent visiters. Beware 
lest your enthusiasm for the fine arU only gets repaid by a thorough good cold ! Such is tho gallery 
at Copenhagen. How different from the tribute of Florence, with its red benches and crimson cur- 
tains intercepting the strong rays of an Italian sun, and casting a mellow and agreeable light upon 
the divine works which it contains ! How different from those long corridors, tlironged with artists 
of all nations ! Having introduced our readers into the precincts of the place, we will proceed to say 
a few words on its contents. 

This gallery is chiefly celebrated for its specimens of the Dutch and Flemish masters, and contains 
but few line pictures of the Italian school. The total number of pictures in the collection is one 
thousand and fifty-two. Jonah preaching to the Ninevites, a large picture, the figures being of the 
natural size, is perhaps the most remarkable. It is the work of Salvator Rosa, and the painter re- 
ceived eight thousand ducats for it, an enormous sum even for his works. His receipt is still pr&^ 
served. The prophet stands at the gate of a temple, his hands outstretched, and his coimtenance 
full of inspiration. Several old men listen with profound attention and with feehngs variously por- 
trayed, to the words of the preacher. A mild tone of coloring, well suited to the dignity of the sub* 
ject, pervades the picture, l^hose who may be only acquainted with the gloomy forests and banditti^ 
or the solitary caverns and rocky passes of Salvator Rosa, will in this work see the wonderful power 
of the man. We shall have occasion to mention another of his productions hereafter, which will tend 
still more to illustrate the universal genius of those Italian painters, of whom Michael Angelo and 
Leonardo da Vinci were the great progenitors. A sea piece, by sun-set, of the same artbt, is another 
fine specimen of his powers. We scarcely remember any other picture in the Italian school which 
deserves any mention. The usual love of discovering illustrious names for pictures is as conspicuous 
here as in most other European galleries, and the vacred names of Leonardo, Raphael, and Corregio^ 
are very unworthily supported by some singular productions. A St, Francis, by Ribera, dispUya 
much of the great force of that master, but is not to be ranked among the best of his works. The 
Dutch and Flemish schools boast some very fine specimens, and here is the strength of the collec- 
tion. The landscapes of Albert Everdingen are particularly remarkable. Indeed we never saw a 
finer specimen of this master than his large view in Norway in this gallery. The torrent dashing 
over the rocks, the thin mist which bangs over the foaming waters, and the dark pine, are represent* 
ed with admirable skill and truth to native. The wild character of the scenes which this painter 



186 BUBTON^S GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

loved to portray, and the boldness of his subjects, have justly entitled him to the appellation of the 
^< Northern Salvator Rosa." A landscape at sun-set, with figures by John and Andrew Both, » a 
wonderful picture, and perhaps the most valuable in the collection. The sunny warmth of the ^y, 
the admirable beauty of the distances, and the elegance of the figures, rival the great works of Claude. 
This gallery possesses a pair of the innumerable portraits of Charles I. and his queen by Vandyke, 
which are not unworthy of the master. The works of Rubens here are but few. In the portrait of 
the Abb6 du Sterrens, that painter has used a bright crimson ground, an experiment which only 
such a consummate master of colors would have ventured upon. There are many othei remaikaUe 
pictures of the Dutch and Flemish schools, and amidst a considerable quantity of trash, the connoui- 
eeur will find productions woithy of better company. 

There are several apartments devoted to the works of the Danish school. Among the most ee^. 
teemed at Copenhagen are the pictuics of Balthasar Denner. This painter is chiefiy known for hie 
portraits, which are finished with a most extraordinary minuteness. He had no genius and very little 
taste. He contented himself with industriously portraying e%'ery hair of his sitter, every pore in his 
skin, and every bristle in his unshavcd beard! He may certainly on this score lay claim to a Bpedn 
oi originality ! The custode however points out his pictures as the most valuable and the nu)st 
worthy of note in the collection. This painter was bom at Hamburgh, and having attained some 
reputation for his ability in poi trait-painting in the Danish court, accepted an invitation to this 
country from George I. Here, however, be met with little success, and was compelled to re-seek his 
former patrons. His portraits at Copenhagen aie numerous. 

The interior of a sculptor's studio, painted by a young artist of the name of Bendz, is a prodae- 
tion of very singular merit. A young sculptor is modelling from a half-naked soldier, in a room 
crowded with busts and casts, over which the light is thrown from a high window with consider- 
able skill. The coloring of the picture is crude and cold, and there is much in it open to censure, 
but still the faults which are apparent would most probably have been remedied by the study of the 
works of the great masters in Italy, whither the young artist was sent by the Danish government. 
He died lately in Rome at the early age of twcnty-thiee, having displayed the most promising marks 
of genius. Among the numerous productions of Danish artists, there is scarcely one that merits a 
moment's attention. The subjects arc chiefly domestic and ill conceived, and worse executed. It 
is singular that tlicro are several pictures in the gallery, representing both bombardments and the 
capture of the city by the English. 

Denmark can boast of having pioduccd the most eminent sculptor of the present day. When 
Canova closed his brilliant career, Thorwaldsen, as if by the unanimous voice of Europe, took his 
high position in the arts, and established his claim to the first place among living sculptors. It is 
not to be wondered that his native place contains many of his works. Among the most remarkable 
are his Saviour and twelve Apostles, which adorn a new church in Copenhagen. These statues 
were sculptured in Italy, and are not as yet all placed, the plaster casts occupying their pedestals. 
The Saviour stands over the communion table ; his face is inclined downwards, and his hands raised 
in the act of benediction. The figure is noble and dignified, and the drapery arranged with great 
skilL A group — St. John preaching in the wilderness — adorns the pediment of the same church, 
and is of great beauty, but too much elevated to insure its full effect. We saw it before it occupied 
its present position, and to much greater advantage. The ba?si relievi on the great staircase of the 
palace are too well known to require description ; they arc engraved and have met with a just repu- 
tstion. The studio of this artist contains also many admirable works. 

A school of painting and sculpture has long been established at Copenhagen, of which Thorwald- 
sen is now the director. Daily instruction is here given to students, who meet generally of an evening, 
and have drawings and casts of the most celebrated statues provided for them. The children of the 
lower orders, and those who during the day have other occupations, and do not intend to study the 
arts as a profession, are allowed to attend gratis, and the school boasts a large number of pupils. 
£very encouragement is thus afforded, and if a student shows a remarkable proficiency, he is sent to 
Rome to pursue his studies. Still as yet the Danish school can boast of no eminent name. It is to 
be hoped that, under the direction of Thorwaldsen, it will do better things. This eminent man is 
now descending fast into the vale of years, and has returned to his country that his bones may be 
aid amongst those of his fathers. The enthusiasm with which he was received by his countrymen 
may well be excused. How much more honorable is this tribute to genius than the noisy acclama- 
tions which too frequently greet a high-sounding title ! 

Of the public monuments of Copenhagen we can say little in praise. 

T\ve royal gallery of Stockholm is, like that of Copenhagen, within the palace walls. It l)oasts, 
however, a more comely appearanco, but there is still the same want of students ; and the arrange- 
ment of the pictures and sculptures show a lamentable want of good taste, and no great knowledge 
of the arts. Two rooms of moderate size are devoted to the pictures, and are capable of holding 
about half the collection, the remainder being sent to seek their fortunes in a small dark winding 
staircase. The collection is not very extensive, containing, we should imagine, between four and 
Bre hundred pictures. It cannot be expected that any order or regularity should be observed in their 
ition. Italian, Dutch, Swedish, ancient and modem, are jumbled together with wondroiu con* 



PICTURE gallerie[s. 187 

fuiion. There are few works of merit. A beggar-boy, attributed to Morillo, which is a dapljcate, 
or we ihoold rather say a copy» of that in the Dalwich gallery, stands too high to admit of minute 
examination; it appears, however, crude and ill finished, and we may be allowed to question its 
originality. A large scriptural subject, the Crown of Thorns, by Ribera, is a remarkable picture, and 
a fine specimen of the master ; two small cabinet pictures by Teniers and Bega, and three hunting 
pieces by Snyders, are the only other pictures which require notice. 

This collection possesses few pictures of the Swedish school, and those few aie of very little merit. 
As fiir as we are able to judge, painting is now at a low ebb in Sweden. Of sculpture we can speak 
more satlsfactoiily. The sculpture gallery is well calculated for the purpose, but the objects which 
it contains are arranged without any reference to date or taste, a mere outward appearance of rega- 
larity being apparently aimed at ; antique and modem, sacred and profane, being mixed together 
without any distinction, plainly showing, that the learned gentleman who is the director and has the 
arrangement of the gallery, although endowed with a considerable degree of voluble civility, has little 
true feeling for the fine arts. There are, however, in this portion of the royal gallery many objects 
of great value. The most celebrated is the Endymion, from the Adrian VHla, purchased by Gusta- 
vus III., for the enormous sum of twelve thousand ducats. It is unquestionably one of tiie finest 
specimens of the antique in existence, and Stockholm is happy in its possession ; but we fear that it 
is kept too closely under lock and key to be of any use to younj; artists. There are also numerous 
vases, architectural and sepulchral ornaments, and busts, Greek and Roman, of considerable beauty. 
The most remarkable part of the collection to a foreigner are the werks of Sergei. Although this 
sculptor is little known beyond the city where his chief works exist, yet he well merits the high 
rank which has been assigned to him by many travellers. Some pronounce hira superior to Thor- 
waldscn, and the rival of Canova. Without fully acceding to this opinion, we may venture to affirm, 
that there are few of the works of Thorwaldsen which are superior to the best of Sergei. Of his 
works, the Cupid and Psyche in the royal gallery is considered the best: we do not, however, assign 
it the first place. Some parts of the group arc of extreme elegance, but we do not think the execu- 
tion altogether equal to the conception. Psyche has disobeyed the injunction of the god, who is 
about to wing his way from the caith ; she, half-stretched upon the ground, struggles to retain him, 
whilst he disenga^^es her clasped hand, his countenance betraying the mingled feeling of tenderness 
and duty. In many parts of the group the execution is coarse, and particularly in the body and 
neck of the Psyche, which is altogether inferior to the other figure. A Faun in the same collection, 
by the same artist, is an admirable woik, ^^nd fully establishes his character as a great sculptor, his 
profound knowledge of the human frame, ami his careful study of the antique ; but it is in the public 
monuments of Stockholm that Sergei is particularly remarkable ; of these the statue of Gustavus 
Eric is, to OUT taste, the finest. The monarch is leaving the senate-house, opposite which the statue 
is erected. He is supposed to be icturiiing from the first assembly of the body which he called to- 
gether ; the attitude is commanding and majestic ; and tbeio is a striking simplicity in the arrange- 
ment of the drapery. The metal is peculiarly fine. That of Gustavus III., also in bronze, stands at 
the edge of the noble sheet of water, v\hich washes the stairs of the Royal Palace. The situation is 
admirably chosen; and the statue of great beauty. We scarcely remember to have seen a city where 
the monuments are in better taste and better executed than at Stockholm. 

The royal apartments in the palace, viz. those of the queen, the prince royal, and the princess, aie 
each in possession of a small collection of pictures. Those belonging to the queen are the best, and 
among them arc a few good specimens of the Dutch school. In the other apartments, a large land- 
scape, by Domenichino, is the only remarkable picture ; the rooms being crammed with those orna- 
ments which generally decorate the rooms of a palace, and malachite tables and vases of porcelain, 
remarkable for their size and beauty, mostly presents from the Russian autocrat — for such baubles 
have the rights of man been bought and sold in the North ! A statue of Hero, in the apartments of 
the Crown Prince, by Bijstrom, is of great beauty. This sculptor, who was a pupil of Sergei, enjoys 
a veiy great reputation at this time in Sweden, and he well descr\'e8 his fame. Among the most re- 
markable of his works, we may mention his Hebe and his Hope, both of which are in his studio at 
Stockholm. His draperies are elegant and classic, and bis works testify his study of the antique. 
He has less affectation than Sorgel, but, at the same time, less imagination. 

The present state of painting in Sweden, is, as far as we are able to venture an opinion, not Tery 
satisfactory. The encouragement afforded to this art cannot be very great, for few can afibrd to pur- 
chase pictures. Those which are to bo found in the royal gallery do not convey the most favorable 
impression of the present state of the art Tlie walls of the chapel, in which He the ashes of the 
illustrious Gustavus Vasa, in the cathedral of Upsala, have lately been adorned with a series of 
pictures, illustrative of the most remarkable events of his life. The work was entrusted by govern- 
ment to oue Sandberg, and it is ill conceived and ill executed, the whole thing literally drowned in 
an ocean of sky-blue and gold. It conveys altogether but a poor impression of the state of painting. 
Sculpture seems to meet with mere encouragement. A Pantheon is about to be erected by the king, 
for the reception of the statues of the Swedish monarchs, and the most celebrated of her heroes. 
Colossal statues of Charles the Xth, Xlth, Xllth, and Xlllth, and GKistavus Vasa, have already been 
completed, and «nth the exception of that of Charles the Xlllth, are the work of Bijstrom. That of 

vol. IT. — HO. T. H 2 



188 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

Charles the Xlllth is by one Fogelberg, a young man who gained a great reputation in Sweden hy 
liis Odin, a colossal statue of considerable merit He is now in Italy. Other statues are ordered of' 
Bijstrom, Fogclbcrg, and Lundberg, the pupil of the former. Such men as Sergei and Bystrom miy 
contribute to form a good school of sculpture in Sweden. 

How diffeient from tbe galleries of Copenhagen and Stockholm, in the Hermitage of St. Peters- 
burg ! The imperial and the despotic pervades oven the temple of the arts ! The visiter — ^for, alas f 
-we fear the student is not a frequenter of those gilded rooms — is ushered into a vast suite of apart- 
ments, blazing with the riches of the East and of the West. The malachite of Siberia, the gold of 
the Ural, and the silks of China surround him, and detach his attention from the real riches of the 
place. A spruce servant, squeezed into tlic imperial livery, and tingling with lace, follows his foot- 
steps, and keeps his aniious eye upon every movement, lest he should chance to mistake one of the 
imperial snuff-boxes for his own — and then bows him out, making a considerable demand upon his 
pocket The plebeian frock-coat is not admitted within these sacred walls. Tbe rooms are choked 
with ornaments. We cannot enjoy pictures, when, in moving backwards or sideways, in some sli^t 
degree of forgetfulness, and with some little enthusiasm, we run the very probable chance of [xitching 
over a vase of jasper, or floundering in a bed of crockery. This excess of magnificence, too, detracts 
from the real object of your visit. V you chance to go with a native — we speak from experience— 
you will find that he cares nothing about pictures, and insists upon dragging you by the button-hole 
to see a present from the Sultan or the Schah — a snuff-box or a pipe that you ought heartily to wish, 
at the bottom of the Neva, which rolls beneath the window. We would rather wander in the stem 
nakedness of Copenhagen, than amongst these prodigal appendages of royalty. In the Hermitage^ 
the ornaments are the primary object — the pictures a secondary one. There are, however, in this 
collection, pictures of extraordinary merit, and such as have obtained a long- established European 
celebrity. The Houghton, Malmaison, Crozat, Giustiniani, and other renowned galleries, have con- 
tributed to form it ; and the numerous agents and emissaries of Russia, have considered it a point o£ 
national honor to lay their hands upon every picture that could be obtained. It was in this mode 
that the justly celebrated Houghton collection left England, to the eternal disgrace of all those who 
pretended to patronize the aits in that country. It is in this mode that some of the best pictures are 
daily passing into the hands of the Emperor. 

The rooms of the Hermitage arc in general of considerable size ; but the light is almost universally 
bad. There is no catalogue of the pictures ; and the visiter is left to himself to discover those which, 
are most worthy of notice. 

It would much exceed our limits to give a detailed account of tho pictures of the Hermitage; and 
we must only make a few general remarks. 

The gallery possesses one or two fmc Raphaels ; especially a Holy Family^, lately purchased for 
the enormous sum of one hundred and twenty thousand roubles: there are many pictures atuributed 
to the master, but notorious impositions. Of Michael Angclo, it only possesses one spedmen — a Crany- 
jnede — and the picture is not very authentic. A Holy Family of Leonardo da Vinci, is a fine picture; 
and, wc believe, an original. It contains four figures. The infant is on the knees of the mother, 
and struggles to uncover her breast ; to the right and left are figures of St Joseph and St Catherine. 
Of the works of Titian, the Hermitage contains no good specimen. Of Salvator Rosa, it possesses 
one of the finest {)ictures with which wc are acquainted — " The Prodigal Son !" There is one 
£gure alone in tho picture — that of the youth who is kneeling among his cattle. The feelings of grief 
and despair arc admirably portrayed in his uplifted countenance ; and his hands are stretched towards 
heaven in the greatness of his misery. The story is told in the most masterly manner ; and the tone 
of coloring well adapted to the subject. It fully proves that this great painter had genius enough to 
have placed him in the first place of the highest branch of the art " The Prodigal Son," and " Jos- 
nah Preaching to the Ninevites at Copenhagen," are two of the most remarkable pictures in the 
^orth. This wonderful work was originally in the Houghton collection. There are one or two 
more pictures by the same master in the Hermitage. " The Consultation of the Sages upon the Im- 
maculate Conception," by Guide, is a well-known picture, and has been engraved. It is one of the 
finest in existence of the master. The pictures we have mentioned, are the best in the Italian school. 
In the works of the Dutch nnd Flemish masters, the Hermitage is exceedingly rich. Three rooms 
are filled with Rubens and Vandykes alone; and there is, perhaps, no finer collection of the works 
of Rubens in Europe. The works of Rembrandt are exceedingly numerous, and in the best preser- 
vation. Of this master, there are thirty-nine pictures in one room, and many may be placed amongst 
his finest productions. Another room contains above forty pictures of Teniers, and some admirable 
specimens. In an adjoining apartment are hung fifty-four by Wouvermans, amongst which may be 
found some of the finest efforU of his pencil. " The Flight into Egypt," cf Berghem, is a fine picture^ 
The Paul Potters are numerous — that from the Malmaison collection is the most celebrated. 

There are many works of the French school ; a few fine Poussins, but no remarkable Claudes. - 

Of the English school we believe Sir Joshua Reynold's ** Infant Hereules" h the only specimen. 
It is to be regretted that, in this picture, a confusion of allegorical figures, which crowd and distract 
the attention from the principal object, have to a great degree destroyed the efifect which the wonder- 
ful conception of the child is otherwise calculated to produce. If the child had been there alone,. 



STANZAS. 189 

grappling with these slimy monsters with no help at hand, how much more forcihiy would his posi- 
tion have appealed to our feelings ! 

The Spanish school contains some fine pictures ; they are chiefly from the collection of Hope of 
Amsterdam. 

The collection of the Hermitage being closed, except to thoao who obtain an order from the direc^ 
tor, is, wo fear, of little real service to artists. We believe that there is ruiely such a thing known 09 
a student being allowed to copy any of its treasures. Sometimes, indeed, a fine picture is taken 
down, but only for the purpose of being sent tp the GtibeUns, where it remains some years subject to 
the degrading process of being copied in needle-work for the ornament of the imperial palace, or as a 
present to conciliate some foreign potentate. Such a vast and magnificent gallery cannot, therefore, 
contribute much towards forming a school of Russian art. The great and only use of a national 
gallery is, that the artist and the public should always have access to those productions, which are 
universally admitted to be standards of taste. And most monarchs in Europe, who had spent a great 
part of the revenue which they receive from their people in collecting pictures, have thrown their 
galleries open to the public, and permit young artists to study in them. But in Russia it is less the 
love of art that induces the collector to purchase, than the love of ostentation. The pictures which 
exist in St. Petersburg are of very little service towards forming the taste of Russian artists ; ft> v| 
this may be seen by an inspection of their works existing in the Hermitage, of which there is scarce^ 
ly one that could attract our attention. Except Bruloii^ there is no Russian artist of any celebrity in 
8t Petersburg. Alexander was compelled to have recourse to an Englishman to paint the portraits 
of his generals in the campaign of 1814. Mr. Dawes receiveil fifty pounds a-head for as many of 
them as could be piocured to sit ; and by this employment and the patronage of the emperoi in other 
respects, he was able to save a very considerable fortune. There is scarcely a house of any note ia 
St. Peterburgh which does not possess one of his portraits. The merits of Dawes as a portrait-painter 
are generally acknowledged. His likenesses arc good and much esteemed in Russia. The chier 
])ortrait-paiter now living at St. Petersburg is an Englishman of the name of Wright ; his nliilitipff^ 
are respectable. 

There is an academy of painting in this city ; the rooms, which are frequented by the studeMtff 
possess very bad copies of good pictures, which we should imagine are of little advantage to them» 
It has yet produced no artist of any merit, although honors and rewards are distributed very Uberallj 
and with due solemnity. 

Of the public statues in St Petersburgh the most celebrated is that of Peter the Great, the work of 
Falconet, a Frenchman. It is too well known to require any description, it well merits its high nv 
putation. Those which have been since erected display that vanity and bad taste for which tho 
Russians are peculiarly distinguished. That of Souvorof is ill executed and ill conceived. Thi» 
general is in the dress of a Roman warrior; bis right hand wields a drawn sword, in his left beholds 
a shield, behind which are the pontifical tiara and the crowns of Naples and Sardinia. Those of 
Kutusofifand Barclay de Tolly represent those generals trampling on the banners and eagles of France* 

The paintings which adorn the churches are generally bad copies of celebrated pictures. Those 
which represent the Virgin, or the saints, are covered with silver, except the face, feet and hands. 

Many of the nobility have extensive collections of pictures, to which, generally speaking, access; 
may be gained by foreigners. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

The owFs watch is set on the old abbey wall. 

The sea-gull has flown to her nest, 

The pale moon has risen, and day*8 gulden orb 

Has sunk in the lap of the west. 

Then haste, man the boat with hearts stout and true. 

The bravest and best of our band, 

'Ere another night close, far away from our foes, 

We will sleep in a stranger land. 

There are none led behind who a tear would let fall 

For our fates whatso^er they may be, 

Each no longer a slave, on shore or the wave. 

Shall still lead the life of the free. 

And when at the board with joy we meet. 

Our cups to this toast we'll drain, 

" That dear spot of earth, in the land of our birth. 

The home we shall ne*er gee again." 



THE HOLLENTHAL. 

A TALE OF SUABIA. 

BT WILLIAM X. B U R T O IT , PBILA. 



" I WOULD not give a glass of soar beer for all your stale traditions of the Hartz mountaiiMy" 
claimed a dark hook-nosed student seated in the farthest comer of the room. « I have a poor Ofiauaa 
of your Prussian monster — your spectre of the Brocken. He is a sulky spirit, and but seldom 
his cloudy form. The Devil's Pulpit ! the Witches' Altar ! Walpurgis Eve ! — or Devil's 
Une taking names, do doubt; they have enticed many a credulous traveller to the inhospitable 
of the Hartz, to send him back again grumbling at being swindled into visiting a series of moli 
hills dignified by the name of mountains, remarkable fot nothing but bad roads, in&moas fin^ 
charcoal burners, miners, and roguish Itrndlords." 

** Goethe thought something of the Haitz," said a young burach, with his mouth full of Gottingcn 
sausage ;* " for ho has immortalised the passage of the Brocken." 

« Goethe's talents could have immortalised any place, young sausage munchcr/' said the daik 
student. ** Goethe seized upon a popular superstition, the Walpurgis Eve, and he carried his beio 
through the common and generally received account of the horrors of that sight, embellished bj his 
own illimitable fancy ; I am not speaking of fiction — I am speaking of the natural fact; there is no- 
thing in the Hartz to excite the mind of the visiter, or produce more than a slight feeling of mystary 
and fear. The fancied horrors of the Walpurgis Eve become a farce when we look at the commoa 
place character of the scenery selected as the locale of the Devil's Sabbath, or rather for his annual 
worship by the millions of his followers, the vermin of our mother earth. There is not a hill side 
in my own Carpathia that does not ofler a more romantic and befitting scene for infernal wonhip 
than the most gloomy dell in the whole range of the Hartz." 

" Right, worthy Transylvanian ; your country is the most devilish of the two." 

" In its appearance and fitness for magic spells and diabolical incantations, I mean, sir caviller. 
Our mountains boast an attitude exceeding eight thousand feet; the platform of the Brocken does 
not exceed three thousand, I believe. We boast aUo" — 

" You do ; and you have some reason as regards the gipsies of your native land, who hover on 
the borders of civilization from the shores of the Black Sea to the head waters of the Vistula. They 
swarm in the recedes of your boasted mountains — we never see more than a stray specimen or so here." 

The black student was silent for the rest of the night. 

** Has any of the Inirschcn present ever passed through the Valley of Helll" uttered a burly quick- 
speaking voice from behind a dense cloud of tobacco smoke, in the right hand comer of the room, 
adjoining the fiie. 

** Not yet," was the answer of the gipsey's adversary. 

" You mean the Hullenthal, between the Schwaizwarld of Baden and tlie placid waters of the 
Ilhine," said another. <* I have made my way along its paths, and can speak as to the exoeilence 
of the wooden clocks made there, and of ugliness of the women. Not a glimpse of female beauty is 
to be obtained in the travel of the whole of that wheel-cobbling circle of Suabia." 

" But how did you pass the Hollenthall as the plodding Englishman tiavels, boxed up in the 
Fahr-post or EiUvagcn, as if resolved not to see the beauties of the country he has travell^ far to 
inspect? or as the hasty Ameiican rides, from post to post, with horse-killing expedition and despatch ? 
or as the frivolous Frcnchmant ravels, busied in idle chat and senseless mummery ! Did you take 
your knapsack on your back, your ziegenhein^ in hand, and the short rifle of the hunter on yonr 
shoulder ? Did you pursue the cow-path along the flat banks of the Rhine, or the still more insipid 
route of the general tourist by the wagon road ? or did you strike boldly into the depths of the 
HoUenthal, among the spurs of the mountains and the sombre dells and the eternal pines of the 
Black Forest ! did you dare to scale the heights of the Fcldberg, or were yon content to wander 
among the water courses of the Mourgthal ? I have made myself familiar with every granite plateau 
of the mountains, and every glade and streamlet of the woods. I can recount the history of each 
crag-built tunct, and the legends of the gloomy hollows in the pass of ^^H*'' 

" How came you by this local knowledge, bursch V 

« I first drew breath at Hirschsprung, the centre of the HoUenthal ; my father was the principal 
guide to Moreau in his famous retreat through this romantic Talley ; and the glory achieved by my 
patent in that enterprise determined mo to make myself acquainted with the intricacies of this 
wondrous valley from Freyburg to Steig. A thousand rills wadi the roots of the pines growing lA 
the Schwarzwald or Black Forest of Baden, and many mighty river? hate their sources in its hill 

* How is it that university towns in Europe are generally famous for the excellence of their 
sausages ? Gottingen, Jena, Oxford, Cambridge, and Bologna attest the truth of the remark. 

f A travelling staflf in general use anumg the GermaDi students, so named from the place wheie 
Ihey are made« 



THE HOLLBNTHAL. 191 

•ides — ^but I know them all, and can point out tlie destination of the bubbling spring, and tell aa I 
straddle its basin, whether its waters aie to glide among the vineyards of the Rheingau, and be 
eventually lost in the mighty rush of the German ocean, or whether it is to swell the " dark rolling 
Danube," and run a course of nearly two thousand miles before it laves the shores of the Crimea or 
receives the sack-bound victims of the Turk." 

** Well said, bursch. I knew not that you were so learned in the ways of water and water courses. 
Come, let us replenish our schnapps and kirschwasser, and do you tell us one of those same legends 
of the Hollenthal, or Valley of UclL" 

** Aye, but you must not suppose that our valley presents nothing but gloomy pictures — ^we have 
sunny landscapes and golden vales, and forest lakes of most surpassing beauty ; it is in the abrupt 
and tangled mysteries of our dark forest glades, in the forbidding horror of the overhanging masses 
of stone that suddenly choke the pass and seem to bar the traveller's way with insurmountable diffi- 
culties — in the uneaithly whistling of the pine tops in the mountain blast — in the strange entwinin|^ 
of their snake-like branches and the crawling of their yellow roots upon the surface of the rockj 
soil — in the multiplicity of daik and creeping streams that seem to double round the traveller's path 
in endless coil — in the frequency of wooden crosses erected by the path side to denote the execution 
of a murderer or the death of some luckless wayfarer — in the numerous donjons and turrets that 
bristle on t^ie trackless crags, with each its tale of deadly crime in days gone by. I remember me of 
one of these same turrets which bears the name of *■ The Raven's Tower.' It stands on an isolated 
rock in the most inaccessible gorge of the mountain, and sunounded by scenery of the most dismal 
nature in the Hullenlhai. The small thai or valley beneath the tower is devoid of the usual vegeta- 
tion ; a granite rift or gully tells of a distant earthquake ; and a spur of the Feldberg terminates in 
an extinct volcano, scarcely a hundred toiscs from the turreted crag. Yet we are told that it has been 
inhabited, and the size of the towcr^ and the roodcss quadrangle at its foot, are evidences of the truth 
of the report. 

<' It is most likely that the tower was erected, in cornmon with other donjons and towers in the 
Hullenthal, somewhere about the middle of the seventeenth century, when the Swiss had established 
their independence by tlie treaty of Vl'estphalia. afU:r three hundred years hard fighting against the 
powers of Austria and France. Many of the soldiers of fortune and the disbanded captains who had 
been battling under the banners of the above nations, passed through Suabia in their way from the 
mountains of Helvetia, and as inclination prompted, built their doujons near certain passes, and made 
the adventurous traveller and the neighboring farmer pay toll and ly the. Some of our noblest fami- 
lies can trace their origin to no higher source, without the aid of fictitious gencalogic and lying scrolls 
and tales of dead men's deedd. It is said, and the peasants hand these tales down from generation to 
generation with unaltered diction and amount of fact, that one of these freebooter heroes, with some 
half dozen of his men at arms, resolved to fortify the isolated crag as described above, and compelled 
the peasants to work in the'u- behalf. The chief is said to have been a i)roud and cruel lord, fierce 
in his anger and unforgiving in his revenge. After a few years' residence, some of his companions 
died, and others left him for a more congenial land, so that he remained with but one stem and 
hard old man, in possession of the ill-gotten chaussee-gcli which had accumulated in many years of 
rapine. At last, the Graf Yor^ede, for such was the name of the chief, who had fought long in the 
ranks of the Landwehr,* was appointed by the emperor to a margraviate on the banks of the Inn. 
He hastened, with his ancient companion in arms, to secure the reward of his services, and the in- 
habitants of the Schwarswald were glad at his departure. 

<* But he was not long away ; the shadow of the tall donjon had scarcely dialled its annual round 
when the dark valley was again the abode of the Mark Graf, who brought with him a fair haired 
damsel, of tender age and most exceeding beauty. A grisly dame supplied the place of the old soldier, 
who had been led in charge of the duties of the Mark ; to her care, the young girl was especially con- 
fided, during the hunting excursions of Vorsfiede. In her little rambles on the hill side or by the 
meandcrings of the forest stream, the old crone still kept a watchful eye upon the young prisoner, as 
if she feared that the foul fiend would spirit her away. And whispered reasons were given by the 
simple foresters for this especial watchfulness and care ; it was said that the Mark Graf had stolen 
the girl from her home in the fastnesses of the Bohmer-wald; and fearing the interference of her friends, 
had conveyed her to his donjon in the Hollenthal till the fierceness of the pursuit were over, or the 
young girl had learned to lovo her rude betrayer. 

** It was said also that she had left in her native valUes a young hunter on whom she had bestow- 
ed her heart ; that in her abduction, she had shrieked to him for assistance, and that Vorsfiede had 
left orders with the old soldier to watch for the passage of the youngster if he should attempt to cress 
the Mark in her pursuit ; and the old crond muttered in her gossipings that there was little doubt bat 
that the hunter would bo well cared for. 

^ That the lady pined for her liberty, or her lover, was evident to the few inhabitants who resided 
in the dreary neigldx>rhood of the tunet She strolled sadly along in her daily walks, followed close- 
ly by the old woman, to whom she never condescended to speak, although her silver- toned voice was 

*' Meaning literally. The Defiutce of the Country ; a tume applied to the National Guard or Militin. 
<kf Garmany. 



192 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

freely used in colloquy with the wives and daughters of the humble neighbors, among whom she be^ 
came exceedingly populai ; and more than one of the rough sons of Suabia declared their readiness 
to assist the lady in her sad distress, but that they dared not brave the vengeance of the Mark. 

" In spite of the old crone's vigilance, the lady obtained several interviews with a young man, of 
fair stature, who came in secret to the HOllcnthal, and lemaincd perdue in the hut of a certain wood-<» 
man. His wife entertained the old guardian in the front chamber while the lady stepped into the 
small back room, to hold converse with the stianger, under pretence of comforting a sick child. Her 
flight from the donjon was arranged ; a stout forest nag was concealed within a short distance, and 
the young man was directed to pass to the West, till he struck the Kheinstrassc, when he was re- 
quired to push for the French frontier, where ho might defy pursuit. The next day, the Graf went 
forth to hunt at early dawn ; the lady left her couch, and despite the cries of the enraged beldame, 
mounted behind the young man, who pushed his willing steed to the appointed pass. It is not known 
where they crossed the path of the Graf, but an hour had scarcely elapsed ere the woodman, as he 
went to the exercise of his craft, met the ferocious chief, leading the horse of the runaways, with the 
bodies of the lady and her lover flung across the animal's back. 

« Yorsflede must have suspected the woodman's agency, for he threatened the man, as he passed^ 
with such direful vengeance, that the forester hastened home, and packing up a few necessaries, started 
with his fumily for the residence of a friend who resided higher up the HuHenthal. The remidning 
half dozen of the peasants that dwelt near the Graf's donjon, alsa left their huts till the dreaded fory 
of the chief should have passed away. 

" Three weeks elapsed ere the woodman had courage to venture in the fearful vicinity of the tm*' 
leted crag. He vvas surpiised at the countless flight of ravens that hovered around the donjon's top, 
yet seemed as if they feared to light. The lower gate of the path from the thai to the crag was 
fastened, and the door of the dwelling beside the turret was newly barred on the outside. It was 
evident that the Graf and his companion hag liad left the place, yet the woodman had not the heart 
to essay an entrance till he had summoned his comrades to his assistance. Afler some delay passed 
in useless but cautious knocking at the portal, the foresters broke open the well-fastened door, and 
hastened, with a divining fear, to search the turret from its cave-like cellar to the battlemented top. 
A sight of horror excelling aught that the records of diabolical malignity can produce, met their as- 
tonished sight. The girl was there — alive — a mouthing, jibbering, maniac. When the brutal Graf 
encountered the fugitives in the forest, the young man jumped from the horse, and with drawn sword, 
dared him to the fight. Vorsflcde intimated a desire to parley, and, professing unbounded love for 
the lady and respect for her protector, gradually drew near to the unsuspecting pair, till, watching 
his opportunity, he knocked the lady from her seat by a stunning blow with his leffc arm, and as the 
young man started forward to catch her, the Graf ran him through the body with his hunting sword. 
Upon tlieir arrival at the donjon, the lady recovered from her swoon ; she was taken to the top of 
the turret, and chained alive to the dead body of the youth, by the Graf himself — the man who had 
sworn to her so many oaths of never-ending love and adoration. The corpse was fastened to a grating 
fixed in the stone flooring of the turret's roof; escape was impossible, even if she had wished to court 
an instant death by precipitating herself, with her offensive burden, from the battlements to the 
locks beneath. The Graf was insensible to her prayers — her shrieks for pity ; the ruffian who had 
lobbed her of her virtue and professed to live but in her smile, heard her agonized supplications with 
a sneer, and left her to a slow and dreadful death. He hastened from the tower, taking with him 
the old crone, and, fastening the entrance, fled from the Hollenthal with a savage determination of 
completing his revenge. 

" Who can describe the anguish of the young girl when left enchained to the bleeding form of him 
who had lost his life in her defence 1 — lefl too, without a hope of rescue, but in a death of most 
appalling shape. The heats of the meridian sun and the damp dews of night, which fell alike on her 
unprotected head, were as naught to the fearful companionship forced upon this gentle creature, in 
the drear gorges of the savage mountain and the black and endless woods. It were vain to attempt 
a relation of her sufferings from hunger, and its fearful attendant, thirst The dullest imagination can 
conceive the horrors of her gradual decay — till reason fled from its oppressed abode, and then — ^in 
savage obedience to the ungovernable craving, she fastened her teeth in the neck of the half-putrnl 
corse beside her, and glutted her insane appetite with the flesh of him she loved. The ravens, smell- 
ing carrion, had poised with greedy beaks above her head ; her last remaining strength was used to 
keep the foul creatures from her food. With blood-stained mouth and ghastly smile that told the 
vacant mind, she welcomed the foresters to the groaning tables and well spread feast made by her 
parents to honor her return. The exertion broke the over-strained strings of her heart— she di^ ere 
they could remove her from the turret's loof. 

*' The woodmen examined the papers found on the body of the young m^^n, hoping to meet with 
a reference to his home — they found it not — ^but a letter was discovered in the dress of the girl that 
showed how futile was the jealousy of the Graf, how needless his revenge. The young man was the 
lady's only brother! 

** Vorsflcdo was never heard of more. His donjon has never again been tenanted ; indeed, such is 
the horror of its blood-stained walls, that few persons have ever been hardy enough, even in the 
broadest daylight, to explore the recesses of thi aayss 's towsb." 



A CHAPTER ON SCIENCE AND ART. 



CoiTJXCTTRAL DiBCOTXBT 07 A New PLAHZT.^>By xneans of glasses just invented by counl 
Decuppis, an obseiver is enabled to look at the sun without any inconvenience from its rays— tbo 
disc appears of a perfect whiteness, and all the firroamental objects have an equal distinctness. By 
the aid of his new glass, the count lately observed on the face of the sun a small black spot, an- 
tirely free from penumbia, ahd of perfectly spherical form, which bad advanced upon the disc, de- 
scribing an arc of about seven minutes. Repeated observations convinced him that it had, in tho 
meantime, advanced towards the sun's limb, as much as two minutes and thirty seconds. Presently 
it disappeared. All astronomers will agree in supposing the object a small planet, hitherto undis- 
covered, and passing over the sun's disc at the period of survey. Its perfectly round figure, its 
blackness, the smallness of its diameter, its motion, and the absence of penumbra fully warrant tbo 
conjecture. The event is one of the highest importance in an astronomical, or indeed in any point 
of view. A twelAh world has been added to our system. It will no doubt receive the name of its 
discoverer, Decuppis. 

The Rotal George. — The submarine operations in respect to this ship have been unsatisfactoiy 
but full of interest. Col. Pasley has concluded his labors for the present, but will resume them 
about the first of June. The wreck is said to be enveloped in total darkness, and completely im- 
bedded in mud. Some means may perhaps bo suggested by which light can be diffused below. 
Lanterns have been tried, to no purpose. The divers assert that even on the brightest days of sum- 
mer, when the sea is perfectly calm, they can scarcely see an inch before them. During the expe*- 
liments, 12,940 pounds of powder have been consumed. More than one hundred tons of the wreck 
have been recovered, imd placed in the dock-yard at Portsmouth, with five brass and six iron guns; 
and all expenses have been more than paid by the value of the articles recovered. The advantaga 
to the anchorage is beyond calculation. 

'• The Ptramibs. — A discovery has been made, in the neighborhood of these monuments, of a great 
number of apartments and cavities communicating with each other ; also, at a distance of many 
miles in the desert, of the foundations of decayed pyramids, whose very granite blocks arc dissolved 
to dust. Who shall tell the vast antiquity of these remains? The pyran^ids which stand firm 
to-day about Cairo are universally admitted to be four or five thousand years old. There must be 
something wrong yet about our chronology. 



SnreuLAR Scts:ttipic Error. — In the infancy of rail-road speculation, the engineers resorteil 
to a thousand laborious contrivances with a view of overcoming nn obstacle which had no real ex- 
istence. It was assumed that the adhesion of the smooth wheels of the carriage upon the equally 
smooth iron-rail must necessarily be so slight, that if it should be attempted to drag any considera- 
ble weight, the wheels would only be whirled round, while the carriages would not advance. A 
patent for an invention to remedy this fancied inconvenience was actually taken out by Mr. Blcnr 
kinsop, in 1811. 



Improvements is the DAcrxRREOTTPE. — Numerous improvements have been lately made ia 
the beautiful art of photogeny. Tho baron 8eguicr has exhibited an instrument constructed by 
himself, with many ingenious modifications, having for their objects a diminution in size and weight, 
and a simplification, in other respects, of the entire apparatus. Several of the conditions which 
have been announced as required for die success of the process, may be dispensed with. It is pro- 
bable, now, that the operations of the art may be rendered practicable in the open country->even 
those nice and delicate ones which, at present, seem to demand protection against too strong a light. 
An 'objective glass has been constructed by M. Cauche, with the view of redressing the image ob^ 
tained in the Daguerreotype; this image is now presented leveised, a circumstance which has the 
bad effect of destroying all praisemblance. The Abbe Moignat has been endeavoring, in conjuno 
tion with M. Soleil, (a name quite a propose) to introduce the light of oxy-hydrogen gas as the 
principle of illumination to the objects intended to be represented. M. Bayard is said to have fullj 
succeeded in taking impressions on paper. Mr. Fox Talbot, in England, has also done this. 

In America, we have by no means been idle. It has been here ascertained that instead of the 
costly combination of glasses employed by M. Daguerre, a single Meniscus glass produces an exact 
and brilliant result. Wo have also found that we can do without the dilute nitric acid in photo- 
geny, as well as in lithography. The process is thus greatly simplified ; for the use of the acid has 
heretofore been considered one of the nicest points in the preparation of the plate. When un- 
equally applied, the golden color is not uniform. Now, it is only necessary to finish the polish of 
the plate with dry rotten stone, wcU levigated and washed, using dry cotton to rub it with aAer- 



194 bueton's gbktleman^s magazine. 

vvaidfl. We make the iodine-box, too, much shallower than does M. Daguerre. With his box, 
from fifteen to thirty minutes exposure of the plate was required before the proper color was pro- 
duced. Four inches will be deep enough ; and there should be a tray, an inch deep, fitting into th« 
bottom of the box. Upon this tray the iodine is to be spread, and then covered with a double thick- 
ness of fine gauze, tacked to the upper edge of the tray — supports being fastened in each comer of 
the box, at such height as will admit of the plate being lowered to within an inch of the gauze. 

Ulectbical CoPTixr*. — The new process of copying medals and other works of art on copper, 
by. means of voltaic electricity is an invention of interest and importance. In the manufi&cture of 
plated articles and other ornaments, it is often desiiable to copy ornamental work, such as leaves, 
flowers and arabesque mouldings, and the ordinary process is very difficult, and therefore very ex- 
pensive. Mr. Spencer's late invention afibrds a cheap and easy method of performing what is re- 
quired. By its means the rich ornaments on antique plate, or any similar work, may be copied 
with entire accuracy — a perfect fac-simile being taken in copper, which may then be silvered or gilt. 
In the art of button making the voltaic action is used with advantage; a cast from any pattern of 
button may now be readily moulded in a few hours, and with little labor. Button-makers foimerlj 
required two or three sets of a particular pattern to complete one of which the die was wanting.-— 
The whole application of the voltaic action is excessively simple and certain~-the necessary a^a- 
ratus may be procured for sixpence. 



MjlRble Letmoide. — In St. Petersburg, a method has .been discovered of giving to the softest 
stone the hardness, and color, and consequently the polish of marble. The invention is regarded as 
of high importance, and of certain application. The whole details have not >et reached us — but the 
process appears to l>c analogous to that of the scagUola manufacture. The prepared substance is 
termed marble Jiethoide. 



P^Ei'-MATir ENr.ixE. — Mr. Levi Bissell, of Newark, N. J., is said to have perfected a pneumatic 
apparatus, by means of which to employ tlie atmospheric air as a motive power. This design, in its 
general tcinis, is by no means new, and its reduction to practice has been found expensive. Mr. 
B.*s seems to be the old project — that of constructing pumps at convenient distances on a rail-road 
of air-pipr, which latter is to be exhausted of air. What is said in the papers about condensed at- 
mosphere, with portable condensers, is probably a misunderstanding. 

Red RAI^^ — In Gassendi's " Life of Peiresc," the phenomenon of red-rain which has so oflen 
«xcitcd the wonder of the ignoiar^t, and the attention of the learned, is very plausibly accounted for. 
About the bc^rinning of July, 1 G08, lorgc drops of what was then generally termed " the bloody 
shower" were observed in the \icinity of Aix, upon the walls of villas, hamlets, and towns. M. Peiresc 
had found a chrysalis of a remarkable size and form, and had inclosed it in a l>ox. He thought no 
more of it until, hearing a buzz within the box, he opened it, and perceived the chrysalis changed 
into a beautiful butterfly, which immediately flew away, leaving at the bottom of the box a red drop 
of the size of a shilling. As this occurred al>out the time the shower was supposed to have fadlen, 
and when a great many butterflies were seen in every direction, he properly concluded that the drops 
in question were excrementitious matter voided by the insects. Looking more closely, he found the 
drops seldom upon the upper surfaces of objects, but generally in cavities where insects might nestle. 
He also noticed that they were to be seen upon the walls of those houses only which were near the 
fields, and not upon the more elevated parts of them, but merely as far up as the butterflies were ac- 
customed to flutter. The conunon butterfly in England deposits a red fluid very much as described 
bv Peiresc. 



IproExiois I.NVEXTroN. — A pair of skates, invented by Mr. William Wallace, of Newtown Ardes, 
watch-maker, are in the highest degree creditable to that gentleman's scientific skill and perseverance. 
The machinery of this little locomotive is so arranged that it is equally serviceable on ice or on a 
smooth foot-path, (a flagged footway, for instance.) It consists of two perpendicular plates of iron, 
with pieces inserted between them, to allow a free rotary motion for three wheels, revolving along 
the extent covered by the foot. These wheels revolve in the action of skating, and, with the addi- 
tion of a horizontal plate of wood, elevate the sole of the foot above the surface. There is, also, a 
large wheel at the toe-end, with a ratched or click-wheel attached, on the outside of one of the per- 
pendicular plates, for the purpose of keeping the one foot from retrograding, while the other is pro- 
gressing forward. 

[There is nothing that is very novel in Mr* Wallace's invention ; in our boyhood we used a pair 
of skates made as above described. A certain M. Perrine undertook for a wager to flkatc across the 
gardens of the Tuilleries, at Paris, In the month of August, 1829 — ho wore instruments made in a 
similar manner to Mr. Wallace's. The Ravel Family have, for the last twenty years, used exactly 
the same sort of skates in one of their ingcnioos dramas— The Skaters of Wihna.] — Eds. G. M. 



DER TEUFELSKERL. 



A TALE OF GERMAN PENNSYLVANIA 



BT S. DrSLAP ADAIR, SABLIBIEy FA. 



VnrtndeTn Ailir ieh imeh lo kktn 

leh werde steti Tcrlegen teyOk -C«MAe*f Faiuu 



It would have been difficult to convince Diedrich Rodenheiser by any species of ratiocination that 
be was not born to be laughed at. Diedrich was not only clownishly lustic in his demeanor, but 
sometimes significantly inelegant in the employment of bis cnunciative member. If his history ftom 
the time of his first ambulatory cfTort until the termination of his terrestial sojourn were dramatized, 
it would form a " Comedy of Errors" wonderfully excitative of uproarious cachination. 

During the time of Dicdrich's undisccming adolescence he was the author of a mischievous mis- 
take, now forgotten, which impelled his feminine parent in a paroxysm of chagrin to dub him " Dcr 
Tenfelskcrl," which appellation from that time he held by a life tenure. He always hated to sec any 
one laugh unless he was cognizant of the cause of merriment, for he was sure to imagine himself the 
butt. 

Diedrich had two sisters, Wilhelmina, the elder, Susannah, the younger, neither married, but 
both marriageable at the time of which we write, and Susc, as her name was affectionately abbreviated 
by her mother, was a half hour or thereabouts her brothei's junior. 

It is somewhere noted in authentic history, that under the reign of one of England's sovereigns 
(good queen Bess as like as not) no damsel was permitted to mairy until she had manufactured for 
her own use a complete set of bed and body linen. So under the sapient government of the Rodenr 
JieiserSt the Schluppivinkels, the SchminkJlackchenSy and the OchUnscIilaegens, who colonised half 
« township of Pennsylvania, the latitude and longitude whereof have not been definitely ascertained, 
every maiden was required before her bridal to be the artificer of " fier ihingSt* as they phrased it, 
the most prominent of which were a feather bed and apparel appertinent, an extra calico quilt of 
ample size, and two others of miniature dimensions, the stuff for ihe fabrication of all which was 
furnished by the parents with religious strictness on the morning of the daughters fifteenth biith day. 
Pot what purpose the pair of diminutive quilts were designed, we, the writer, were never curious 
enough to inquire. 

On the maiden's marriage, she was conveyed to the habitation of her spouse, in a two wheeled 
cart, or ordinary farm-wagon, sitting upon the aforesaid wordly estate, with which it hud pleased a 
gracious providence to enable her parents ond her own hands to bless her, while the ha|){)y husband 
trudged behind the vehicle driving a cow, two sheep, and a pig, tlie youni; bride's marii»ii«e portion, 
the which species, though no where spoken of in Littleton, may, without doing unpardonable violence 
to legal tei ms, be referred to the head of dower ex assensu patrls. 

Now, notwithstanding it was essential to matrimonial eligibility that the young maid could ex- 
hibit" her thln^F" and name them her own workmanship, yet fictionc leglsy she was peimitted to 
call herself iheir fabricator, though she herself had never put a stitch in them, the whole having been 
accomplished by the friendly labor of her famale associates. Although to the casuist this might seem 
criminal in conscience, assuredly it was a harmless fiction compared with many of the falsities which 
that pcrvertcr of truth, the lawyer, crowds within his comprehensive maxim, quifacit per alium, 
faeit per se. It was the custom, therefore, for all the girls in the neighborhood, upon invitation of a 
confamiliar, to congregate of an afternoon at her abode, and aid her in her quilting. 

Wilhelmina and Susannah being now both of marriageable age, it was meet that the requisites to 
matrimonial eligibleness should he perfected, the materiel for which had for some time lain in an 
oaken chest of antiquated form, and pre-eminent capacity. Accordingly on the fourth day of March, 
AnnOy one thousand eight hundred and somewhere about thirty, all the younglosse^ residing within 
a circle of two and a half miles radius, wore gathered at a quilting on the second and uppermost floor 
of the Rodenheiser's domicil. Three comers of the room were furnished for family dormitories, the 
fourth was occupied as a nursery by a feline mother, for whose comfortable repone and that of her 
six sightless younglings Diedrich had humanely provided a pair of his old woollen trowsers. 
Along the walls were suspended medicinal herbs, Bologna sausages, half-worn frocks, and worse 
worn petticoats, arranged with singularly caielcss neatness, and admirably portiaying the providence, 
frngality, and economy, of the Rodenheisers. 

Diedrich had never yet gone out, and it was the old woman's resolve that on this occasion he should 
introduce himself to female society, an attachment for which, permit us parenthetically to remark, it 
an eminent preservation to a yotmg man's morals. 



196 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

« Dicdiich," said the old one, " go up shtairs to de girls, its no poys dere yet; go 'long xnit jouJ^ 

« Veil, veil, by sure," retorted the obedient son, ** but ten I goes dere I knows not vat to sbpeak.*^ 
' " Du Teufelskerl, go to de girls, and say, ah, you little rogues, you shtole my heart," 

Between the inner and outer sides of his coat pocket, Diedrich shared in equal proportions not 
less than a square yard of bandanna, and jerked up above his ears his calico shirt collar, and jerked 
down almost low enough to meet the waistband of l^is pantaloons his red flannel waistcoat, and 
puckered his mouth into irregular corrugations, and then strutted up stairs. The girls intently plying 
their needles noticed not, or feigned not to notice his presence, until having crossed his arms upon 
his back, he curved his body into an arc of ninety, and interpolating his phrenological developments, 
between the heads of a couple of ladies, whose cheeks were Jiowered but not with the rose, and 
thrusting it half way across the quilt, exclaimed — 

" Ah, you little rogues, you shtole my shtomach." 

" You heart, you mean," said Wilhclmina, who, alone amid the titters of the company, preserved a 
grave countenance ; " your heart, you mean, brother," 

" Veil, veil, by sure," answered Diedrich, " it is mere all one, I knowed it was something apoat 
my pelly." 

Susannah blushed, Wilhelmina scowled, some half dozen nervous girls shrieked, the rest laughed 
in alto, and the descendants of Grimalkin terrified by the tumult, struck up contralto. 

It was too much for Diediich's sensitive soul ; shortening the chord by which the reader may 
imagine him subtended, and removing his hands to the bottom of his breeches* pockets, he slowly 
and sadly walked down stairs, where his mother opened upon him a volley of hard names, cunningly 
suspecting that the confusion which she heard above had been occasioned by some misadventure of 
her unfortunate son. 

By the time supper was announced, the old lady had recovered from her ire, Susannah from hfr 
mortification, Wilhelmina from her indignation, the other ladies from their discomposure, the feline 
progeny from their alarm, and Diedrich from his abashihent. To him, therefore, was assigned the 
duty of waiting on the ladies at the table, and before him was placed a fewl for amputation and dis- 
section. Diedrich lacked skill in comparative anatomy ; the knife was obstinate, the fork let go, and 
the fowl was projected into the lap of a lady on the other side of the tabic. Susannah shrewdly di- 
rected the laugh from her brother to herself, by proposing to help the lady to gravy. 

A sensation of calefaction was visible in the young man^s countenance as he prccipitably lefl tho 
table. When he attained the door, he made rapid strides to tho barn yard, and hid himself in the 
corn-crib, where he remained until the tenebrosity of night had dispersed the ladies each to her own 
home. 

Many a histrlon has failed in his debut and afterwards become no despicable performer, and al- 
though perhaps this dogma was not made the premises upon which Diedrich based his conclusion, 
certain it is, that he did not deem the mishaps of his first eiVort to play the agreeable, as any omea 
that he could not by farther practice become (luito an acceptable beau. 

With Kattarina Schminkflcckchen, Diedrich was desperately in love, but she wat ignorant of it, 
for he had never more than spoken to her when he went to her father's to borrow a l^^y'fork, or some 
other farming utensil ; and no young lady ever suspects a gentleman's love for her before he has un- 
equivocally declaied himi^elf. Miss Schminkflcckchen had been detained from the quilting by frost- 
bitten heels, which Diedrich before his mischance thought a very unlucky, but afterwards a very 
happy, circumstance. Now, hwvever, that ho had entered upon his career of gallantry, he determined 
that if the lady's infected heels would suller hei attendance at the country singing school on the en- 
suing evening, he would not be oblivious of some attention to her. 

The next evening came, as next evenings always do come, and Kattarina was at the singing ; 
healthfulness having been restored to the hinder protuberances of her discous feet by a cataplasm q€ 
roasted turnips. 

With that peop*e of primitive simplicity and non-derivativo manners, and at that popular aggre- 
gation, a country singing, each lady held • her own candle, her digital scaliness, the consequence of 
laborious housewifery, being concealed by kid-skin gloves, and they again protected from the unctuoaity 
of the luminary by a slip of paper wrapped around its base. 

Diedrich secum volven, in what way he should do obeisance to Kattarina, observed that her candle 
burned dimly, and must be snufied. His heart vibrated, and his visage became calified as he ap- 
proached her, and after the manner of others tended her his fingers for a pair of snuffers. In his 
sinister hand he took the candle, and in the execution of his office burned the fingers of his dexter I 
he threw the adusted cotton into Miss Schminkfieckchen's lap, and dropped the oleaginous cylinder 
into Hannah Ochlenschlaeger's. Kattarina's new calico had the head of a humming bird burned 
out of it, and Miss Ochlenschlaeger's barred flannel was most ungallantly greased. Every body 
laughed, even the grave teacher of crotchets and quavers roared though a whole stave. Diedrich. 
rushed out of the house, taking with him the wrong hat, and was seen no more that night, except 
by his father*s old negro, who just as the clock struck " the wee short hour ayont the twal," tumbled 
him out of his, the aegro's, bed, into which the blundermg wight had crept by mistake. 

Diedrich swore by his mother's night cap that this should be his last blunder, but he was sealed. 



DBR TEUFELSKERL. 197 

in his nutivity a blunderer, and was therefore forsworn in less than a fortnight, as wiU be seen by the 
sequel. 

Header of the Gentleman's Maj^ine, hast any knowledge of airauss dance 1 Nay ! Wast never 
at a atrauss ? Then we have a good mind " to wiite thee down an ass." Whilst we pity we can- 
not but denunciato the poor gosling-souled oppidan, whose peregrin alioos extend not beyond his own 
fumid atmosphere, who knows nothing of rural fun and frolic, who breathes freely only in a drawing- 
room, whom no motion in concert pleases but that of the cotillion, quadrille, or vulgar waltz, and 
whose auditory instrument is shocked by an old-fashioned tune on a cracked fiddle. 

Away with every sort of dance but the sirauss — the merry, noisy, intellectual strauss. 

With the hope that it will enable the uninstructed, whose eye mny rove over our scribblings, justly 
to appreciate this favorite country pastime, we shall endeavor to convey some idea of it. 

The time and place having been appointed, an aufsc/tcr, overseer, or director, is selected by the 
younkers, whoso duty it is to provide for the frolic a supply of ** notions," such as 'kerchiefs, gloves, 
hose, and the like. No gentleman is allowed to participate in ihe dance who brings not with him 
a female partner, nor is any permitted to bring more than one. 

When all arc assembled, a lighted candle, having a small string fastened to it: at any distance from 
the flame, is placed on the fluor above, through which a gimblcl hole suffers the twine to pass down 
into the room. To the lower extremity of this siring is attached a key, or other weight sufficient to 
keep it tense, which hangs over a table set in the centre of the room. A chalk line is drawn on the 
floor opposite, to which and on one end of the table sits dcr aufscker, holdhig in his hand a small 
rod. The company form a circle round the tabic, m%le and female alternating, the prize is proclaim- 
ed, glove, stocking, or plug of tobacco ; and the gentlemen contribute each a trifling sum, rated ao* 
cording to the value of the article and the number of competitors. The rod is then handed to the 
person in the ring, who toes the chalk line, the fiddler wriggles his elbow, and off they dance around 
the table. When the possessor of the rod has completed the circle, he hands it to the individual im- 
mediately behind him, who, when she in her turn has danced her round, passes it to the next, and 
thus it conti/iues passing until the candle above, which of couisc is unseen by the rivals, bums tlirough 
the string, and the weight falls upon the table. The music and dancing instantly cease, and who- 
ever is then in possession of the rod is adjudged the prize. If a gentleman win he presents the re- 
ward to his partner, provided it be an article usable by a lady. 

The same precedence is repeated until all the merchandise is disposed of, the table is then banish- 
ed the room, and the whole party hoe it down in straight fours and set dances, till tho hour when 
** ghosts wandering here and there, troop home to church-yard^." This is what we kinira folk call 
a strauss. 

Resume we now our story. 

A few evenings after Diedrich Rodenheiser had been laughed out of the singing room, he met tho 
apple-dumpling-cheeked Kattaiina Schminkflcckchen at a strauss dance. No female had accompa- 
nied him thither, and ho was consequently compelled to orcui)y ^^ unpleasant situation of a rest- 
less, envious, jealous spectator. 

None but a Dickens could describe, or a Cruikshank sketch, the clumsy attitudes into which Died- 
rich writhed his'boily, as he sat in the corner, upon an inverted half bushel measure, watching in- 
tently the circumitions of Kattarina in the dance. So annoyeil was the poor fellow by the reciprocity 
of smiles between her and the beaux that it was imp08:»ible for him to retain any one position for an 
instant. He who has been in love may imagine — we, who have not, cannot delineate — the feelings 
and bodyly contortions of Diedrich Rodenheiser. He was uncomfortable, that is certain, and who 
would not have been, in love as he was, deprived cf a participation in his darling's amusement, and 
she manifestly delighted with others' attentivcness. 

A young man's eye will sometimes deviate to a lady's ancle, and, when seized with this tendency, 
however much he may strive to change its direction, it u;///, in spite of him, incline thitherward. 
This unaccountable propensity of man's visual organ is greatly augmented if the lady within his 
vision be tripping it ** on tho light fantastic toe." It is not remarkable then, that Diedrich occasionally 
fixed his gaze thus low upon Kattarina, as she ciicinated near to his locality, especially as the re- 
membrance of the affair at the singing made him somewhat diffident about looking her in the face. 
A dance was just concluded, which added to Miss Schminkfleckchen's personality a pair of clock- 
ed stockings, when Diediich descried, as the successful circuiteer tripped across the lood^ a piece of 
black mantua riband disengage itself from somewhere in the vicinity of her foot, and, sinuating in 
serpentine curvatines, fall stealthily on the floor. This incident was the first that had occurred during 
the evening which could afford him an opportunity of exhibiting any politeness to his dulcinea*. 
Springing forward with such violence as to knock a stave out of the half bushel measure with his 
heel, he caught up the apostate riband, and followed its rightful owner to hei seat. Diedrich ex- 
ceeded himself in gracefulness, when with an easy flection of the body, he extended to her the fore^ 
finger of his right hand, bearing its silken pendant, and, smiling, said — 
" You dropped your shoe-string, Kitty." 

Kattarina vouchsafed no response, but in a twinkling eluded observation through the door. A 
universal laugh reverberated through the room, and Diedrich cahnly and philoaophically turned 



198 



BURTON B gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



about and abandoned tbe bouse, and tbe next monfin^ abandoned bis borne. Unconacioua of hanng 
perpetuated any blunder, be supposed tbe mirth of the company to bave been occasioned by Katte* 
rina's scornful treatment of bim, but wbat could bave actuated her to such conduct he was unable 
to surmise. The poor fellow was not sufiiciently familiar with tbe tidiness of a young lady's iuYuible 
habiliments to imagine that tbe renegade riband which be so politely attempted to restofd to ito 
original possessor had relieved itself from tbe performance of an unwhisperable office and not that of 
a latchet. By the by, it was downright prodigality of Miss Schminkfleckchen to appropriate tho 
commodity of the mercer to a purpose which could as well have been answered by a like quantitj of 
red tapo at a penny a yard, or other material of equal cheapness. 

Ah ! how poignant is the disdain of her one loves, and what awful consequences someturnes re- 
sult from it. Some weeks afler, the public prints divulged the name of Diedrich Rodenhetser, in a 
list of passengers blown up by the explosion of a steam-boat boiler, on the Ohio liver. The un- 
happy man by blundering on board the steamer, blundered into futurity. 



A RETROSPECT. 



All is not gloom — upon our paths 

Thoui^h lowly they may be. 
Is sometimes thrown a flush of joy, 

A sunburst o'er the sea — 
That wild, wild sea, the human heart, 

Acroiss whose depths are driven, 
Alike the tempest's furious wrath. 

And peaceful breath of heaven. 

Tho' bitter seem the world's cold smiles, 

Tho* falw its friendships prove, 
Tho' changeful as the summer sea 

Its fondest dreams of love, 
The thoua:at of some unclouded hour 

Siill glimmers from afar, 
And though by distance dimmed, its ray 

Is memory's brightest star. 

T/icre was a time ! 'lis thus we brood 

O'er feelings chilled, and hopes forsaken. 
When life was like the Apiil day — 

By tears and smiles alternate shaken; 
When sorrow's mantle pressed but lightly ; 

Aflliction was unknown ; 
Wlien pleai^ure, won us by her smile. 

And joy was all our own. 

O ! momorv, thou art to me 

The dew-drop to the sun-parched flower, 
Tbe frozen fount within the beart 

IJnsealing by thy magic power — 
Lifting the veil old Time has drawn 

Closer with every wasted year, 
*Till manhood's perished joys return, 

And youth's wild visions re-appear. 

From mists that shroud the fading past 

Like spirits to my presence crowd, 
Some who, time-wearied, sunk to rest. 

And some in manhood's beauty bowed ; 
The fair young girl whose snowy brow 

Was beauty's resting place, 
Tho infant with its eye of light, 

And mirth bespeaking face. 



I 



My mother! (O! if ever yet 

To man a boon were given, 
A light to guide his feeble step 

Fiom erring paths to heaven — 
To fill his breast with hopes of bliss 

Beyond this " vale of tears," 
It is tbe memory of that love 

Which blessed his infant years.) 

Again I hear thy happy voice 

Its precepts fond impart, 
Again the sunabine of thy smlld 

Glows warmly on my heart ; 
I seem to stand within the home 

Which once thou loved'st well. 
Again I feel thy parting kiss. 

And hear thy last farewell. 

And thou, sweet sister, lowly laid 

Within tbe church-yard's pale of gloom— 
(Alas ! that I should live to plant 

The rose beside thy humble tomb,) 
I feel that o'er my sinful way 

Thou'rt bending now with holy care, 
The same as when on earth ye knelt 

To bless me with a sister's prayer. 

And thou, too, loved of "other days," 

My boyhood's earliest friend. 
How with the memory-painted group 

Doth thy fond image blend — 
Again thou'rt standing by my side, 

Again I see thy face. 
The while contending as a child 

In childhood's happy race. 

And thus they pass — a shadowy throng 

Who mingle with our dreams, 
Breathing around our fainting hearts 

Like music tones of streams-^ 
Awaking from their silent sleep 

Fond thsughls of wasted years, 
'Till, musing o'er their brightness lost. 

Our eyes sufibse with teats. 



REVIEW OF WEW BOOKS. 



Perils in the Woods ; or, The Emgrani Family's Return, With Engravings, Effingham Wil" 

son, jAmdon, 

Wc picked this pretty looking volume from a bookseller^s shelves, shortly after its importation; We 
were attracted by its ad captandum title, by several well executed plates, and the general neatness of 
its mechanical uxccution. But in these enumerations alone consists its excellence — the contents aro 
a mass of impossible and ignorant relations concocted by some hireling scribe who professes to detail 
adventures in the United States of America without possessing a school-boy's knowledge of its in- 
terior geography, or exhibiting the remotest acquaintances with its productions and national pecu- 
liarities. We are unacquainted with the writer, who is described in the title page as the author of 
"The Wanderer's Cave," "Tom Stai board," and other works of equal celebrity — a celebrity, that 
like the author, has not yet crossed the Atlantic. 

Captain Marry att has declared that he wrote his book on America with an avowed purpose of dis- 
gusting his countrymen with the practices of democracy. The author of "Perils in the Woods" 
has undoubtedly written his equally erudite work for the purpose of deterring the better sort of agri- 
culturists from emigration ; and, like the honest Captain, has not scrupled to employ the coarsest 
and most improbable means. The Captain selected more than one-half of his book from the faceti® 
of our newspapers, turning our own caiicatures of various piovincial fooleries into weapons of na- 
tional assault. The other scribbler has robbed every book of marvellous travel that chanced to come 
in his way, and hassliced and dovetailed a 'variety of ancient and modern wonders into the history 
of an emigrant fami^ squatting in the western wilds — but this farrago is not even amusing ; the de- 
veloped ignorance is so potent that it " quite o'er crows" the attention necessary to a perusal of the 
most common-place matters. * 

The emigrant family actually behold sixty feet of the length of the Nahant sea serpent in the 
course of their voyage across the Atlantic. The father goes to the Indiana land-office in Philadel- 
phia, and very sapiently purchases a swamp on the banks of the Tt|)pecanoe river, which, by the 
way, is written Tipicana, The heavy goods of the emigrants are pldbed in an ark at Philadelphia, 
and sent down the Ohio to'the Wabash, blit unfortunately the ark upset in the Scioto river, (written 
Sciolto) although how it contrives to get into that latitude is rather incomprehensible, being se- 
veral hundred miles out of its line of journey. There is a talk of an ark floating down the stream 
of the Wabash from the Ohio to the Tippecanoe, a circumstance that is the reverse of possibility. 

The sapient emigrants purchase a small one-horse wagon to carry seven persons, with all their 
plunder, through the western states. This omnipotent horse is killed by hghtning ; a cow buffalo 
is caught asleep J with its calf, and submits to be harnessed to the wagon, drawing the whole /' > < f 
our particular emigration cheerfully and obediently, while the dear little innocent cuU' i uus uuiiauly 
by its mother's side ! 

Sugar canes, rice, and tobacco are described as growing north of latitude 41 ; parroquets arc as 
plentiful as mosquitoes, and wild Indians, buffaloes, and panthers are every day circumstances in the 
heart of Ohio, which, with Indiana, is described as a howling wilderness, with a few log huts sparsely 
distributed — indeed our squatters's next door neighbor lives fifteen miles off— and yet we are told that 
a steam-boat of immense size navigated the Tippecanoe river, and was daily crowded with passen- 
gers. 

A boy of fifteen years of age is the hero of the talc ; he shoots Indians, panthers, and other wild 
things ; fells huge forest trees, builds log huts, digs rice dykes, and cultivates seveial hundred acres 
of land. He saves his parents' hves several times, and on his way back to England, actually rides 
on the back of a Mississippi alligator a la Waterton, to the evident satisfaction of the whole of the 
passengers aboard the steam-boat ! 

We aro happy to inform our leaders that this interesting party returned safely to their native land ; 
the recital of their wondrous adventures has had the desired effect upon the nerves of their country 
neighbors ; ^ind the ofiicial returns of emigration have been seriously reduced suice the pubUcation 
of the work entitled « Perils in the Woods." 



Pilgr image to Jerusalem and Mount Sinai. By Baron Gtramby Monk of the Order of La Trappe. 

Two Volumes, Carey and Hart, Philade/phiu, 

In 1814, Ferdinand, Baron de Gcramb, a distinguished officer in the service of Austria, was re- 
leased from imprisonment in the casilo of Vincenncs ; disgusted with the world, he declined all 
farther contests in the military or political arenas, and retired to the monastery of Notre Dame de 
la Trappe du Mont des Olives, near Millhauscn in Alsau, in the department of Upper Rhine. Unde 



tiOO BURTON^S GENTLEBIAN's MAGAZINE. 

the name of Father Marie Joseph, he sojourned for sixteen years in the gloomj ceils of the Trappist 
monastery, and conformed to its ligid and soul- wearing ordinances and mortifications. The re- 
volution of July, 1830, reached even the poor monks in their quiet cloisters; the order was abolished 
in France, and all monks, not Frenchmen by birth, were ordered to leave France instantly. 80 rigor- 
iously were these orders enforced that a young Trappist nun was driven from her cell while in mortal 
i^ony, and expired a few paces from the sacred asylum. Gcramb retired to the Trappist (chief) 
abbey of St. Bernard in the canton of Luzerne ; but finding that misfortune and sickness continued 
io clog his path, he resolved to undertake a pilgrimage to Jeiusalem, *< to pray, to adore, and to do 
jpenancc." His letters, whiU? on his journey, constitute the book before us. 

Baron Geramb has produced an agreeable work. His details are given in a novel and pleasant 
way ; there is less of the traveller, anxious to show his knowledge, and more of the results of actual 
observation than generally grace tbc pages of modern voyagers. We do not pronounce the <* Pil- 
grimage" the best liook on the Holy Land extant, but it is more devoted in its purpose thaii any 
other work on the same subject. The whole extent of Palestine was explored by the pilgrim ; every 
place famous in sacred history, or remarkable in the unwritten traditions of the land, is accurately 
described, and associated with its particular event, which is also given in full. The baron*s details 
are sufficiently anecdotical to please the general reader. 

We arc happy to state that the policy of Louis Philippe has permitted the re-cstablishroent of the 
monastery of the Mount of Olives, and that pcre Maiie Joseph is once more in holy communioa 
xvith his silent brethren of La Trappe. 



Tlie Paihfmder ; or, The Inland Sea. By the Aufht/r of*' Vie Pioneers," " 77te Last of the 3&- 
hicmis," " The Prairies" etc. Two Volumes. Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphicu 

After an attentive and gratifying perusal of this work, we unhesitatingly declare it to be fully 
iCqual to any of Mr. Cooper's former productions, and supeiior to all other novels that we have late- 
ly had occasion to notice. Queen Elizabeth was delighted with Shakspeare's Falstaff, and desired 
the dramatist to present the obese knight in situations submissive to the blind boy god ; Mr. Cooper 
has, in the Pathfinder, delineated his inimitable Leather-stocking as bending to the power of love— — 
and a finished picture has he given to the world. This link in the history of our favorite scout was 
actually wanting to complete the chain that hinds him to the sympathies of the reader; the unsuc- 
cessful termination of his course of wooing accounts for the melancholy tinge that is apparent in all 
his various scenes of life; there were too, several allusions in the other parts of his history, that re- 
quire a knowledge of his whereabouts in the earlier days — for " The Pathfinder," although published 
subsequently to "The Pioneers," "The Last of the Mohicans," and "The Prairie," is meant to precede 
them all in point of date. Leathcrstocking's career is now perfect; unless Mr. Cooper should give 
us another antecedent history, and develope the passages of his hero's juvenility. 

The scene of " The Pathfinder" is on the shores and waters of Lake Ontario and its tributaries; 
the opening chapters, depicting the passage down the Oswego, are of the most exciting nature ; 
and the account of the gale on the lake is comparable only to the sea passages in the novel of the 
Pilot. Mr. Cooper has not indulged in much delineation of character — indeed, characteristic varieties 
are not his strongest points — hut he has given us some descriptive touches that deserve our warmest 
praise. 



A Word to Women, TJic Love of the Wctrld, and other Gatherings, hy Caroline Fry, author of, 
*• The Listener," etc. One Volume, Carty and Hart, Philadelphia, 

Mrs. Fry, the autlior of this work, has acquired a sort of reputation in England as the chaperone 
of magdalens and repentant jail birds, who, when fairly caged and prohibited from the present exer- 
cise of their ingenious ])rofessions, pretend a desire of participation in the spiritual goods things 
of the amateur missionary of Newgate, knowing that a submission to her ritual is necessarily con- 
nected with certain supplies of tea, cofiTee, money, and books, of material assistance in the melioration 
of strict prison discipline. Unfortunately, her proselytes seldom retain their pious practices when 
away from their jail preceptor — the parliamentary evidence, lately elicited before a committee in the 
matter of prison government, affords testimony that Mrs. Fry's tleves generally turn out the most 
confirmed paw-paws in the annals of crime. The book before us is a sufficient proof that such a re- 
sult must be the fact ; the unforgiving severity of Mrs. Fry's code would terrify a Trappist, and 
frighten the most frigid of nuns into fits. The chilling and withering nature of her religious tenets 
must drive an erring soul to desperation. She has become accustomed to the jail, and would make 
the whole universe a general penitentiary and prison house. With her, to laugh is as foul a crime 
•as miuder ; her book is a manual of fanaticism, a maFs of ascetic wilfulness and sod absurdity. 



REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS* 201 

In the opinion of Mrs. Fry every act of life is sinful, except the adoration of God the Father and 
<?od the Son. In plain and positive language she declares that we ought not to read any thing but 
>the scriptares, nor employ music in any other way than in the worship of God — that the sense of 
bearing is mis-used, except in listening to the exordium of the preacher — that it is sinful to take de* 
light in the sight of a beautiful dower, enjoy the fragrance of its smell, because such practises pam- 
per the appetites ! that a true Christian ought to use a crockery candlestick, not a silver one. That, 
in fact, we were formed by an omniscient Creator for the sole purpose of eternally chanting his 
"praises and lamenting the worthlessness and depravity of the work of his hands, formed in his own 
image. A mind actuated by Mrs. Fry's principles, must believe in the exercise of a malignant fate, 
.-and cannot fail to embrace the crime to which it considers itself doomed — and to seek in death a 
refuge from the sin which cannot be avoided in life. 



Diary of the Rev. John Ward. A. M., Vi'ear of Stratford-upon-Avon, exiendhg from 1648 to 1679, 
from the original MSS, preserved in the Library of the Medical Society of London, Coltfum, 
Londtm. 

The principal inducement to the publlcntion of the late Mr. Ward^s common-place books has been 

^ casual mention of Shakspeaie. The rest of the matter consists of extracts from the books that f^II 

An Mr. Ward's way, who appears to have been a very desultory reader. He was, too, a collector of 

quaint sayings, and more than sufficiently credulous. The following is all that relates to Shaks- 

pcate : — 

Shakspcarc had but two daughters, one whereof Mr. Hall, the physitian, roanied, and by her had 
one daughter mairied, to wit, the Lidy Bernard of Abbingdon. 

I have heard that Mr. Shakspeare was a natural wit, without any art at all ; hee frequented the 
plays all his younger time, but in his elder days lived at Stratford, and supplied the stage with two 
plays every year, and for itt had an allowance so large, that hee spent att the rate of 1,000/. a-year, 
as I have heard. 

Shskspeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson, had a merie meeting, and itt seems drank hard, for Shaks- 
peare died of a fcavoui there contracted. 

Remember to peruse Shakspeaie's plays, and bee much versed in them, that I may not bee igno- 
rant in that matter. 

Whether Dr. Heylin does well, in reckoning up the dramatick poets which have been famous in 
England, to omit Shakspeare. 

A letter to my brother, to see Mrs. Queeny* to send for Tom Smith for the acknowledgment. 

* Probably Shakspeare's daughter Judith, who lived to be seventy-seven years of age. 

From the above we learn that Shakspeare spent one thousand pounds a-year, a sum equal to three 
thousand pounds now, yet his will gives no idea of so large a fortune. Mr. Ward's memoranda 
commence thirty-two years after Shakspeare's death ; it is, therefore, by no means improbable that 
he spoke vaguely on the subject ; he is mure likely to be correct in his statement of the cause of 
Shakspeare's death, as he blended medical with clerical duties. Mr. Ward's ** Diary" belongs to the 
numerous class of books denominated cuiious, and will fill a niche in the libraiies of those who, from 
leisure and circumstances, can afford to be loungers amid literature. ** Shakspeare, Drayton, and 
Ben Jonson, having a merie meeting," at which he (Shakspeare), it seems, " drank too hard," will, 
probably, furnish some matter for imaginative writers : Walter Savage Landor would sketch the 
tfoene with great power, and is, perhaps, the only writer of the day who would do it characteristically. 



Every Day Life in Iitmdon, By James Grant , author of** Random Recollections of the Lords 
^ and Commons" « Great Metropolis" etc. Two Volumes. Carey and Blanchard, Philadelphia, 

We have here another of Mr. Grant's extraoidinary refacimentos, or jumbles of fact and falsehood, 
nnder the title of " Every Day Life in Jiondon." It is a readable work, although every statement 
must be taken cum grans salis, for Mr. Grant is not very particular in his statistical details — as an 
'instance we quote his account of the Penny Theatres, a species of cheap dramatic entertainment that 
has lately sprung up in the purlieus of the British Metropolis, under the patronage of the children 
of the lower classes. Mr. Grant sapiently averages the nightly attendances at the Penny Theatres 
of London a( twenty-four thousand persons ! 

We have before reverletl to the common-placeness in Mr. Grant's diction that sadly mars the effect 
of his very numerous publications ; this free-and-easy " slip-slop" occasionally becomes offensive in 
all serious matters, whilst a total lack of perception of the ludicrous negatives his humorous attempts] 
The police-ofBcc and Lumber-troop dialogues degenerate into absolute twaddle, and several of hi^ 



202 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

anecdotes and hisioriettes are flat and pointleaB. NarerthalMiy we again affiim that « Eveiry Daj 
Life in London" is a readable book, inasmuch as it contains much startling information respecting 
the ioftoofc/ classes of the English public, and gives soma canons if not conect ac<x»iints of subjeala 
that are but seldom noticed by the press. 



Poor Jack, By Captain Mdrryatt, Pari I, with thru Engravings. Carey and Hart, Phiku 

The Tower of London, an Hiitorical Romance, by W,H, Ain&worth. Part I, with two ingraokigs. 

Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphia, 

Wo have here the opening chapters of two new woiks, by two of the best writers of the day. We 
can say nothing as to the ntcrits of cithei production, for the samples arc necessarily short and ineflSdent. 
" Poor Jack" has already been copied into every newspaper in the Union ; our readers therefore 
are well acquainted with its capabilities, but it strikes us that there is nothing very new in the 
subjects of the yarns spun in the opening chapter, but the captain's reputation will ensure the popo- 
Jarity of the work. Mr. Ainsworih is a powerful writer ; his " Crichton" stands at the head of the 
long list of English novels — nnapproachablo and alone ; but if this great glory is fairly Mr. Aina- 
worth's due, and in our humble opinion the fact is incontrovertible, he must also assume the le- 
sponsibility of giving to the reading world the most conupt, flat, and vulgar fabrication in the En* 
glbh language. " Jack Sheppard*^ is a disgrace to the literature of the day. 



A word or two on the Copy-right Question, V/hea an International Copy-right Bill was in 
. tation, the publishing booksellers exerted a powerful interest in opposition to its progress, and succeeded 
^ in swamping the proposition. The petitioners against the bill affirmed that if foreign authora waie 
allowed the privilege of copy-right^ the American public would lose the privilege of cheap literatitre. 
We are inclined to think that the recent introduction of the giant hebdomadals has venr materially 
.altered the sentiments of the publishing booksellers, inasmuch as wo are certain that their pockets 
have materially been aflected. The enormous capacities of the mammoth sheets enable the aditora 
to give the entire number of the current fancy issue of the English press (Boz, Manyatt, oi Aina- 
worth), at least a week in advance of the bookseller's regular publication. This proceeding nuut 
gratify the booksellers amazingly; because it fully carries out their own philontliropic and nation- 
al sentiment — the American public is supplied with cheap reading, and the foreign writers are not 
paid a cent for the produce of their own brains. To be sure, the literature issuppUcdby other handa, 
and at a cheaper rate than the original propagators of the Uberal idea can aflbrd ; but, then, the 
principle is carried out — the Ameiican paper-makers, type-founders, book-binders, ink-makers, presa* 
makers, compositors, and press-men, reap the benefits of the cheap literature, agreeably to the pub- 
lishing bookseller^s desiie — and the American writers are positively crowded out of all chance of 
competition — according to tho publishing booksellers' will — but the stream has taken another chan- 
nel — tho light literature of England has become so very flimsy that it will not hold together in large 
quantities ; the fabricators are compelled to give it to the public in small doses, which the newqiaper 
rogues retail again before the booksellers can wink — but then, they cannot grumble; the ptinapka 
they advocated are fully carried out — and if it is patriotic to steal our literature from England^ the 
thief who charges the least for his act of dishonesty is decidedly the greatest patriot. 

The sublime folly of the reasons adduced against the necessity of an International Copy-rigfat 
Bill must soon become pretty evident to the most violent opposers of the measure. Their silly op- 
position has very sensibly affected their own interests, and the non-passage of the Bill induced the 
British parliament to exclude the Americans from the enjoyment of copy-right in England, by a 
passage in Mr. Talfourd's Act of last session. The American author is now unable to publish his work 
in his own country, or obtain a market elsewhere ; well-established writers can alone attempt to sten 
the flood of English re-prints that now occupy the bookseller's counters and the parlor tables of the 
general reader. The editor of an American periodical is unable to offer a fair renumeration to 
Ameiican writers for articles of the highest value ; his competitors pilfer the British magaxines with 
monthly industry, and the editors of the daily press pufl* the stolen subjects with monthly aenility, 
and copy them with monthly rapacity, passing by with patriotic indifference the original productiona 
of American writers for the more glorious novelties of the foreigner. An international copy«ngbt 
act would prevent all this. 




<^ u^ ^l— 



r^t€. 



BURTON'S 



* . 



BURTON'S 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN MONTHLY REVIEW. 



MAY, 1840. 



A NOTICE OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



B T XDOAB A. POX, 



Whktbeb he should base his opinions upon those of the people, or look to the Reviews, or,, 
more wisely, to the genius of the author as evinced in his works, still the critic would find no dearth 
of material in inditing an account of Bryant, the poet. Of Bryant, the man, but little, compaiative- 
ly, is known. He is the son of Dr. Peter Bryant, of Cummington, Massachuselts, where ho was 
bom on the third of November, 1794. He is now, conscquenily, in his forly-scvcnih year. His 
rhyming inclinations were manifested at an early period. He was but ten according to one authori- 
ty — but nine according to another — when some verses, composed by him as a schooUlhesis, were 
thought worthy of publication by the editor of the " Hampshire Gazette," a small weekly paper 
then printed at Northampton. This precocious dallying with the Muse was rather abetted than 
discouraged by the father of our poet. The good old gentleman, a physician, and a scholar of no 
ordinary cast, scrupled not to foster the errant genius of his son, and to act foi him in capacity of 
guide along the flowery but somewhat slippery paths of imaginative lore. The pupil has confessed 
his indebtedness to parental instruction for many careful habits of compression and polish. 

When only fourteen years old our author published at Boston, in a small volume, with some other 
poems, " The Embargo, or Sketches of the Times." The book was so well received that a second 
edition was printed within the year. " The Embargo" was a political jcu (Tesprii levelled at Presi- 
dent Jefferson and his measures. It is chiefly remarkable from the fact that the boyish principles 
therein expressed have, of late days, been gravely brought to sustain a charge of inconsistency urged 
against the man. 

In 1810 the young satirist entered Williams college, in Williamstown, Massachusetts. He re> 
mained here two years, and then, obtaining a dismissal upon his own application, turned his atten- 
tion to the study of law. In 1815, he was admitted to the bar at Plymouth, and afterwards practised 
with moderate success. 

In 1820 he removed from Plymouth to New York, and here became associated with Dr. H. J. 
Anderson in the conduct of the " United States Review and Literary Gazette," in which periodical 
some of his finest compositions first appeared. 

In 1821 he published " The Ages, Thanatopsis, and other Poems." 

In 1828 he united his fortunes with those of Mr. William Leggett in the guidance of" The New 
Tork Evening Post."* Soon afterwards he assamed a proprietary interest in that paper, and Jbts 
retained it ever since. 



• It has been stated that Mr. Bryant came to New York in 182.5; that the Magazine in question 
was called " The New York Review ;" and that it was in 1826 he joined "The Evening Post'* 
We give the points as wo believe them to be— >but, as a doubt exists, our readers have ** ihe ben'vfit 
ofthedoubL" 

TOL. IV. — V0» T. 1 



204 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

During 'each of the years 1827, 1828, and 1829, he contributed one-third of its matter to an an* 
nual entitled " The Talisman" — the lemtiining two-thirds being wiitten, chiefly, by Messieum Vei* 
planck and Sands. It was for " The Talisman" that Mr. Halleck composed his " Red Jacket." 

In 1832 Mr. Elam Bliss, of New Yotk, issued the first complete edition of the poems of Bryant. 
1^ was soon exhausted, and a second immediately published in Boston. Of this latter Mr. Waab* 
ington Irving, then in London, took upon himself an English re-publication, in which he announced 
himself as the editor, dedicating the book in this capacity to Mr. Samuel Rogers, that tolerable au- 
thor and excellent financier. Since this period the Harpers, of New York, have printed several 
editions, of which the latest contains seventeen pieces not to be found in any previous collection. 
One or two fine poems, not yet comprised in volume form, have lately appeared in the " Knicker- 
bocker Magazine" and the " Democratic Review." 

In June, 1834, the poet, with his family, sailed for Europe, with the design of there devoting somo 
years to literary pursuits and to the education of his children. He visited Italy and Germany, resi- 
ding principally in Munich, Heidleburg, Fhrenceand Pisa. In the spring of 183G he was suddenly 
called home by the severe illness of Mr. I^ggett, his associate in the <* Evening Post." 

The poetical reputation of Mr. Bryant, both at home and abroad, is, perhaps, higher than that of 
any other American. In England his writings have been received with especial favor, and here the 
public approbation has been decided and unanimous. In no instance have his great abilities been 
denied — nor can it be denied that this fact itself is a substantial proof of the character and of the 
extent of these abilities. No man of the noblest order of genius was ever distinguished by abaolate 
uniformity of applause. On the other hand this uniformity is never known except where we meet 
with the most rigorous negative merit. In truth a manly exemption from the prevalent poetical 
affectations of his time has done more for Mr. Bryant tlian any one positive excellence. Yet of 
positive excellences ho has many ; and there are one or two of his shorter poems which sometimes 
■tartle the critic into a half belief of a rarer spirit — of a more ethereal temper — than that of which 
the poet gives any general or steady indication. 

Why his " Thanatopsis" has been so widely received and quoted as his finest production, may 
be explained, in part, by what has been just now said respecting the negative merits of composi- 
tion. It b quite devoid of fault; is undoubtedly beautiful; and in judging, absolutely, ofthepoema of 
Bryant, the public voice is not altogether wrong in its decision. But as affording evidence of the 
higher powers of the poct^ as specimens by which his claims to the mens divinior might be best es- 
timated, he himself, if we do not greatly misunderstand him, would select some other portions of 
his works. Had he indeed always written as in the annexed little ballad, he might have justly 
sumcd that rank among the poets of all time, into which our national pride and partiality are 
blindly dbposed to thrust him as it is. 

Or, fairest of the rural maids ! 
Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs and glimpses of the sky 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, 
Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart, and on thy face. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the lightshade of Uiy locks ; 
Thy step is as the wind that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene 
And silent waters Heaven is seen ; 
Thcii lashes arc the herbs that look 
On their young figures in the brook. 

The forest depths, by foot unprcssed. 
Are not more sinless than thy breast : 
The holy peace that fills the air 
Of those calm solitudes is there. 

A graceful simplicity is the chief feature of this poem— simplicity both of design and execution; 
ttid in this respect the merely general character of the writer's mind is sustained. But breathings 
of a high ideality are also observable, which render the lines distinctive when considered in con- 
nexion wiUx this general char«cter. The original conception of the ballad belongs to a lof^ dm 



WILLIAM CULLfiN BRYANT. 205 

of poetry, while the certainty of purpose with which so simple a conception is adhered to througb- 
out, appertains to the noblest province of art. The design may be thus stated. A maiden is bora 
IB the forest— she is not merely modelled in eharaeicr by her woodland associations — this were an. 
every-day thought — but, in her physical as well as moral existence, she is idcnti6ed with the spirit 
of the green things around her. Their nature becomes hers ; their traits of excellence hers ; Uieir 
loveliness grows to be a portion of heiown. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Zf in the lightshade of her locks, 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in her heart and on her face. 

An author, not deeply inspired, would have been satisfied here with the idea of the tints in the 
locks of the maiden deducing a resemblance to " the twilight of the trees and rocks ;'' Mr. Bryant 
has more profoundly imagined the perfect identification. 

But the writer of this cursory memoir has commented elsewhere, at much length, upon the poeticaF' 
character of Mr. Bryant ; and it appears an act of supererogation to avoid the mere words of an. - 
opinion existing now precisely as heretofore, and whose substance, if he speak at all, he must still 
necessarily express. The reader will therefore pardon him for extracting, from the Southern Liter-^ 
ary Messenger, the concluding sentences of an article upon the matter now in question. 

" In all his rhapsodies which have reference 'to the grace or the beauty or the majesty of na- 
ture, is a most audible and thrilling tone of love and exultation. As far as he appreciates her love-> 
liness or her augustness, no appreciation can be more ardent, more full of heart, more replete with, 
the glowing soul of adoration. Nor, either in the moral or physical universe coming within the pe- 
riphery of his vision, does he at any time fail to perceive and designate, at once, the legitimate items? 
of the beautiful. Therefore, could we consider (as some have considered) the mere enjoyment of 
the beautiful when perceived, or even this enjoyment when combined with the readiest and truest 
perception and discrimination in regard to beauty presented, as a sufficient test of the poetical senti- 
ment, we could have no hesitation in according to Mr. Bryant the very highest poetical rank. But 
something more, we have presumed to observe, is demanded. Just above, we spoke of'* objects in 
the moral or physical universe coming within the periphery of his vision." We now mean to say^ 
that the relative extent of these peripheries of poetical vision must ever be a primary consideration . 
in our classification of poets. Judging Mr. B. in thb manner, and by a general estimate of the vo- 
lume before us, we should, of course, pause long before assigning him a place with the spirituaL 
Shelleys, or Coleridges, or Wordsworths, or with Keats, or even Tennyson, or Wilson, or with, 
some other burning lights of our own day, to be valued in a day to come. Yet if his poems, as . 
a whole, will not warrant us in assigning him this grade, one such poem as the last upon which we 
have commented, is enough to assure us that he may attain it.* 

« The writings of our author, as we find them here, are characterized by an air of calm and eleva- 
ted contemplation more than by any other individual feature. In their mere didactics, however^ 
they err essentially and primitively, inasmuch as such things are the province rather of Minerva, 
than of the Camenie. Of imagination we discover much — but more of its rich and certain evidences^ 
than of its ripened fruit. In all the minor merits Mr. Bryant is pre-eminent. His ars eelare artem- 
is most efficient. Of his ** completeness," unity, and finish of style, we have already spoken. As a. 
versifier, we know of no writer, living or dead, who can be said greatly to surpass Mm. A French- • 
man would assuredly call him * un poeie des plus corredes* 

*< Between Cowper and Young, perhaps, (with both of whom he has many points of analogy,)* 
would be the post assigned him by an exanunation at once general and superficial. Even in thiie 
view, however, he has a justor appreciation of the beautiful than the one, of the sublime than the 
other — a finer taste than Cowper — an equally vigorous, and far more delicate imagination than. 
Young. In regard to his proper rank among American poets there should be no question whatev-- 
er. Few — at least few who are fairly before the public, have more than very shallow claims to ft 
rivalry with the author of ThancUopsis" 

The political life of our author is not a topic for these pages. I am only permitted to say that 
his principles, since attainment of manhood, have been rigorously democratic ; and that his editXH' 
rial conduct of the*< Evening Post" has been marked by at least a polished style, a stem independence^ 
and a courteous urbanity. In his private relations he has always so borne himself as to command: 
entire respect even from his foes. That purity which escapes the rancor of party is purity indeed i: 
and the elevated morality, the Christian spirit, the simplicity and warm-heartedness, the high pur- 
poses and chivalric impulses which form so unequivocally the tone of « The Ages," of ** Earth," oC 
' The Winds," and of <* Thanatopsis," are but the exact impress of the noble soul of the poet. 

None know him but to love him— 
None name him but to praise. 

* The one just quoted. 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 



Bn«« ±Tt Accouirr ov thi Fisbt Paisaox aoioss tkx Rockt Moubtaivi ov Nobtb 

Amkkica zyxb achixtkd bt CiyiLiiKD Mav. 



CHAPTER V. 

April \0f 1792. The weather was now again most delicious, and revived oar spirits exceeding- 
ly. The sun began to have poorer, and the river was quite free of ice, so the Indians assuied osr 
for a hundred miles ahead. We bade adieu to Little Snake [a chief of the Ricurees who bad shown 
the voyagers many evidences of friendship during the winter] and his band, with unfeigned regie^ 
and set out, after breakfast, on our voyage. Pcirino [an agent of the Hudson Bay fur company on 
his way to Petite Cote] accompanied us with thice Indians for the first ten miles, when he took 
leave of ua and made his way hack to the village, where (as wo afterwards heard) he met with a 
"violent death from the hands of a squaw, to whom he offered some insult. Upon parting with the 
agent, we pushed on vigotoui^ly up the livcr, and made great way, notwithstanding a rapid current. 
In the afternoon, Thornton, who had been complaining for some days past, was taken seriously iU^ 
80 much so that I urged the return of the whole party to the hut, there to wait until he should get 
better; but he resisted this offer so strongly that I was forced to yield. Wo made him a comfortsbl* 
hed in the cabin, and paid him every attention; but he had a laging fever, with occasional deliriam^ 
and I was much afraid that we should lose him. In the meantime we still pushed ahead with reaCK 
lution, and by night had made twenty miles — an excellent day's work. 

April II, Still beautiful weather. We started early, and had a good wind, which aided as 
greatly; so that, but for Thornton's illness, we should all have Inren in fine spiiitt. He seemed t» 
grow much worse, and I scarcely knew how to act. Every thing was dune for his comfort which 
could bo done ; Jules, the Canadian, made him some tea, from prairie herbs, which had the effect 
of inducing perspiration, and allayed the fever very sensibly. We stopped at night on the main land 
to the north, and three hunters went out into the prairie by moonlight, returning at one in the morning, 
without their lifles, and with a fat antelope. 

They related that, having proceeded many miles across the country, they reached the banks of a 
beautiful rivulet, where they were much surprised and alarmed at discovering a large war-party of 
the Saonie Sioui, who immediately took them prisoners, and carried them a mile on the other side 
of the stream to a kind of park, or enclosure, walled with mud and sticks, in which was a large 
herd of antelopes. These animals were still coming into the pirk, the gates of which were so 
contrived as to prevent escape. This was an annual practice of the Indians. In the autumn, the 
antelopes retire for food and shelter from the prairie to the mountainous regions on the south of the 
river. In the spring they re-cross it in great numbers, and are then easily taken by being enticed 
into a strong enclosure as alwve described. 

The hunters, (John Grccly, the Prophet, and a Canadian) had scarcely any hope of escape from 
the clutches of the Indians, (who numbered as many as fifty.) and had well nigh made up their 
minds to die. Greely and the Prophet were disarmed and tied hand and foot; the Canadian, how* 
ever, was suffered, for some reason not perfectly understood, to remain unbound, and was only de* 
prived of his rifle, the savages leaving him in possession of his hunter's knife, (which, possildy, thej 
did not perceive, as it was worn in a sort of sheath in the side of his legging) and treating him 
otherwise with a marked difference from their demeanor to the others. I'his circumstance proved 
the source of the party's deliverance. 

It was, perhaps, nine o*cIock at night when they were first taken. The moon was bright, but, as 
the air was unusually cool for the season, the savhges had kindled two large fires at a sufficient dis' 
tance from the park not to frighten the antelopes, who were still pouring into it continually. At 
these fires they were occupied in cooking their game when the hunters so unexpectedly came upoD 
them from round a clump of trees. Greely and the Prophet, after being disarmed and bound with 
strong thongs of buffalo hide, were thrown down under a tree at some distance from the blaze ; while 
the Canadian was permitted to seat himself, in charge of two savages, by one of the fires, the rest of 
the Indians forming a circle round the other and larger one. In this arrangement, the time wore 
away slowly, and the hunters were in momentary expectation of death; the cords of the two who 
"Were bound caused them, al$o, infinite pain, from the tightness with which they were fastened. The 
Canadian had endeavored to hold a conversation with his guards, in the hope of bribing them to re- 
lease himi but could not make himself understood. About midnight, the congregation around the 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS BODMAK. 207 

large fire were suddenly disturbed b^ the dash of several large antelopes in saccession through the 
midst of the blaze. These animals had burst through a portion of the mud wall which confined 
them, and, mad with rage and affright, had made for the light of the fire, as is the habit of insects 
at night in like circumstances. It seems, however, that the ^aoniea had never heard of any similar 
liiat of these usually timid creatures, for they were in great terror at the unexpected intenuption, and 
their alarm increased to perfect dismay, as the whole captured herd came rushing and bounding upao. 
them, after the lapse of a minute or so from the outbreak of the first few. The hunters described llie 
scene as one of the most singular nature. The beasts were apparently firantic, ai^d the velocity and 
impetuosity with which they flew, rather than leaped, thiough the flames, and through the midst of 
the terrified savages, was said by Greeiy (a man not in the least prone to exaggerate) to have been 
not only an imposing but even a terrible spectacle. They carried every thing before them in thair 
first plunges; but, having cleared the large fire, they immediately dashed at the small one, scatter- 
ing the brands and blazing wood about; then returned, as if bewildered, to the large one, and so 
backwards and forwards until the decline of the fires, when, in small parties, they scampered off like 
lightning to the woods. 

Many of the Indians were knocked down in this furious melee, and there is no doubt that some 
of them were seriously, if not moitally, wounded by the sharp hoofs of the agile antelopes. Some 
threw themselves flat on the ground, and so avoided injury. The Prophet and Gieely, not being 
near the fires, were in no danger. The Canadian was prostrated at the first onset by a kick which 
Tendered him senseless for some minutes. When he came to himself he was nearly in darkness; 
for the moon had gone behind a heavy thunder-cloud, and the fires were almost out, or only existed 
in brands scattered hither and thither. Ho saw no Indians near him, and instantly arousing himself 
to escape, made, as well as he could, for the tree where his two comrades were lying. Their thongs 
were soon cut,'and the three set off at full speed in the direction of the river, withoutstopping to think 
of their rifles, or of any thing beyond present security. Having run for some miles, and finding no 
one in pursuit, they slackened their pace, and made theii way to a spring for a draught of water. 
Here it was they met with the antelope which, as I mentioned before, they brought with them to 
the boats. The poor creature lay panting, and unablo to move, by the border of the spring. One 
of its legs was broken, and it bore evident traces of fire. It was no doubt one of the herd which had 
been the means of deliverance. Had there been even a chance of its lecovery the hunters wooki 
have spared it in token of their gratitude, but it was miserably injurad, ao thej pot it at once out of 
its misery, and brought it home to the boats, where we made an excellent breakfiist upon it next 
momingf. 

April 13, 13, 14, and 16. During these four days we kept on our course without any adventure 
of note. The weather was very pleasant during the middle of the day, but the nights and mornings 
were exceedingly cold, and we had sharp frosts. Game was abundant. Thornton still continued 
ill, and his sickness perplexed and grieved me beyond measure. I missed his society very much, and 
now found that he was almost the only member of our party in whom I could strictly confide. By 
this I merely mean that he was almost the only one to whom I could, or would, freely unburthm 
my heart, with all its wild hopes, and fantastic uishes — not that any individual among us was un- 
worthy of implicit faith. On the contrary, we were all like brothers, and a dispute, of any import- 
ance, never occurred. One interest seemed to bind all ; or rather we appeared to be a band of voyagers 
wiihout interesi in view — mere travellers for pleasure. What ideas the Canadians might have held 
upon this subject I cannot, indeed, exactly say. These fellows talked a great deal, to be sure, about 
the profits of the enterprise, and especially about their expected share of it; yet I can scarcely think 
they cared much for these points, for they were the most simple-minded, and certainly the most 
obliging set of beings upon the face of the earth. As for the rest of the crew, I have no doubt in the 
world that the pecuniary benefit to be afforded by the expedition was the last thing upon which they 
speculated. Some singular evidences of the feeling which more or less pervaded us all occurred 
during the prosecution of the voyage. Interests, which, in the settlements, would have been looked 
upon as of the highest importance, were here treated as matters unworthy of a serious word, and 
neglected, or totally discarded upon the most frivolous pretext. Men who had travelled thousands 
of miles through a howling wilderness, beset by horrible dangers, and enduring the most heart-rend- 
ing privations for the ostensible purpose of collecting peltries, would seldom take the trouble to secure 
them when obtained, and would leave behind them without a sigh an entire cache of fine beaver skins 
rather than foiego the pleasure of pushing up some lomantic-lookmg river, or penetrating into some 
craggy and dangerous cavern, for minerals whose use they knew nothing about, and which they 
threw aside as lumber at the first decent opportunity. 

In all this my own heart was very much with the rest of the party ; and I am free to say that, as 
we proceeded on our journey, I found myself less and less interested in the main business of the 
expedition, and more and more willing to turn aside in pursuit of idlo amusement — ^if indeed I am 
right in calling by so feeble a name as amusement that deep and most intense excitement with which 
I surveyed the wonders and majestic beauties of the wilderness. No sooner had I examined one 
region than I was possessed with an irresistible desire to push forward and explors another. As jet, 
however, I felt as if in too close proximity to the settlements for the full enjoyment of my baraing 



*20S BURTON^S GBNTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

love of Nature, and of the unknown, I could not help being aware that some civilized footatepB, 
although few, had preceded roe in my journey — that aom£ eyes before mine own had been enraptured 
"with the scenes around me. But for this sentiment, ever obtruding itself, I should no doubt have 
loitered more frequently on the way, turning aside to survey the features of the region bordering opon 
the river, and perhaps penetrating deeply, at times, into the heart of the country to the north and 
south of our route. But I was anxious to go on — to get, if possible, beyond the extreme bounds of 
civilization — to gaze, if I could, upon those gigantic mountains of which the existence had been 
made known to us only by the vague accounts of the Indians. These ulterior hopes and views I 
communicated fully to no one of our party save Thornton. He participated in all my most viuontiy 
projects, and entered completely into the spirit of romantic enterprise which pervaded my soul. I 
therefore felt his illness as a bitter evil. He grew worse daily, while it was out of our power to render 
him any efl'ectual assistance. 

April 16. To-day we had a cold rain with a high wind from the north, obliging us to come to 
anchor until late in the afternoon. At four oVlock, P. M., we proceeded, and made five miles fay 
night. Thornton was much worse. 

April 17, and 18. During both these days we had a continuance of raw unpleasant weather, 
"with the same cold v^nd from the north. We obsei ved many large maii»es of ice in the river, which 
^as much swollen and very muddy. The time passed unpleasantly, and we made no way. Thorn- 
ton appeared to be dying, and I now resolved to encamp at the first convenient spot, and remftin 
until his illness should terminate. We accordingly, at noon this day, drew the boats up a large creek 
coming in from the south, and formed an encampment on the main land. 

April 26. We remained at the creek until this morning, when, to the great joy of us all, Thorn- 
ton was sufiiciently recovered to go on. The weather was fine, and we proceeded gaily through a 
jnost lovely portion of the country, without encountering a single Indian, or meeting with any ad- 
venture out of the usual course until the last of the month, when we reached the country of the 
JMandans, or rather of the Mandans, the Minnetarees, and the Ahnahaways ; for these three tribes 
all live in the near vicinity of each other, occupying five villages. Not a great many years ago the 
3ilandans were settled in nine villages, about eighty miles below, the ruins of which we passed with- 
out knowing what they were — seven on the west and two on the east of the river ; but they were 
thinned ofi'by the small-pox and their old enemies the Sioux, until reduced to a mere handful, when 
IthBy ascendp.d to their pr«»ent pooiuon. [Mr. R. giv«a hero a tnlerably full ancount of the Minni»> 
tarees and Ahnahaways or Wassatoons ; but vre omit it, as differing in no important particulai from 
the ordinary statements respecting these nations.] l^he Mandans received us with perfect friendli- 
ness, and we remained in their neighborhood three days, during which we ovethauled and repaired 
the piroque, and otherwise refitted. We also obtained a good supply of a hard corn, of a mixed color, 
'which the savages had preserved through the winter in holes, near the front of their lodges. While 
iKrith the Mandans we were visited by a Minnetaree chief, called Wauker&ssah, who behaved with 
nnuch civility, and was of service to us in many respects. The son of this chief we engaged to ac- 
company us as interpreter as far as the great fork. We made the father several presents, with which 
he was greatly pleased.* On the first of May we bade adieu to the Mandans, and went on our 
way. 

May 1. The weather was mild, and the surrounding country began to assume a lovely appear- 
ance with the opening vegetation, which was now much advanced. The cotton-wood leaves were 
quite as large as a crown, and many fiowers were full blown. The low grounds began to spread out 
Jiere more than usual, and were well supplied with timber. The cotton-wood and common willow, 
as well as red willow, abounded ; with rose-bushes in great plenty. Beyond the low grounds on the 
3iver, the county extended in one immense plain without wood of any kind. The soil was remail^ 
«b]y rich. The game was more abundant than we had ever yet seen it. We kept a hunter ahead 
of us on each bank, and to-day they brought in an elk, a goat, five beavers, and a great number of 
plovers. The beavers were very tame and easily taken. This animal is quite a bofine bottche as an 
article of food ; especially the tail, which is of a somewhat glutinous nature, like the lins of the hali- 
•hut. A beaver tail will suffice for a plentiful dinner for three men. We made twenty miles before 
-night. 

May 2. We had a fine wind this morning, and used our sails until noon, when it became rather 
too much for us, and we stopped for the day. Our hunters went out and shortly returned with an 
immense elk, whom Neptune had pulled down after a long chase, the animal having been only 
slightly wounded by a buck shot. He measured six feet in height. An antelope was also caught 
about dusk. As soon as the creature saw our men, it fiew off with the greatest velocity, but after a 
lew minutes stopped, and returned on its steps, appaiently through curiosity — then bounded away 
«gain. This conduct was repeated frequently, each time the game coming nearer and nearer, untH 
at length it ventured within rifie distance, when a shot from the Prophet brought it down. It was 
lean and with young. These animals, although of incredible swiftness of foot, are still bad swimmera^ 

* The chief Wauktirastah is mentioned by Captains Lewis and Clarke, whom he also visited.. 



THB JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 209 

and th\i8 frequently fall a victim to the wolvea, in their attempts to cross a stream. To-day made 
twelve miles. 

May 3. Tbb morning we made great headway, and by night had accomplished fall thirty miles. 
The game continued to be abundant. BuHiiloes, in vast numbers, lay dead along the shore, and we 
saw many wolves devouring the carcases. ^I'hey fled always at our approach. We were much at 
a loss to account for the death of the buffaloes, but some weeks afterwards the mystery was cleared 
up. Arriving at a pass of the river where the blulFs were steep and the water deep at their base, 
we observed a large herd of the huge beasts swimming across, and stopped to watch their motions. 
They came in a sidelong mviner down the current, and had apparently entered the water from a 
gorge, about half a mile above, where the bank sloped into the stream. Upon reaching the land on 
the west side of the river they found it impossible to ascend the cliflfs, and the water was beyond 
their depth. After struggling for some time, and endeavoring in vain to get a foot-hold in the steep 
and sUppery clay, they turned and swam to the eastern shore, where the same kind of inaccessible 
precipices presented themselves, and where the ineffectual struggle to ascend was repeated. They 
Jiow turned a second time, a third, a fourth, and a fifth — always making the shore at very nearly the 
same places. Instead of suflering themselves to go down with the current in search of a more favor- 
able landing, (which might have been found a quarter of a mile below), they seemed bent upon main- 
taining then position, and, for this puipose, swam with their breasts at an acute angle to the stream 
and used violent exertions to prevent being borne down. At the fifth time of crossing, the poor 
beasts were so entirely exhausted that it was evident they could do no more. They now struggled 
fearfully to scramble up the bank, and one or two of them had nearly succeeded, when, to our great 
distress (for we could not witness their noble efforts without commisseration) the whole mass of 
loose earth above caved in, and buried several of them in its fall, without leaving the cliff in better 
condition for ascent. Upon this the rest of the herd commenced a lamentable kind of lowing or 
moaning — a sound conveying moie of a dismal sonow and despair than any thing which it b possible 
to imagine — I shall never get it out of my head. Some of the beasts made another attempt to swim 
the river, stiuggled a few minutes, and sank — the waves above them being dyed with the red blood 
that gushed frpm their nostrils in the death agony. But the greater part, after the moaning described, 
seemed to yield supinely to their fate, rolled over on their backs, and disappeared. The whole herd 
were drowned — not a buffalo escaped. Their carcases were thrown up in half an hour afterwards 
upon the flat grounds a short distance below, where, but for their ignorant obstinacy, they might so 
easily have landed in safety. 

May 4. The weather was delightful, and, with a fair warm wind from the south, we made 
twenty-five miles before night. To-day Thornton was sufHcienlly recovered to assist in the duties 
of the boat. In the afternoon he went out with me into the prairie on the west, where we saw a 
great number of early spring flowers of a kind never seen in the settlements. Many of them were 
of a rare beauty and delicious perfume. We law also game in great variety, but shot none, as we 
were sure the hunters would bring in more than was wanted for use, and I was averse to the wanton 
destruction of life. On our way home we came upon two Indians of the A8sinil>oin nation, who 
accompanied us to the boats. I'hey had evinced nothing like distrust on the way, but, on the con- 
trary, had been frank and bold in demeanor ; we were therefore much surprised to see them, upon 
coming within a stone's throw of the piroque, turn, both of them, suddenly round, and make off into 
the piairie at full speed. Upon getting a good distance from us, they stopped and ascended a knoll 
which commanded a view of the river. Here they lay on their bellies, and, resting then chins on 
their hands, seemed to regard us with the deepest astonishment. By the aid of a spy -glass I could 
minutely observe their countenances, which bore evidence of both amazement and terror. They con- 
tinued watching us for a long time. At length, as if struck with a sudden thought, they arose 
hurriedly and commenced a rapid flight in the direction from which we had seen them issue at first. 

May 5. As we were getting under way very early this morning, a large party of Assiniboin* 
suddenly rushed upon the boats, and succeeded in taking possession of the piioque before we could' 
make any effectual resistance. No one was in it at the time except Jules, who escaped by throwing 
himself into the river, and swimming to the large boat, which we had pushed out into the stream. 
These Indians had been brought upon us by the two who had visited us the day before, and the party 
must have approached us in the most stealthy manner imaginable, as we had our sentries regularly 
posted, and even Neptune failed to give any token of their vicinity. 

We were preparing to fire upon the enemy when Misquash (the new interpreter — son of Wau- 
kerassah) gave us to understand that the Assiniboins were friends and were now making signals of 
amity. Although we could not help thinking that the highway robbery of our boat was but an in* 
different way of evincing friendship, still we were willing to see what these people had to say, and 
desired Misquash to ask them why they had behaved as they did. They replied with many protes- 
tations of regard ; and we at length found that they really had no intention of molesting us any 
farther than to satisfy an ardent curiosity which consumed them, and which they now intreated us 
to appease. It appeared that the two Indians of the day before, whose singular conduct had so sur- 
prised us, had been struck with sudden amazement at the sooty appearance of our negro, Toby. They 
had never before seen or beard of a blackamoor, and it must therefore be confessed that their astonish* 



210 burton's gbmtleman's magazine. 

ment was not altogether causeless. Toby, moreover, was as ugly an old gentleman as ever 
having all the peculiar features of his race ; the swollen lips, large white protruding eyes, flat noM^ 
long ears, double head, pot-belly, and bow legs. Upon relating their adventure to their compttnionsy 
iho two savages could obtain no credit for the wonderful story, and were about losing caste for eva^ 
as liars and double-dealers, when they proposed to conduct the whole band to the boats by way of 
▼indicating their veracity. The sudden attack seemed to have been the mere result of impatioio* 
on the part of the still incredulous Assiniboins ; for they never afterwards evinced the slightnt 
hostility, and yielded up the piroque as soon as we made them understand that we would let that 
have a good look at old Toby. The latter personage took the matter as a very good joke, and wmt 
ashore at once, in naiuralibus, that the inquisitive savages might observe the whole extent of iSb» 
question. Their astonishment and satisfaction were profound and complete. At first they doobladl 
Uie evidence of their own eyes, spitting upon their fingers and rubbing the skin of the negro fa> be 
sure that it was not painted. The wool on the head elicited repeated shouts of applause, and tlia 
bandy legs weic the subject of] unqualified admiration. A jig dance on the part of our ugly friend 
brought matters to a climax. Wonder was now at its height Approbation could go no farther. 
Had Toby but possessed a single spark of ambition he might then have made his foitunefor ever by 
ascending the throne of the Assiniboins, and reigning as King Toby the First. 

This incident detained us until late in the day. After interchanging some civilities and present! 
with the savages, we accepted the aid of six of the band in rowing us about five miles on our roat»— 
a very acceptable assistance, and one for which we did not fail to thnnk 1'ohy. Wc mode, to^aj, 
only twelve miles, and encamped at night on a beautiful island which wc long remembered for the 
delicious fish and fowl which its vicinity afforded us. Wc staid at this pleasant spot two days, dming 
which we feasted and made merry, with very little care for the morrow, and with very little regard 
to the numerous beaver which disported around us. ^We might have taken at this island one or two 
hundred skins without difficulty. As it was, we collected about twenty. The island is at the mouth 
of a tolerably large river coming in from the south, and at a point whero the Missouri strikes off in 
a due westerly direction. The latitude is about 48. 

May 8. We proceeded with fair winds and fine weather, and after making twenty or twenty-five 
miles, reached a large liver coming in from the north. Where it dthouches, however, it is very 
narrow — not more than a dozen yards wide, and appears to bo quite choked up with mud. Upon 
ascending it a short distance, a fine bold stream is seen, seventy or eighty yards wide, and very deep, 
passing through a beautiful valley, aboundin:^ in game. Our new guide told us the name of this 
river, but I have no memorandum of it.* Robert Greely shot here some geese which build their 
nests upon trees. 

May 9. In many places a little distant from the river banks, to-day, we observed the H;^und en* 
crusted with a white substance which proved to be a strong salt. We made only fifteen miles, owing 
to several petty hindrances, and encamped at night on the main land, among some clumps of cotton- 
wood and rabbit-berry bushes. «v 

May 10. To-day the weather was cold, and the wind strong, but fair. Wo made great headway. 
The hills in this vicinity are rough and jagged, showing irregular broken masses of rock, some of 
which tower to a great height, and appear to have been subject to the action of water. We picked 
up several pieces of petrified wood and bone ; and coal was scattered about in every direction. The 
river gets very crooked. 

May 11. Detained the greater part of tlie day by squalls and rain. Towards evening it cleared 
«p beautifully with a fair wind, of which wc took advantage, making ten milc» before encamping. 
Several fat beavers were caught, and a wolf was shot upon the bank. Ho seemed to have strayed 
from a large herd which were prowhng about us. 

May 12. Landed to-day at noon, after making ten miles, upon a small steep island, for the pur- 
pose of overhauling some of our things. As we were about taking our departure, one of the Cana- 
dians, who led the van of the party and was several yards in advance, suddenly disappeared from oor 
view with a loud scream. We all ran forward immediately and laughed heartily upon finding that 
our man had only tumbled into an empty cache, from which we soon extricated him. Had he been 
alone, however, there is much room for question if he would have got out at all. Wc examined the 
hole carefully but found nothing in it beyond a few empty bottles ; we did not even see any thing 
serving to show whether French, British, or Americans had concealed their goods here ; and we felt 
tome curiosity upon this point. 

May 13. Arrived at the junction of the Yellowstone with the Missouri, after making twenty-five 
miles daring the day. Misquash hero left us, and returned home. 

• Probably White-earth River.— Eds. G. M. 



SACRED LYRICS. 



BT THOMAS S U W XSTOLIBB, X. D., P H I L A B B L P H r A 



THE DEATH OF SISERA. 

Come forth from the cottage, come forth from the bow'r. 
From palace and vineyard, from temple and tow^r ; 
With shouting, and dancing, and music, and song, 
To hail the proud hero, je people, oh ! throng. 
In the power of his might hath the conqueror trod; 
In port like a monarch, in thought like a god ! 

Why tarries his footsteps, and why doth he stay 1 

What hinders the coming of brave Siscra t 

Why approacheth he not, overladen with spoil, 

The fruit of his conquest, the end of his toil ? 

Why Cometh he not with the slaves in his train, 

And his brow bound around with the gems of the aiam 1 

Alas ! for the hero, the proud man of mail. 

He hath fall'n 'neath the spike, and the hammer of €beL 

By the hand of a woman the chieftain hath died; 

Ho ! life to that woman, and glory, and pride ! 

By the hand of a woman the warrior fell. 

Who called him the scourge of our loved IsraeL 

Now thanks to Jehovah, the Lord of our aires. 
Who hath given us peace to our bright cottage fixM. 
Strike, strike up the cymbals, the trumpet, and late. 
And the voices in praising — let no voice be mute. 
May the foes of our nation thus fall 'fore thy rod. 
And the foes of our nation be thine, oh ! our God ! 



THE COMING OF JEHOVAH. 

The sound of his horses is terribly near — 

The sound of their neighing a token of fear. 

'Neath the power of his coming the universe reels, 

And trembles in fright at his chariot wheels. 

Shrink, shrink to your coverts, accursed and abhorred, 

Who have mock^ in their madness the might of the Lord. 

Let them tremble, the scorners who guided the feet 
Of the people of earth, to the paths of deceit.; 
Whose tongues were like courtezans*, victims to win 
To the tents of the fiend, and the palace of sin; 
Who murdered the prophets, and scoffed at the word-*- 
They vrill wither to naught at the frown of the Lord* 

The forests are weeping, the tall mountains wail. 
And the sound of the morning goes forth on the gale. 
But near comes the judgment, and nigher and nigher, 
The wrath of our God like a falchion of fire. 
It hath entered the city, and passed through the hoide. 
The arrow of vengeance, the spear of the Lord* 

Arouse ye believers, and lift up your voice, 
Like the birds of the greenwood in spring-time, rejoice. 
Ye arc saved, disenthralled, and your triumph is near. 
When delivered from sin, and preserved from all fear. 
When the vials of wrath on the wrathful are poured. 
Ye shall dwell, as his sons, in the house of the Loid. 

T01« TX*— WO' T. I 2, 



A PEEP AT MIDNIGHT FROM A COLLEGE WINDOW. 



BT WILLIAM Z. B U K T O If , P H I I. A D A . 



Saiu cuique mo*. 



I HAVB an earnest afTection, a feeling beyond the mere liking engendered bj habits of residency^ 
to the academic groves of the English Cambridge. I care not foi the anogant pretensions of the 
Tival university — I disallow the superior beauty of Isis* city, despite its street of college fronts and itm 
boasted sylvan vicinage. The quiet of the classical nooks and comers in the narrow lanes and out- 
of-the-way places abounding on the banks of Cam, seems to invite to habits of study and repose. 
The sluggish river steals gently beside the shady trees, and disturbs not the collegians by the sound 
of a solitary ripple. The silent clobters — the extensive quadrangles, with their untrodden grass- 
plats — the druldical appearance of the aged trees which border the walks of Trinity and John — the 
monastery-like look of the larger buildings, and the unobtrusive but enticing plainness of the small 
colleges and antique halls — possess a value, in my eyes, far outweighing the meretricious and glaring 
beauty which has been so highly lauded in the opposite establishment. 

How I enjoyed revisiting the scenes of my hobadehoyism ! a gallop on Quy Common, a rubber at 
billiards at Chesterton, a ride through Barnwell, a stroll over the Stourbridge firir field, and a bump- 
ing or boating match on the Cam, varied the routine of my city and collegiate visitations, and brighten- 
ed the remembrance of my college days. 

While surveying the delicate tracery of the lantern belonging to the new quadrangle of St. John^s^ 
I was hailed by an old college chum, now a tutor, and introduced to a select circle of Johnians and 
Trinitarians. One of the latter, a second-year man, informed me that he " wined and fed the sui- 
xounding beasts" that evening at his den, at such a number, up such a staircase, and hoped I would 
lift a glass with them. I was too well acquainted with the lack of ceremony in all college invitations 
to feel offended at the homeliness of his phrase. I accepted the invite, and, at the appointed hour, 
placed my knees beneath his well- spread mahogany. 

The eopuSf a powerful mixture of wine, rum, sugar, and lemon, an arrangement peculiar to Cam- 
bridge symposiums, went merrily round ; the song, the joke, the tale, the laugh, were rude and 
Teady ; a bowl of champagne punch drove the young men in statu pupillari to a state of madness, 
whilst the indurated elders quietly gazed upon the scenes which were ** strange in fact but pleasant 
to behold !" At an early hour, the table was covered with broken glass and china, and the floor wae 
spotted with incumbents submitting to the power of the son of Semele. The tutor and an ancient 
fellow of Jesus were smoking Dos Amigos cigars " over the latter end of a sea-coal fire," and potter- 
ing an immensity of maudlin nonsense about the supposed appearance of a ghost in the quiet re- 
cesses of Corpus Christi. I stole unobserved from the room, and, sick of the smell of stale liquor 
and the second-hand tobacco- smoke, and tired of the twaddle of the sober but stultified disputants, I 
placed myself at the hall window which overlooked the great quadrangle of Trinity College, and 
drew a long and deep sospiration of the cold and clear midnight air. 

The moon shone brightly down on the green sward of the lawn, and graced the old fountain in 
the centre with a strange effect of light and shade. The side of the old hall of the college glistened 
in the gay beams, and the gate tower exhibited a depth of gloominess of opposite force and beauty. 
The newly-painted white armor of the statue of King Edward III. reflected the moon's rays, as it 
stood in its comfortable niche. That gentleman, who owned a round but antique little body, with a 
eingular abdominal protuberance, and a white head surmounted with a small gilt crown, held some- 
thing in his left hand that looked like a fresh-peeled turnip — meant, doubtless, for the sacred orb. 
<}ueen Elizabeth remained, in statu quo, in her appropriate niche, opposite the clock ; and her royal 
papa, the immaculate Harry the Eighth, kept guard outside the gateway. The wicked wags of the 
college termed these three statues the sro^rs of Trinity, 

An awful silence reigned over cloister and quadrangle. I bethought me of the conversation of the 
tutor and his friend, relative to the probability, of ghostly or spiritual existence in this mundane 
sphere. I laid my head upon my arm, and meditated on the feasibility of the ghost-seer*s arguments. 
If, thought I, as I gazed upon the paitially-illuminated area below me, if the spirits of men arc allow- 
ed to revisit " the glimpses of the moon," and frequent the scenes of old association, why may not 
the quadrangle of Trinity be, at this moment of midnight, crowded with the hosts of departed col- 
legians — an oi poUoi of students of a by-gone age ! 

I know not, to paraphrase a speech used by Dandic Dinmont, " whether the punch had cleared my 
«ycs which the copus had blinded," or whether ray spiritual clear-sightedness received assistance from 
some invisible Asmodeus, but I distinctly gaw the whole of the quadrangle walks covered with many 
Jiondreds of ghosts, in the shapes and habits as they lived. The sizar B. A. who bad nobly won his 



A PEEP FROM A COLLEGE WINDOW. 213 

degree " with honors/' hut had lieen compelled, hy griping poverty, to hide his proud aspirations in 
the rusty cassock of a miserable curacy — the gold-tufled vjooden spoon, who, blessed with a plentiful 
lack of brains, but owning an undeniable connection, had girded a bishop's apron around his bloated 
carcass, full of the fatness of the flesh-pots of Egypt — met in the gloom of the Gothic doorway, and 
compared their worldly progress since their last conjunction within the classic walls. The spend*- 
thrift nobleman, who, to please his friends, graduated as a fellow commoner at Trinity, and passed 
his time in defiance of proctors' bull dogs and threats of rustication, slapped heartily on the back the 
withered form of his old tutor, a smoke-dried holder of a fellowship, who resigned his useless life in 
the gloomy precincts of his beloved college. But the greetings were not confined to mere friends er 
acquaintances in this world — the lieges of every age, from the foundation of the university in the 
thirteenth century to the present ghostly visitation in the nineteenth, jostled each other with an un- 
restrained familiarity that told of the frequency of these midnight assemblings of the collegians. 

A joyous and unghostly laugh from the centre of the grass plat, for the ghosts seemed to defy the 
dean's prohibitory respecting the usage of the sward, attracted my attention, and with a prescient 
glance, I saw the Pindaric Cowley, in his cavalier dress, holding the button of Adventurer Hawkes- 
worth, to whom he was detailufig the progress of an amour with a lady of the profligate court of the 
restored Charles. Lord Bacon had pinned Sir Isaac Newton in a corner, by the chapel walls, and 
claimed to be the original discoverer of the attraction of gravitation which the scientific world has 
universally assigned to the knight of Queen Anne and the falling apple. Newton indignantly re- 
pelled the charge, and sneered at the informal philosophy of the Novum Organum ; Bacon repeated 
the accusation, and rcruinded Sir Isaac of the Leibnitzian controversy, wherein Newton was accused 
of stealing his method of fIui[ions from the differential calculus of the German scholiast. The shade 
of the modern philosopher swelled with rage ; he retorted upon his ungenerous antagonist, and hint- 
ed at the public dcjs^tadation which alTected the close of Veru lam's hfe. Blows seemed likely to close 
the dispute, when Drydcn rushed in with an oath, and threatened to knock the next-speaking magister 
<* o'er the mazzard." Bacon turned for consolation to the ghost of Bishop Watson, of Llandaif, who 
proffered the philosopher a composing draught in the perusal of a few pages of his " Apology for the 
Bible," which, " as it had effectually purged the land of the poison disseminated by the infidel Paine, 
would doubtless remedy the evils resulting from the study of a false philosophy." Newton was way- 
laid by Sir Edward Coke, who, perdut had listened to the whole dispute. The jealousy of King 
James's lord chief justice towards the lord chancellor, a rival in the favoritism of his monarch, had 
not been subdued by death; (yoke suggested to Newton an action against Bacon for slander. 

'*Aye," said Drydcn, *' summon their ghostships to form a fpiritual couii, or constitute an archil 
tribunal under the cloisters." 

Coke scowled at the poefs ignorance of legal propriety ; but " glorious John" turned upon hie 
heel, taking the arm of his brother dramatist, John Fletcher, who had been wandering sadly through 
the multitude of collegians, and rejoicing not, inasmuch as his Siamese brother-in-literaturc, Francis 
Beaumont, was caracolling on the banks of Thames. 

A mysterious figure, shrouded in a capacious cloak of sombre hue, sat on the steps of the unused 
fountain, and leaned his ringletted head upon his small and delicate hand. On one of his fingen, 
a signet ring of extraordinary beauty reflected the brightness of the night. It was Devercux, " the 
unfortunate Earl of Essex," the whilom favorite of the capricious queen, the fellow-soldier of Henii 
Quatre, the hero of Zutphcn, the governor of Ireland, the traitor, and the rebel. 

A crowd of collegiate ghosts encircled two strange-looking and uncouth figures, who were vitupe- 
rating each other with a choice collection of blackguard epithets and vulgar abuse. One of the 
ghosts, with the mark of intemperance stamped upon his face, was clad in soiled and unfitting gar- 
ments which hung upon his gaunt form like Nessus' shirt upon the club of Hercules. Books were 
crammed into every pocket, and projected from various portions of his apparel. A rusty battered 
hat surmounted a shock of unkempt hair which hung down his neck, and rested on the greasy collar 
of his coat. Large red hands were thrust far below the sleeves, and a portion of his linen appeared 
just above the waistband. The disputant was Richard Porson. His antagonist. Dr. Bentley, wore 
the square-flapped coat, three-cornered hat, and flowing peruke of the latter part of the seventeenth 
century ; his extravagance of language and gesture exceeded, if possible, the violence of Porson, who, 
instead of respecting the attainments of the old master of Trinity, malignantly reminded him of hie 
peculative habits, which involved him in disgraceful lawsuits, and resulted in stripping him of all his 
lucrative offices and posts. The doctor met the charges manfully, and retorted with acrimonious 
humor upon the professor, whom he held up to the ridicule of his hearers, inasmuch as, l)eing the 
son of a poverty-steeped parish clerk, and a student at a religious institution where he had laboriously 
won a fellowship, he had voluntarily resigned it because his conscience would not allow him to sub- 
scribe to the thirty-nine articles of the Episcopal Church. " Your conscience !" said the doctor, 
** why, Porson, your after-life has given the daily lie to this conscientious sacrifice ! in what other 
event have you ever exhibited the workings of a conscicncel" 

A middle-aged gentleman of most fashionable exterior and elegance of deportment, dressed in a full 
court suit of blue and silver, with diamond-hilted sword, bag wig, lace ruffles, and Mechlin cravat, 
advanced, with a most profound eongd, towards the noisy disputants, and ezpresied his regrets that 



214 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

the mightiest Grecians and profoandest Aristarchs of the age should deem it worth while to rate eadi 
other like a couple of fishwives, and- degrade themselves in the eyes of the lookers-on. 

<*Lord Chesterfield, you are right," exclaimed PorsoB. << ]>---n it, doctor, I ask pardon« L^t Qi 
adjourn to the huttery, and imbibe some audit ale." 

Whilst I was pondering over this display of human weakness in the sayings and doings of llie 
apirits beneath me, and fancying that the worldly failings of the defunct collegers had been most im- 
perfectly *< purged and burnt away," the scene appeared to change from the college of Trinity to that 
of St. John, its immediate neighbor — and, eventually, to all the colleges in the university, whidi 
were consecutively laid open to my notice. 

The ghosts of the hogs, as the Johnians are generally termed, from a boar being the crest of the 
college, weic more uproarious than the ghosts of Trinity. A mob of drunken students, in attempting 
to convey a damsel in male attire into the college, (a feat often practised, but resulting in the ceitaia 
expulsion of all concerned, if detected,) had encountered the opposition of the gate keeper, who, 
thrusting the disguised wench into the street, locked the gate upon the Bacchanals, and threatened 
to return their names to the master. A general row ensued, in which Bishop Stillingfleet, who 
earnestly endeavored to restore order, was unceremoniously floored by rare Ben Jonson, who, fresh 
from the Devil tavern, flushed with wine, had stopped to shake hands with his fellow collegians, Mat 
Prior and his patron, the Earl of Halifax. The interior quadrangle exhibited a ghostly and attrac- 
tive quiet. William Cecil, the great Lord Buileigh, Queen Elizabeth^s premier, *< the ablest minister 
of an able reign," was walking with measured step and dignified deportment, up and down the path- 
"Way ; his pointed beard, huge ruff, doublet, trunk hose, state robe, chain, and dagger contrasting 
strangely with the plain modern suit of black in which his companion was habited. The dealer in 
diplomacy and state intrigue was enjoying an easy common-sense conversation with William Lee, 
the ingenious inventor of stocking-frame machinery. 

On the bridge connecting St. John's College with the walks, a pale thin ghost stood leaning on 
the stone balustrade, gazing with contemplative face upon the queen of heaven as she sailed uncloud- 
ed along the blue expanse. Poor Kirke White ! I honor the name of Boott, the Bostonian, who 
erected a tablet to White's memory in the chancel of All Saints* Church at Cambridge. 

Peeping into Queen's College, I observed Erasmus hobbling about, looking in vain for a congenial 
companion. His residence there seemed to have produced but little cfTect upon the mental achieve- 
ments of his pupils. At King's College, Sir Robert Walpole, the tortuous statesman, was inquiring 
of his fellow collegian, the upright Lord Camden, his reasons foi defending the American colonies 
in their resistance of taxation. 

As I gazed upon the new screen of this splendid edifice, with its many piles of arabesque work 
encircling the central or gate tower, I imagined that, in my bird's eye view, it appeared something 
like a huge circular set of cut-glass castors. 

At Peterhouse, Henry Beaufort, the haughty caidinal, who " died and made no sign !" — the brother 
of a king, the chancellor of England, the Pope's legate, the French ambassador — was listening to 
Lord Ellenborough's description of the obstinacy of a modern jury, who refused to find WiUiam 
Hone guilty of blasphemy, although directed to return such a verdict by Ellenborough himself. The 
repetition of the jury's assertion of its right to judge for itself, had such an effect upon the bigotted 
chief justice that he resigned his office, took to his bed, and died. The cardinal sympathised with 
his modern prototype, and deplored the prevalence of independent thought. 

William Pitt, " the heaven-born minister," sick of the cares of government, was lolling lazily on 
the green turf of the small court at Pembroke Hall, enjoying a Parnassian confabulation with the 
fa^iy Spenser and the melancholy Gray. 

At Clare Hall, the ill-used Tillotson, who lived before the age, and, notwithstanding his posses- 
sion of the stole and lawn, endured a mental martyrdom rather than disown his firm asseveration of 
the right, was combating the arguments of the worldly-minded Dodd, the man of anomalies, who did 
more good than any other clergyman of his day, and yet was hanged for an unnecessary crime. 

Jeremy Taylor was the son of a barber at Cambridge, and placed as a sizar at Caius College, where 
he gained his degree of M. A. I saw the old man toddling round his beloved grounds, and greeting 
his college chums with an aflcctionatc air. Lord Thurlow doffed his premier pomposity, and assist- 
ed the divine in his perambulations, while Sir Thomas Giesham, the London merchant, who con- 
ceived and executed the bold design of establishing a college in London, in opposition to Cambridge, 
supported Jeremy Taylor on the other side. It would bo difficult to conceive a greater specimen of 
contrarieties in look and life than was afibrdcd by this group of honorable oppositcs — in the Holbein 
style of Gresham's dress, the plain simplicity of the divine's attire, and tho elegant apparel of the 
modern gentleman. 

Sidney College presented a dreary blank. A squat-made thick-set man walked rapidly up and 
down the corridor with uneasy pace, looking stealthily into tlie sunounding gloom. It was Oliver 
Cromwell, the king killer. 

At Jesus College, Archbishop Crarancr, who paid at tlio stake for the errors of a busy life, was 
listening with much attention to Flamstead, the old astronomer-royal, who was reading, withinfiaita 
gusto, a copy of Locke's excellent tnoquerie of Herschell's DiscoToriea in tho Moon. 



STANZAB* 



215 



I gazed with delight upon the groups which hovered ahout the classic grounds of Christ College, 
and would have given one of my ears to have been able to join the party. Emblem Quarles and 
John Leland, the royal antiquary, were sitting upon the steps, discoursing mournfully of their un- 
timely deaths. The archaiologist portrayed in his pale lineaments the incipient workings of the fell 
disease which crippled his mind and hurried him to the grave, with all his grand designs unfinished. 
The bishops Latimer and Porteus were lying on the ground l)eneath the aged limbs of the mulberry 
tree planted by the hands of John Milton, while graduating in this college ; and William Paley, the 
wit, the Christian, and the philosopher, was leading home, from a walk by the river side, the vener- 
able author of " Paradise Lost." 

I was noticing the crowd of clerical spectres which haunted the precincts of this college, when I 
received a jerk that recalled my attention to the living world. I jumped upon my feet, and struck 
my head against the window frame. A college gyp stood at my elbow, and saluted me with a 
•pecimcn of his undeniable English. 

« Won't you ketch no cold a sleeping ere by the hopen winder 1 several of the gentlemen is woked 
up again quite nice and fresh — and Tve made a jolly great pot full of prime 'ot coffee ! By than 
you've drinked a cup or two, and washed your 'ed with wcry cold water, you'll be u right aa a thvat*" 

The fellow imagined that I had been tipsy. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 



THE BOATMAN'S MEASURED SONG. 



BT ▲ SOUTHKOir, W I L X I If G T O IT 



C. 



When slowly sinks the god of day, 

And night her mantle throws around. 
When fading is each lingering ray. 

And silence reigns profound ; 
Then, when the stars peep from the sky 

And gem its vault, a myriad throng, 
List to the boatman's echoing cry, 

The boatman's measured song. 

The day is o^er — the setting sun 

Has sunk behind the distant hill. 
And the last fading tints upon 

The placid lake are gleaming still; 
The twilight shades are gathering fast 

O'er lake, and wood, and sea, 
The gentle zephyr's tuneful blast 

Is fraught with melody : 
Row ! comrades, row ! the pearly moon 

O'er fields of light celestial roams; 
Row with a will, for very soon 

We'll reach our happy homes ! 

Urged by the long and tapering oar, 

Our boat is bounding o'er the lake. 
While ripples burst in foam before, 

And bubbles follow in our wake; 
A night of nature's loveliness 

The lonely heart by peace to cheer, 
For beauty, in her richest dresa, 

Doth leigQ BtthliiDBl/ hki 



9 

Row ! comrades, row ! the pearly moon 

O'er fields of light celestial roams; 
Row with a will, for very soon 

We'll reach oar hippy homes ! 

How like a fairy barque, our boat 

Speeds wilchingly along, 
While echo unswexs every note 

Of this, the fisher's song; 
And soon that boat will reach the land 

Where happily we dwell. 
And soon our feet will press the strand, 

The home we love so woU : 
Row ! comrades, row! the pearly moon 

O'er fields of light celestial roams ; 
Row with a will, for very soon 

We'll reach our happy homes ! 

And like the twinkling stars above 

Those distant gleaming lights appear, 
For bosoms glowing in their love 

And beating hearts are there. 
Soon will we meet the glad embrace 

Of cherished and expectant friends, 
And gaze on every well-known face 

With love that never ends : 
Cease ! comrades, cease ! reserve your streDgth; 

With other thoughts your minds employ ; 
Cease ! for our homes we've reached at lengtlii 

Glad hofflea of peace and joy ! 



COLUMBUS. 



A HISTORICAL POEM 



BT FBSDXRICK WEST, £ 8 Q. . , HSW TOBK, 



CA5TO FOUBTH. 



THE IGNOMINY. 



As Colon told the triamph he achieved. 
Upon his face there was a glory cast 
As if the eternal soul were mirror'd there, 
Which, for a moment, swept away all trace 
Of age, care, suffeiing, and a coming death, 
And stamped upon his form, as on his name, 
The lustre of its immortality : 
But the nairation of his after woes 
Put out the lire — lighted his spirit up 
T' cthcrealisc the clay, and left all dark. 
For the pure soul, formed for ecstatic bliss, 
Is only seen in joys might bloom in heaven. 
In actions Gods themselves might not disdain ; 
And like the sun, upon a winter's day, 
When clouds of snow gathci before the sky. 
By the world's cold is to the world shut out. 

" In the sweet honey of my joy 

Poison was mixed. The dark alloy 

Worked slow and surely, till the light 

I gloried in faded in night. 

As for the Pinion's broken failh,* 

It was atoned for by his death. 

Which from my soul his treachery 

Swept all away, and left there free 

His virtues from the pitchy stain 

With which the world blackened his name. 

He was long time my firmest fiiend, 

Assisted me in my great end; 

But fell ambition mastered him. 

And made a name of glory dim — 

From the topgallant^mast of fame. 

Hurled him at once to inky shame. 

Believing his commander dead, 

His long kept sense of honor fled ; 

And he essayed with Spain to be 

The chief of the discovery. 



Discovered — prostrated in pride, 
Heart-broken and contemned he died.-)* 

" Ambition ! Diego, beware, 
If thy breast bums, the true fire 's there* 
When Heaven implanted in the soul 
That god-like attribute — the goal 
Which earthly greatness, heavenly blisi,. 
Lifts us to— from the dross of this, 
Hell, in its likeness, raised a fire, 
Enkindled in each worst desire 
Of human passion ; and each fiame 
Bears to the world ambition's name. 
But though alike, their natures swell 
As far apart as heaven from helL 
The heavenly fire 's the beacon light 
Which guards the mariner at night; 
The hellish flame *s the wrecker's torch' 
Which leads the bark to ruin's porch. 

" In the first heam of glory's blaze, 
Detraction sought to dim its rays. 
Spain's cardinal a banquet gave, 
Inviting there the high and brave, 
To meet me, his most honored guest, 
And greet me at the spreading feast. 
At this same banquet was a thingt 
Who owned the butterfly's bright wing, 
So gay the trappings that he wore ; 
But the grub's grovelling form he here, 
That showed how decked by trappings great 
His mind's contemptible estate, 
Which birth nor fortune could not raise 
To honor, or respect, or praise. 
The creature spawned to crawl and lie 
Upon tlic path of royalty ; 



• Pinxon had contributed greatly to encourage Columbus, when poor and unknown in Spain'; 
offering his purse, and entering with hearty concurrence into his plans. He had assisted him by 
his personal influence at Palos— combatting the public prejudices, and promoting the manning and 
equipping of his vessels, when the orders of the sovereigns were of no avail ; he had advanced the 
part of the funds to be borne by the admiral ; finally, he had embarked with his brothers in the ex- 
pedition, staking life, as well as property, on the event. He had thus entitled himself to participate 
largely in the glory of this immortal enterprize; but, forgetting for a moment the grandeui of the 
cause, he had deserted the hi(;h object in view, and, by yielding to the impulse of a low and sordid 
ambi»ion, had tarnished his character for ever. — Irving*8 Columbus, 

■\ That ho was a man naturally of generous sentiments, is evident from the poignancy of his r»- 
morse. A mean man could not have fallen a victim to self- upbraiding for having committed a m0a& 
action. — Ibid. 

\ Benzoni, the Italian historian, narrates this anecdote.— Lt6« 1, j»» 18, Bd VenOkh 167S» 



COLOMBUS. 



217 



Who, for each foal indignity 

His nature earned from high degree, 

Cried quits with his most dastaid soul 

In his assumption of control 

0*er those he deemed beneath him, tasked 

His witless brain to fret me— asked 

If I'd not made discovery 

Whether the Indies lost would be. 

And if I loTed myself so well, 

Deeming none other capable. 

I bade him take an egg in hand . 

And on its small end make it stand ; 

He tried, all tried, and tiied in vain, 

But miracle such end could gain. 

I bioke the egg upon my plate. 

It stood erect before them strait ; 

They cried, * All this we could have done !* 

Yes, I replied, when yoa were shown — 

Nothing more easy than to tread 

Where other steps the way have led. 

" And so it is ! Discoveries 
Have mocked man's art for centuries, 
When once revealed appear so plain 
That all the world the end could gain. 
Science, yet in its infancy, 
A great and mighty mystery, 
Shall to its worshippers unfold 
Treasures more vast than mines of gold. 
And if these, won, simple appear. 
Lives they oft take to bring to bear ; 
Yet still shall envy strive to mar 
The glory of each rising star; 
For evil minds, in darkness dwell, 
Strive to make all things dark as well, 
And sicken at the radiance 
Which shows their own incompetence. 

** Jerusalem ! in the success 

That crowned my schemes, thy sad distress 

Was not foigot The infidel 

Yet in thy holy walls did dwell. 

I vowed, within seven years at most,^* 

Out of my individual cost. 

From the rich treasures mine would be 

From this my great discovery, — 

To furnish fifty thousand foot. 

Five hundred horse; myself to put 

r the foremost rank, till Moslem prayer 

No more defiled Christ's sepulchre. 

" My second voyage was the hate 

Of many men of high estate ; 

They gladly bore me company. 

Yet could not brook command from me ; 

And that subordination needed 

For safety, as disgrace they heeded. 

Their loud complaints to Spain were sent, 

My government to circumvent ; 

And the proud families here strove, 

In pride of blood for kindred love, 

To crush the upstart foreigner 

By poisoning the royal ear 

Against me ; and, though slow at first. 

At length the poison worked ftt wonL 



" The first slight from the crown I served 

Most faithfully — ^wherein it swerved 

From its just contract — ^was, without 

Consulting me, to license out 

Grants to adventurers, men who stood 

Reckless alike of ill or good. 

So fortune smiled. They would not brook 

On my authority to look, 

Which caused Uie discontent had bred 

Within my colony to spread. 

** The second was an inquiry, 
Caused by full many an enemy. 
Into my government, which had been. 
Through every varied, toilsome scene. 
For interest of the Spanbh crown, 
Its lasting glory and renown. 
I recommended one I knew. 
My plans and measures to review ; 
Ho came, with base ingratitude 
Even as the governor himself viewed. 

" Is there a pang to sting the breast, 

And plunge it in a sad unrest ! 

'Tis that most greatest turpitude, 

That pitchy sin. Ingratitude. 

Who steals your gold, the world's vile dross,. 

Against the gain perils the loss 

Of life and libeitj, and may 

Have direful want excuse to pray. 

Who blackens you, may have such ground 

As in dark enmity is found ; 

Revenge of real or fancied wrong 

May hurry a rucked soul along 

'Till bloody deeds encompass it. 

And some even then shall pity it — 

For pity looks beyond the act. 

To thoughts that made with sin compact 

But for ingratitude ! — the snake 

From the warm bosom life could take, 

Then turn with pestilential breath 

To pay the given life with death. 

There is no wretch so sunk in slime. 

Of other aad of lesser crime, 

Will not thank Heaven so foul a blot 

Upon his soul has trespassed not. 

And shudder at the leprous word, 

Of God and man alike abhorred. 

*• Since first Spain's rapturous joys had fed 
My soul's great joy three years had sped ; 
When I returned a second time 
From mine own path to India's clime, 
I felt my great discovery 
Was looked on with some apathy, 
And knowing well the rabble rude, 
The gross, unthinking multitude. 
Must still be fed with novelty. 
In meretricious pageantry 
I waked the popularity 
Due to my scheme's utility. 

'* It was my wish to carry on 
My plans, sucoeisfttUy began^ 



218 



BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE* 



Without delay. For the third timey 

To bear me to the western clime, 

I begged some diips. I siill was fed 

From the rich feast which Spain had spread 

For her true servant — pi omii^es ! 

She gorged me bounteously with these ; 

But while I sought a scanty sail 

For Spain's renown, without avail, 

A hundred shi^w rode on the tide 

To bear away a ro3al biide 

To Flanders, and for this vain state 

Discoveries were doomed to wait. 

*< If kings and princes, nobles, who 

Engross the wealth possessed by few. 

Were to dispense wiih the vain show 

That gilds their footsteps as they go. 

And give unto utility 

Sums squandered upon vanity, 

A golden haivest had been shown 

Where now arc weeds, and briar, and stone ; 

Science had flourished, aits had spread — 

Nor Greece nor Rome such light had shed 

As wc might boast. The wealth is spent 

In merctiicious ornament 

Is like the waters that intrude 

In Afric's deserts* solitude. 

Where neither tree, nor shrub, nor flower, 

Proclaims their fertilizing power ; 

And where, at last, sucked up for ever 

In burning sands, the useless river 

Proclaims its prostituted worth, 

Its talent buried in the earth. 

<* *T\va3 now each crawling enemy 
To do mc wrong worked craftily : 
'Twas whispered my discovery 
Was profltlesj*, and still would be ; 
And not a land of rich delight, 
But one of poverty and blight. 
There was no end to these foul lies, 
The glory of my enterprizo 
To taint. Till, when at last. 
The bridal ceremonies passM, 
The queen with spirit viewed again 
The glory of the great design, 
And granted ships, still I was bound — 
No men to man them could be found. 

<' To obviate this new distress, 

It seemed essential to impi-css 

Prisoners to serve. The jails of Spain 

The vcFsels manned to cross the main— 

A cause of after mystery 

Both to the colony and mc. 

The expedition languished yet, 

My enemies my path beset ; 

Every annoyance tliey could breed 

To thwart my purpose and impede 

My course, they well peifoimwl — as though 

I was some upstart, beijgar low, 

They treated me. Their drrogance 

At fust I felt was no oflx-ncc ; 

For minions in authority, 

Lacking tlic mind's tiuo dignity, 



I Strive ever to supply the want 
By bearing most intolerant 
But water dropping on a stone. 
Which for a time secnit to have won 
No impiess, by its constancy 
Fritters the solid stufl* away ; 
And so, at last, this purpose moved 
My bearing. With the muiUtuda 
Td lost all popularity ; 
Why should I waste my life to be 
Scorned and contemned by ingrale hearti^ 
And in m}' bosom bear their darts T 
My hand had quitted then the plooghy 
But for the queen. Her noble brow 
Was shaded by the tyrant, who 
The life she doated on o'eithrew ; 
Her son had yielded up his breath 
To the all conquering arm of death. 
I still pressed on for her sweet sake. 
More chaplets for her brow to make ; 
And to accomplish that, might dry 
The burning tear in sorrow's eye, 
And animate the noble queen 
To be as she before had been. 

•' The intolerance that I had paas'd 

Pursued my footsteps to the last 

One miserable miscreant, 

Not with his heaped-up scorn content. 

Pursued my steps to the ship's side 

Where I embarked, and poured a tide 

Of insolence into mine ear, 

Nor man could brook, nor nature bear. 

I had endured till to endure 

Became a vice, and all loo poor 

Men deemed my spirit to reply 

To any rank indignity. 

It was too much, his gross oflcnce — 

Intolerable insolence — 

Not the great cause had held my arm. 

As with a mighty wizard's charm, 

Could now restrain me — to the ground 

I struck the slanderous, foul-mouthed houndy 

And spumed him wiih my foot. I saw 

Too late the ill the act would draw. 

" My enemies narrated it. 

With such additions as seemed fit, 

To paint mc cruel, arrogant, 

Overbearing and intolerant. 

Falsehood on falsehood filled the ear 

Of royalty, and none were near 

In my behalf. 'Twas rumored I 

Meant to possess the colony. 

The queen, who knew my nature well. 

Knew treason in it could not dwelL 

<< At length a traitor's followers 
Returned to Spain with slaves, and thes^ 
Which they had stolen, they averred 
Had been by me to them prefer reJ. 
The queen, who'd combatted each doubt 
Of my true faiib, no more held out, 
But Bobdulilla scut, to see 
Into the Climes aaciibed to me. 



OOLVKBUS. 



219 



« He came and he at once tssumed 
Supreme command ; as he presumed. 
To suit his thirsting lo^e of sway. 
To deem me guiity. No delay, 
To try or to investigate 
My conduct and the new world's state 
Suited bis views. As confiscate, 
He seized upon my house, arms, plate, 
Books, private papers, prisoners— all 
He could not rise did I not fall. 

** When thesa high«>handed acts I heard, 

I deemed some rash adventurer stirred 

In San Domingo mutiny ; 

But finding Spain's authority 

Was with his person duly blended, 

I deemed his acts his power transcended : 

For never could I think that he 

Who braved the vast untrodden sea, 

And gave to Spain another world, 

Could from bis government be hurled, 

Condemned, by slander^s falsity, 

Unheard. Such foul indignity 

Ne'er glanced a moment on ray thought — 

I scarce believed it when 'twas wrought 

Quickly I wrote him, cautioning, 

Ih gentle terms, his venturing 

In too untoward recklessness, 

Might plunge the isle in sad distress. 

** Soon Bobadilla, in reply, 
Sent me bis high authority, 
A letter from Spain's sovereign head, 
Exalting him in my poor stead; 
Commanding me on his dictate 
With sure obedience to wait. 
I was from San Domingo, where 
He staid — he bade me thence repair. 

<* True lojalty in life to death 
Has been as vital as my breath; 
I did not pause to send reply, 
But went to greet him instantly. 
On the pretence that I should strive. 
By force of arras, to keep alive 
My power, he mustered soldiers, made 
A warlike show and vain parade. 
And seizing on my brother, bound hira. 
With heavy, galling chains around him, 
Upon no shadow of pretence 
To stamp against him an offence. 
And sent him to a caravel. 
As branded criminal to dwell. 
And this most vile indignity 
The petty slave reserved for me; 
I, too, was seized, and ho ordained 
The old discoverer should be chained 
As a false, treacherous, traitor knave. 
Or low and grovelling felon slave. 

** How much so e'er my enemies 
Desired my downfall, none of theae 
Were found to put the fettete oo. 
8uch awe, as Marine, I 



When the poof slave, who came to kill. 
Found him in downfall mighty still ; 
Mighty by memories round him cast, 
Which linked him with the glorioos past, 
And over his defenceless head 
The reverence of his greatness ahed« 

" They touched me not But to fill up 

Unto the very brim the cup 

Of base ingratitude, mine own 

False servant put the irons on. 

I could not stoop to deprecate 

The envy, malice, and the hate, 

Now stirred my foes. I bore their will 

Without complaint Within me, still 

The hope that Bobadilla swerved 

From duty to the crown he served 

Burned biightly. Spain might be abased 

By arts my enemies had used ; 

But such a foul indignity 

Nor ordered nor could sanctioned be. 

" Within the fortress where I dragged 

The heavy chain o'er pavement flagged — 

The iron robes and bed of stone 

My gray-haired services had won — 

Pierced the exulting rabble's cry, 

In taunt and gross scurrillity. 

I deemed my life would be required, 

And that my name disgraced, bcmued 

With the foul slime upon it cast, 

Would sink in infamy at last 

'Twas not They sent Columbus back 

With iron gyves on his own track. 

'* Within the ship, in which I rode 
A prisoner, were no creatures rude 
And insolent, as those I'd lefl — 
As if of greatness not beref^ 
They treated me — my titles gave. 
And would hnve had me less a slave, 
By taking off each manacle 
Which graced my long-tried faith so well. 
But I refused. * Their majesties,' 
I said, * have given mine en^nies 
Power over me. That I submit 
To Bobadilla, they seem fit — 
By their authority, he gains 
The right to load me with these chains— 
I've borne the foul indignity. 
And on these limbs the gyves shall be 
Till they undo his doing. Then, 
As relics prized by holy men, 
I'll keep them as the bright award— 
The guerdon — bountiful reward- 
Given by their gracious majesties. 
For all their servant's services. 

** The chivalry of Spain was heard 
When I arrived. The air was stirred 
With cries indignant, which found vent 
In universal discontent 
That I was brought to Spain a slave. 
Back from the land U> Spain I gum. 



220 



burton's gentleman's magazine. 



Seemed to men's minds so horrible, 

"No other thought could in them dwelL 

The queen received my vindication ; 

She felt, in common with the nation. 

That none was needed — that the crown, 

Participation must disown 

In the black act of treachery. 

She did, with sweetest sympathy 

And fiery indication blended. 

Spain's agents' power had been transcended. 

Their majesties at once replied ; 

All share in my disgrace denied — 

Ordered, at once, my liberty — 

Giieved for the suflerings borne by me — 

And to their court bade me repair, 

Furnishing funds to take me theie. 

« Could ioye and honors e'er efiace 
The canker of unjust disgrace. 
The kindness of the queen had stole 
Like wave Lethean o'er my soul. 
And left no memoiy of the wrong, 
The pang that stung me to prolong. 
The queen was moved to tears, and I, 
"Who had endured the mockery 
Of envious souls — the bitter hate 
Of men, by birth, of high estate, 
"Who could not brook the ' mariner' 
His hard earned dignity should wear — 
At seeing so much kindness shone 
By the crowned head, as did atone 
For all, was melted. Tears, long pent 
In this old fiame, found ample vent. 

" Their majesties encouraged me 
With swcci words, spoken soothingly, 
I vindicated then my course 
From first to list, till the divorce. 
Rudely enforced, that took away 
My lightful and my righteous sway. 
The king with indignation viewed 
The power his agent had abused ; 
And promised to recall him straight, 
Myself at once to reinstate 
"With all the honors I had worn, 
Kufilianly, fiom me, brief time torn. 

" The rc-appointment was not made — 
In the excitement, it was said. 
The island owned my swift return 
Might cause the faction still to bum. 
Another viceroy, for a time. 
Should rule — he then resign 
The government unto my will. 
Myself the lighiful viceroy suU. 

" 'Twas thus the crafty monarch gained 

His darling end. The power obtained 

By my discovery he viewed 

"WiLh envious inquietude ; 

And he resolved that never more 

That power, which to maintain he swore, 

I should call mine. His kingly word 

He compromised, my rights deferred 



Till — but my tale is well nigh told. 
And told, will telJ the lust of gold. 
He knew by compact should be mine, 
Did round his sordid heartstrings twine ;; 
Until his honor, that bright gem 
More precious than his diadem — 
His chivalry in the fierce strife 
Against the Moors — nay, more, his lifo-^ 
Was tainted by the mastery 
Of avarice's leprosy. 

" Honor ! The fiower that brightly blows 

Alone amid the eternal snows, 

Is not more pure, more radiant. 

More free from darkness, or from taint; 

'Tis born of truth, His bathed in light. 

It lives in day, abhors the night ; 

'Tis open, generous, as a child, 

As innocent and unbeguiled — 

Its robes are whitely chaste as snow — 

Pure thoughts, that brighten as they flow — 

High deeds, that win for it renown— 

And modesty, which is its crown. 

And thus it lives and flourisheth 

On the desires it nourisheth ; 

But if one impure thought pervade 

Midst holy things, like rank night shade^ 

Honor is dead. It cannot brook 

One moment on deceit to look ; 

But, like the glass Venetians make, 

By poison touched, at once will break. 

" At length, though purposely delayed. 

One voyage more from Spain I made ; 

I strove to find the strait must lie 

Ncai to the Oarribcan sea, 

Would yield Spain India's merchandize. 

And crown all my discoveiies. 

Ill health and sufTeiing, almost death. 

The tempest's rage, the whirlwind's bieath^ 

Shipwreck, and treachery, strove to mar 

The hope impelled me from afar. 

Yet, for this path which I essayed 

To find, I moie discoveries made. 

" For Bobadilla, who could stain 

At once his manhood and his name. 

He died ; and in his death was seen 

A retribution that has been 

So strongly marked, 'twere sin to doubt 

By Providence 'twas carried out. 

The fleet which sailed to bear him home, 

1^0 answer for the treason done, 

A hurricane encountered — one 

But ofiT those island shores is known. 

Awful in its sublimity. 

The mightiest tyrant of the sea. 

The ships that held mine enemies 

At once were buried in the seas ; 

And Bobadilla's chosen bark 

First sunk into the waters dark. 

With all the gold amassed by sin. 

He fancied would his pardon win. 

Sume few disabled vesseb rode 

The tempest out, and after stood 



COLVUBUS. 



221 



Back for the shore in great diitren. 
Proofs of the tempest's mightiness. 
One little bbrk, almost too frail 
To venture o*er smooth seas to sail. 
Uninjured by the fierce tornado, 
Alone its destined voyage made. 
That vessel held some property, 
My agent sent to Spain for me ; 
The rest became the tempest's spoil. 
The tribute to the dark turmoil. 

" I left the island sorrowful, 

None loved like me the land so well ; 

The very soil which I had found, 

Ev'n as a child, was to me bound ; 

And since the government had passed 

To other hands, a shade was cast 

Upon it, that humanity. 

Appalled, would shuddering bleed to see ; 

Six- sevenths of all the dark-skinn'd tribe. 

Who might have been to Spain allied, 

Were swept away remorselessly. 

Some by inhuman butchery — 

Some by hard tasks, vexations more 

Than those the Israelites of yore 

£ndured in Egypt — some by cord, 

A ready way to win the hoard 

The native princes held, which fed 

The avarice to murder led — 

Some strove against the tyrant's sway, 

And gave their lives in fight away — 

Most, from the tasks they could not bear. 

Flew to the hills, and perished there 

Of hunger. 'Twas less horrible 

Than, as lashed hounds, with men to dwell. 

Men ! did I say ? Oh, may that word 

Not with such butchering slaves be heard ; 

But when we speak of those who thrust 

The Indian race into the dust — 

As tigers, hunted them to death — 

As vampires, sucked their latest breath — 

Watered their earth with theii own blood. 

And theii bones whitening on it strewed — 

Savagely crimsoning the sod. 

Nor fearing man, nor honoring God — 

Let us say devil8> loosed from hell. 

Have done their mission, and that well. 

'* My own concerns were in as g^eat 

Confusion as the island's state ; 

I could get no correct account 

Of my arrearage's amount. 

I suifeicd much, crossing the seas, 

From bodily infirmities ; 

And was at Seville thence confined 

With ills of body and of mind. 

<' Since Bobadilla's vile arrest, 
I had biien oftentimes distress'd 
In my uffaiifl; confusion reigned 
From thence. They never more regained 
Their former course. The revenue 
From San Domingo, that was due, 
I did not get The voyage past. 
From which I hoped so much, had cast 



Me in expenses manifold : 
For much of which, for advanced gold, 
The crown was debtor to me. I 
Lived almost upon charity. 
Upon Spain's service I had past 
Full twenty years, and now at last 
I owned no house— an inn my stay, 
Where often I had nought to pay 
The scanty reckoning that stood 
Against me for my daily food. 

" I wrote the sovereigns, and I prayed 
My rights might be no more delayed ; 
My kept-back honors they'd restore, 
And my accounts they would look o'er 
And settle. But no answer came. 
And my distress remained the. same. 
The slights of the cold-hearted king 
Bade from my bosom hope take wing 
Regarding him, and to the queen 
I looked for justice. Had she been 
A little longer spared, not now 
Would cold injustice freeze my brow. 
She died even then, removed from earth. 
Sorrowing for those who owed her biithu. 

" She was all goodness, purity ; 
All nobleness and majesty 
Were blended in 'her. Yet, so good ! 
So great ! the trials rude 
Of this cold world, were hers as well 
As mine. Domestic griefs betel 
Her, and within the palace walls. 
In losy bowers and banquet hallf. 
Grief was a constant, daily guest. 
Till in his presence, sad unrest 
Dried up her sorrow's flowing river, 
And so she pass'd, but not for ever ! 
She lives to be renowned in story. 
As Spain's best sovereign and its glory; 
She Uvea to wake the minstrel's lyre. 
When sweetest memories inspire 
His finger's touch, and he pours forth 
All can be sung of woman's worth ; 
She lives with this rich praise allied. 
Her sex's ornament and pride. 

" At length, from my sad malady 
Relieved, I went to court, to be 
Fed with cold promises. I stood 
Some months, in vain solicitude 
To have mine own, until again 
On a sick bed my form was lain. 
My age in its infirmity 
Now brooked not the anxiety 
My manhood bore. Once more I sent 
To Ferdinand a suppliant, 
A letter, wherein I no more 
Prayed for myself, but that the power. 
Of which deprived most wrongfully 
I'd been, to you transferred might be. 
* My honor this concerns,' I said, 
< As for the rest, with you 'tis laid 
To give or to withhold, as best 
Jumps with your views or intercrtJ 



222 



burton's gentleman's magazine. 



<< The monarch strove I should forego 
My new world's titles. He'd bestow 
Estates and honors la Castile, 
A rich revenue should reveaL 
Upon this bed, where still I lay, 
I spurned the insulting mockery. 
With Ferdinsvid it was in vain 
To seek for justice. But my claim 
Involves my honor. On the brink 
Of death, in which I soon shall sink, 
I would not for a life renewed 
So wrong myself as to exclude 
Prerogatives which I have earned, 
And be by grasping moitals spurned. 

" I felt my life was wasting fast, 
Yet o'er my soul one gleam was cast, 
Lighted once more my spirit up, 
To seek to drain my lightful cup. 
Philip, of Flanders, ho who wed 
With Isabella's daughter, sped 
To Spain, to take the royal crown 
Of Castile, Isabella's own. 
The young J nana is the child 
Of her my every fear beguiled ; 
I can but think the love her mother 
Bore to me, as I were her brother, 
Will warm the daughter's heart, and give 
The soul did in her mother live. 
My brother 's on the mission gone, 
I know not if mine own he's won ; 
But this I know, upon my couch 
Death patiently awhile doth crouch 
To bear his victim hence. Now mark: 
Before this vital spark is dark. 
Before this hand, whose icy finger 
Long on my bosom cannot linger. 
Has frozen up life'b stream, attend 
To the last words of thy best friend. 

** The rights withheld from me, will fall 

To you. 60 sure, preserve them all. 

These, my estates, I would not sell. 

Nor change, to please a monarch's will, 

With all the titles due to me, 

I have entailed perpetually. 

And, as you'll find when I am dead. 

And my last testament is read, 

I charge now thee, and after thee. 

The heir, whoever he may be. 

To bear my arms and seal with them. 

And never use another name 

Nor title than « The Admiral.' 

I'd have that title outlive all 

That kings may grant It has been mine 

From my first voyage. The love 's thine 

Would wish no other, and the pride 

Of all who are to me allied. 

Will make it, in its famed renown. 

Greater than is a ducal crown. 

<* My country I Diego, to thee 
I speak to my posterity ; 
Genoa must win thy love, thy care 
What in her Mrvjce thou canst spare. 



So that thou keep the church in fear 
And 'gainst Spain's interests do not 
In life or fortune give. My own 
Bright Genoa ! the prize is won. 
But not for thee. The olden time 
Comes back ; I am a child of thine— 
My young aspirings on thy shore 
First dawned, thence quenchless 
Oh, that for thee, instead of Spain, 
Had been the glory — but 'tis vain. 

** Jerusalem ! Forget not, boy. 

That holy city's dark alloy ! 

Forget not the foul infidel 

Yet in its holy walls does dwell ! 

Ah, I had hoped, with purse and award. 

To win the city of the Lord 

From unbelievors. But too bold 

Hath been this heart, till it grows cold; 

Enough permitted to achieve 

Fvc been ; and now I leave 

Injunction that each heir of mine 

Shall lay by sums, from time to time, 

To aid in the recovery ; 

And lend his person, if need be. 

Until the sepulchre is freed 

From worshipper of Pagan creed. 

« The church ! If schisms shquld aria^ 

Promoting animosities, 

Or violence should menace it. 

Speed to the pope — as he deems fit. 

Thy life and property dispose. 

To overcome and crush its foes. 

« Next to thy God, thy king obey. 

And serve him always zealously: 

Aid him in counsel and in strife 

With fortune, or, if need be, life ; 

True loyalty shall grace thy days, 

It iii a subject's highest praise. 

Who serves his God — his country lovea— 

Obeys his king — in these acts proves 

Himself a man the world may trust 

As one in all his actions just 

• 

" My strength fast fails me ! Diego, 
I leave behind mo when I go 
Another son. Take by thy hand. 
And to thy heart, thy Ferdinand. 
The love of brothers has to me 
Been sourr« of sweet felicity. 
The brother of thy bosom ^ares 
All thy fond pleasures and thy care% 
And is in this more near allied 
Than she who clingcth to thy aide. 
Too gentle, oAentimen, to look 
On the fierce struggles men moat brook 
And combat with. Thou hast but one 
To twine around thy heart, my son : 
But hadst thou twenty, 'twould not proYtt 
Too many for thy dear heart's love. 

" Fainter and fainter ! — one thing morfc 
When my laat loving charge ia o'er. 



TO EOSA. 



223 



Forget not that my latest breath 
Forbade all insult after death. 
"When the Italian poet died, 
They decked bis dust in pomp and pride, 
Tfot j^ielded living — to the clay 
Did homage, when had passed away. 
The spirit that was slighted. He 
Who won his immoitality 
/Wanted no homage but a tear 
To water and to grace his bier. 
iRemember all the slights Tve passed, 
Now heaped upon me to the last ; 
How Fve been led in poverty, 
My means estranged most wrongfully, 
By Ferdinand, and that I die 
Through toil and through anxiety, 
Dancing attendance on the king, 
In praj^ing and petitioning 
For such poor rigrht as but one word 
From him had long ago conferred — 
How he, for all my services. 
Hath crowned me with indignities. 
And for a country which I gave. 
Left me to die a beggarM slave ; 



Conjoining basest torpitude 

To bis most foul ingratitude — 

And let no solemn mockery, 

No afler love, his acts belie ; 

No pomp my funeral profane. 

But in the coffin whcifi Tm lain 

Place the rude fetters bound each limb 

For the true faith I bore to him ; 

And as to earth they carry me. 

Those clanking chains my dirge shall be. 

" Farewell, sweet Diego, my heart 
Is growing ice — we do but part 
To meet in a more glorious sphere. 
Weep not ! nor wish I linger here. 
Farewell — thy brother — Genoa — 
Thy king — thy God — the strife is o'er— 
Into thy handst hardy 1 commend 
My spirit*' 

This the end. 
So passed the spirit of the Mariner, 
Leaving a name immortal as the stars. 



T O , R O S A . 



»T eBABX»Sa WBIT THOMSOF, JP B I I.A1I X I.r B I A . 



" Those dtp are pttt, Fknantbe T* 



! they are gone ! those halcyon hours 
That sported on the wing of time, 
And brought their wreaths of angel flowers. 
Around our youthful brows to twine. 

Yes ! they have wandered — like the song 
Sung o*er the infant's couch at night. 

And borne their rosy wreaths along — 
Nor left one vestigo of their flight. 

Save what at intervals appears . 

Enrolled on memory's misty page. 
When we look back on vanished yoara» 

The shadows of a parted age. 

And oh ! how many a blissful scene 
Has fled with those untroubled day*— 

How many a joy that once has been 
Is now beyond our eager gaze ! 

How many an object of delight. 
That, like a brilliant vision, play'd 

Before our young and tearless sight, 
An of our dreams a rapture mad^ 

In time's cold current has rolled on. 
With all the joy its presence gave. 

Sparkled a moment, and then gone 
To slumber with liM parent wave. 



E'en thus our early fancies shone — 
E'en thus our years unnoticed flew — 

We look, and find those years b^vc flown, 
And all their charms and gluiics, too I 

And there Was one, in days gone by, 
I Who shared our hours of social mirth. 
Whose pulse of life was beating high. 
Whose heart had much of hidden worth. 

Existence yet to him was young. 
And he was gay when friends were near. 

And health her armor o'er him flung. 
And promised many a future year. 

Where is he now ! — alas ! alas ! 

His rest is 'neath the grassy sward — 
All that again to earth could pass. 

Has gone — the rest to its reward. 

Ah ! Rosa ! time's broad wing is spread— 
And who that fleeting wing e'er staid 1 

And he but urges us to tread 

The valley of death's darkling ihade. 

Then where can wisdom shine more bright 

Than to prepare against its gloom. 
And seek to gain that world of light, 
i Whoie glories lie beyond the tomb ! 



SCENES IN THE MESS. 



BT THB AUrnOB OF <' OLD IBOlfSlBSS OFF A LBl SHOBB." 



A SKA life is a curious medley of incidents. Every day brings forth new pleasures or new p^dni.' 
Novelty is the altar before which Jack worships : and Fidlers' Green, a place situated^acoording to 
the imagination of old tars, three miles beyond the location of a certain fiery old gentleman called 
Belzebub, is, according to his creed, the final resting place of the sons of the sea. Grog is the solace 
of the old man-of-war's-man — grog and its accompaniment tobacco— with a full can, and a (full 
pouch, with a shot in the locker, and a Sunday suit, he rides the ocean with a few planks betweaa 
bim and eternity, and whistles a meriy strain, amid the awful piping of the midnight storm. An 
old sailor is a great curiosity, his whole life is spent in endeavoring to outwit his ofiiceis: but when 
he has played his pranks, he is generous to a fault He cannot endure the tears of a woman, and 
many a time I have seen a bluff old sea dog, half seas over, throw a third of hia hard earned gains 
into a weeping widow's lap, and while he wiped his eyes with his apology for a pocket handkerchief^ 
aing out in a husky voice—*' Belay there your pumps of sorrow — the longest storm must have an 
end" — and then depait, hitching up his stai board waistband before the astonished recipient of his 
favor found words with which to return her heart-felt thanks. 

There has of late, however, been a great revolution worked by philanthropists in the condition of 
the seamen, both of the naval and merchant service. The blue jacket now worships at the altar of 
his God, and from beneath the Bethel Flag 

Loud hallelujahs to the Lord, 
Die sweetly on the distant sea. 

There is fllnotber class of persons, however, who ride the leaping ocean who differ from the seamen 
in every particular — they are the sons of the trumpet, the masters of thunder, the monarchs of the 
peopled deck. Their hail is as omnipotent from stem to stern as the clapping of the Sultan's bands. 
Sky pole and orlop deck answer tremblingly to their summons ; and even the very rats in a war ahip 
show by their scampering whenever the first luff has the sulks — that 

By the itching of their thumbs 
Something savage towards them comes. 

With this class of sea-faring men — those gentlemen who enter the cabin windows, instead of woik- 
ing their way up through the hawse-holes — we have had something to do in our early days, and feel- 
ing in the humor of story-telling, we truut we shall not lie condetnned for noticing some of the laugh- 
able peculiarities incidental to their lives at sea. 

The captain of a ship of war is the first great man on board — he, like the king, can do no wrong. 
He can break his own regulations, and reprimand himself in private for the offence. Ho, in fact, is 
the great grand Turk, and if he see fit he can keep his officers in as pretty a little Tophet as one can. 
well conceive of. The next in rank and power is the first lieutenant — ho is the executive oflicer, he 
is the oracle of the ship, no one need differ with him, for rank is powerful and most prevail. He 
knows best what every one ought to have. Does a home-sick middy thrum an old fiddle in the 
steerage, the first lieutenant knows whether he makes too much noise — he knows too when he has 
done playing, for he tells him when to bag his fiddle and ride the mast-head — the first lieutenant 
knows, too, when a person wants to go on shore, for he tells him to go at nine in the morning, and 
he knows when he will desire to come on board, for he tells him to come off at ten in the evening — 
he knows when a man has had plecp enough, for he sets the holy stones and wet sand a going at 
six bells in the morning, and he knows, furthermore, when he wishes to go to bed, for he claps a 
stopper upon his talking tacks, and sends the master-at-arms to extinguish bis light at nine in the 
evening. He knows, too, when to whip, and when to sit in jewels, when to administer tarred rope 
ends, and when to cool off with cold iron. He knows how much water is drank, how many tacks 
and sheetfi of sand-paper are used in the Khip; and, above all things, he knows his own power. With, 
all this knowledge, would you believe it, he has a hard task, for he takes the fault-finding, fresh from 
its fountain head, the captain, and receives the sly cuts of the juniors, when they whip the devil 
around a stump. 

The officer of the deck is the next great man — for four hours he is vicegerent — ho holds the trnm* 
pet — at his command the studding sails spread out their giant pinions and woo the dying gale, or 
come thundering in like lightning. At his command the hours are tolled upon the ship's bell— hi* 
eye is upon the water and the sky — he sees the sagging of a yard — the fluttering of a rope— tbs 
flapping of a splitting sheet — and the spitting to windward of a land lubber, as easy as any one can 
see his own face io the water. He knows when the cook's pudding is boiled, and when the meat is 



SCENES IN THE MESS. 225 

fit to eat. He knows the strength of the grog tah, and the degree of temperature reached hy any one 
of the ship's company. He knows every body, and every body knows him. 

The parser and the doctor are the next great men. The boatswain is not always a great man 

he awears and drinks grog — talks with the sailors — and tells improper stories, and when he gets m 
little elevated, he whips the whole party, and goes home with a black eye — the boatswain is not a 
great man, he never wears white gloves, and it is affirmed that but one was ever known to wear a 
smelling bottle and sing psalms. 

Here, perhaps, the reader may think that original characters are to be sketched, but in this he will 
find that he is mistaken. Follies will be rapped, but personalities will be led out of the question. 
Having thus briefly shown our colors — << all hands up anchor''' — '* man the bars" — '<walk away with 
the cat" — '* ha, there it comes" — ** lay aloft" — ** sheet home the topsails" — '* set the jib and span- 
ker" — " there comes the breeze" — ^ haul afl the main-sheet" — ** she paj^s off sweetly" — " pipe down, 
boatswain's mate" — * * good bye, Mr. Pilot" — " we are at sea." 

Let us now go down into the ward-room — this is easily accomplished, the companion-way is just 
forward of the binnacle, and the binnacle is just forward of the wheel, and the wheel is just forward 
of the mizen-mast. After descending the companion way we reach the gun-deck, the heavy battery 
of a ship, and turning around the ward-room sky-light, which rises like the roof of a house, in the 
eentre of the deck, just forward of the cabin bulk-head, we descend another ladder which lands us in 
the steeiage (the joung gentlemen*s apartment, as it is termed,) which is on the berth deck, and, 
taming to the light, we enter the ward-room — the aristocratic comei of a ship of war. Here reigna 
rank in eagle buttons, and golden cap bands ; here glory lingers aiound the proud moustache ; and 
honor rides upon a full blown swab. This is the second heaven to the middy, but not to its in- 
mates. 

The mess aie at supper— >a long table extends from side to side of the mess room — at the starboard 
end sits the first lieotrnant — roast pig, turkey, and plum-pudding, always luxuriate under his rubi- 
cund nose^at his right, at the side of the table, sits the second lieutenant, then the third, then the 
fourth, and then the master ; at the opposite end sits the purser — the lord of fish, pies, and jellies-^ 
caviare and old ehceae ; at his right, at the side of the table, sits the doctor, then the marine officer, then 
the chaplain ; and at the side next to the first lieutenant's left hand, sits the fifth, the youngest of the 
mess — he knows the exact length of a dog-watch, and can tell the exact time when bis relief should 
come upon deck ; lights are now brought in and placed upon the table ; a substantial supper smokes 
before the hungry mess. The first lieutenant has deposited a foil allowance of fried beef-steak and 
onions upon his plate, and is just dipping his spoon in the mysterious mustard pot, which appears 
to have Moll Thompson's mark upon it, M. T. (empty) when lo ! in pops the gunner and master- 
at-arms, while the ship's cooper and two gunner's mates stand at the door. The gunner in a long 
flannel suit, free from buttons and buckles, with a long green baize night-cap on his head, and the 
master-at-arms in his every day toggery, with a bulfs eye lantern in his hand, complete the variety 
of the group. 

** The captain has directed the magazine to be opened, sir," says the gunner, giving his eyes a 
twist towards the savory mess. 

« What do you say, sir?" says the first lieutenant, who is a little deaf, and pretends to be still more so, 
bolting at the same time a square inch of beef, and sending down after it a large allowance of sliced 
onions. 

** The captain has ordered the magazine to be opened," screams the gunner, while the mess, fol- 
lowing the example of their head, make a diligent use of their masticators, notwithstanding they are 
nearly ready to suffocate with laughter. By this time the first lieutenant has deposited the contents 
of his plate between his teeth and his biead room, and having swallowed a cup of coffee at a draught, 
springs up and hands the gunner the keys of the magazine, then turning to the mess, who continue 
unremitted exertions to provision themselves, roars out the cabalistic words — *< Going to open the 
magazine, gentlemen ; ma8tcr-a^arms, put out the lights, and drop the screen." 

In a moment all is darkness and confusion; away springs each mess boy with a well-filled dish ; 
away fly the mess to their various stations — out go the lights, down falls the flannel screen — and 
a marine with a drawn bayonet enters the ward-room, and paces along the outside of the table that 
was so lately filled with anim^ited countenances — all now is silent ; a strong sulphureous smoko 
penetrates the curtain and fills the ship, while the echo of the old tar's curse rises in hollow mur- 
murs and dies away in the distance. 

Well may Ichabod be now written over the entrance of the ward-room, for surely its glory haa 
departed. 

A gloomy change has now come over the spirH of the dreams. A few officers pace the gun-deck 
in sullen humor, but the majority loaf about the spar deck, now watching the silver moon as she 
rises beautifully from the dazzling sen, and now endeavoring to make out in the distance the appear- 
mnce of a ship, or the jet of a spouting whale. At length the dreary job is over — the magazine hatch 
closes — up goes the screen — and down come the lights ; a scanty supper is now saved from the 
pilferers at the galley, and then come the wine bottle and a pine-apple cheese, like two good com- 
ptnions, faithful oven in death. 



226 burtoin's gbntlbman's magazine. 

M Give US a yarn, gentlemcD," saya tbe first lieutenant, pnllisg down his little waistcoat, over hi» 
little round belly, and slewing himself in his chaii so as to turn his deaf ear towards the company* 

« Well, doctor," says the purser, taking another and heavier pull at the hallyards, << did jaa ever 
hear how the old Culloden lost her sticks just about here, many years agol" 

** No," ciies the doctor, joined by the voices of the whole mess; « let na hear it." 

«< Weil, then," says the purser, "- here it goes.*' 

THE DEAD MAN'S LEDGE. 

<• Not mora than one hundred miles from the southern extremity of England, rise in aiwfnl dm- 
jesty above the tempestuous ocean the dreadful breakers of the Dead Man's I^ge. Nothing cui 
exceed the solitary appearance— the look of dreary loneliness that they present to the eye of thA 
watchful seaman when the heavy swell of Biscay comes rolling up towards the northern ocean, and 
the light scud spreads its flitting screen of frosted silver before the face of the broad red harvest moon. 
When the night comes on in black roiling shadows from windward, and the stormy petrel calla his 
little band together to dance upon the white foam tbat hisses in the vessel's wake, then may be heaid 
the teniflc music of the Dead Man's Ledge, louder than the roar of heaven's artillery, louder than tha 
wail of the canvas-splitting tempest, louder than the moan of the wilderness of waters, as it heavM 
up its blackened breast to own its God. 

" From the days of the earliest navigators, these rocks have been famous in story, and when the 
shades of evening settle upon the deep, wo be unto the outward bound mariner that sees not thax 
dark summits sink in the waste of foam^cnpped waves astern. 

»* It was at the commencement of the nineteenth century, when a heavy armed Corvette, under 
double reefed top-sails, came running before a heavy south-wester, and just at evening discovered 8l 
Agnes' light ahead. Proudly she dashed along the billows, and with the setting of the watch, a 
lantern rose to her ensign peak, and a heavy cannon mingled its note with the thunder of the elements 
around. A larger ship now rose upon the horizon astern, and soon a light gleamed high over h/a 
peopled deck. A bright flash soon showed that the cannon of the three decker had answered ths 
signal of her consort, and then the thick haze of the evening storm hid them from each other's Yievr* 

^ * Forecastle, there,' thundered the oflicer of the deck. 

^ * Aye ! aye ! sir,' answered the ma^r's male. 

** * Keep a bright look out ahead, sir.' 

"* Aye! aye! sb.* 

The captain now came upon deck; long and anxiously he locked towards the light, and then as 
his eye rested upon a break in the waters ahead, he said— 

" • There they are, the IJack devils.' * Mr. ('atharpin, send the best men to the wheel.' 

** * Aye ! aye ! sir,' said the hrst lieutenant, and soon a hardy set of old quarter-mastcis graiqpad 
the spokes. 

<* * Man the relieving tackles,' thundered the captain ; they were manned instantly — the ship an- 
swered her helm promptly, the crested billows broke all around her, but not a wave had dared to kiss 
her decks. 

« * The storm increases,' sir,' said the flist lieutenant, touching his hat. 

*< * Furl the topsails, and set the tiy-sails,' roaied the commander, above the howling of the blast. 
Dark forms glided up the rigging like shadows, and soon the top-sails were furled, the tiy-saila at 
the nme time caught the wind, and the spanker almost started from the bolt rope. 

« * Have axes laid by the masts — this is no time for idlers — call all hands,' said the captain. 

" * All hands,' crie^l the boatswain. 

" * All hands,' shouted his mates, and all hands stood upon deck. Then might one man look 
another in the face, and read wonder and terror mingling together there. 

" *■ \Vc have carried away the spanker, sir,' shouted the captain of the after guard, aa he went 
across the deck like lightning, in a fold of the tattered canvas. 

" * Let it go, and be d — d,' said the olHcer of the deck. 

'<* Cant over the spanker boom, you lubbers; brace the yards to the wind,' shoated the captsiiip 
and away they went like the turning of ihe spokes of a wind-mill wheeL 

** < Here she comes,' shouted the starboard cat-head watch, as he jumped from his post, and land- 
ed upon the cook*s head, who had at that moment popt it out cf the galley hatch, to catch a view of 
the surrounding country, which, according to the Lishman's geography, was plaguy near an island, 
for it was entirely surrounded by water. 

^ * Gorry mighty, shipped a sea, with short jacket and breeches,' said Cuflf, ashe'roUed down on'to 
the gun deck with his tormentors in the slack of the astonished look-out-man's unmentionable% who 
followed him like a clap of thunder after a flash of black lightning. 

" You 1)c buttered, you son of a sea cook,' said Jack, kicking the Guineaman's shin with his storm 
stay-sail boots, and cutting his toasting fork adrift with his knife. < A pretty afiair you are, to in- 
terfere with a man on duty; why, dy'e see, if you had been down in your smoke house I should 
have had a decent fall, and been upon duty with a whole spanker sheet again ; but joOi yoaold 



SCENES IN THE MESS. 227 

woolley beaded son of Nebachudnezzar's grand mann, wben sbe eat grass, with Hesbick, Twosbick, 
and to bed tbey went ; you most get in my way, and injure my feelings, witb your two pronged 
sceptre, and be blessed to you. Belay there your black jaw or Til cheapen your ivory." After tbis 
burst of natural eloquence, Jaek went upon deek, While the darkey hobbled to the galley, muttering 
< Oh, ho ! Mr. Jack, never you mind, Til sweeten your broffyet — ^yah ! yah ! yah !' 

« While this rough and tumble was carried on below, we must not for one moment suppose that 
the hubbub above btad ceased. When the cat-head watch sang out * here she comes,' he had no al- 
lision to a sea« A momeDt mote, and the three decker was near at hand — on ene side, and 
•Iretohing out to leeward, was the Uack ledge, and to windward was their consort, unmanageable, 
IB the act of running them down. ' Hahi up your hehn,' iliout^ the officer of the deck, but it waH 
too late, the CuUoden came sweeping down liiw a deet before the hounds. Her main-mast tottered 
ID its step, her top-sails hung in tatters — the jib bung flapping against her sides — the waters gurgled 
along her careering gun9 — and, then, to complete the horror of the scene, the men at the wheel were 
thiown senseless upon the deek. She broached to for a moment, then away went her top-xhaataand 
^ping-jib, and down came her main-mast, with an awful cnsh. 
*• * We are lost !' shouted an M seaman, to his mesa-mate in the Gotrette's rigging. 
*<< There is no hope,' said the eaplain, as he stood ealmly amid a dozen officers, holdfaig on to the 
companion railing — ' good bye, gentlemen— ^Sod Mess you — you have done your duty.' 

'< < Oh God/ shrieked a sailot's wife, as she ran across that sonowful deck, and pressed her Infont 
to her breast — * my husband ! my child !' At this moment the captain of the Corvette sprang t6 
her aide, he looked at the old quarter-master, her husband, who stood at the wheel. < No hope,* 
said the old sea dog ; * farewell Bess, and my darling.' It was enough, in a moment the sailor's 
wife and child were launched into the deep, and floated astern on a grating, while the captain, with 
a fixed look, stood at his quarters* 

** Graah came the CuIIoden upon her co&sort, and in a mMtent the Corvette went down in the 
darii- waters, and the heavy three decker passed over hei'. 

" Wild was the yell that rose above that midnight wane to heaven— dreadful t^asthe gurgle of the 
billow as it closed over < pennon, spar, and sail.' A moment, and she rode the billow like a thing of 
life— another, and the sea snake erawled through her port holes, and slimy things sported upon her 
decks of glory. 

** * Breakers ahead !' shouted the matter of the CuUoden, aa she coursed alotig oti bet cruixe of 
deatlb 

" * We caimot weather them unless we clear the wreck,' said the commodo^ 
** * Cullodens away clear the wreck,' thundered the first lieutenant, and, throwing down the tram 
pet^ he caught an axe, and headed the gallant waisters. 

*< Away went the wreck with a tremendous crash ; a single sea broke over the poop, sweeping It 
as though a fire had past over it, and then the old three decker hauled her wind, and shot past the 
ledge like a fiash of light 

'< * We are clear,' said the commodore, breathing a long breath — ** can you see any thing of our 
consort's wreck ?' 

*' * A white mass is finating upon the water to windward, sir,' cried the signal midshipman. 
** ' It is a woman and child/ said the quarter-master ; let us save her. An hundied persons, officers, 
and men, now hung over the sides with ropes — the sea having become much smoother inaide the 
reef-i-and soon the quarter-master's widow and child lay dead upon the vessel's deck. 

"< No hope,' said the doctor of the CuUoden, turning away from the bodies with eyea fiUed vriih 
tears. 

« < Let them be buried with their meas-mates/ said the commodore, in a husky voice. The bodiee 
were soon sewed in one hammock, and then, with a seaman's prayer, they were launched forth to 
join the swollen hundreds that danced upon the agitated billows, cold in death. 

'** Morning came, and with it a calm ; the ocean was like a sleeping mill-pond ; the light-house stood 
soUtary in the distance — the CuUoden lay at anchor in shore without a spar — a part of a wreck 
rested upon the Dead Man's Ledge — upon its taff-rail a lonely heron perched — and the wave, ai it 
gently broke against the foot of the rocks and washed the sand from the stern, showed to the gpaze of 
the iMsbolder the name of the gallant Blenheim/' 

^ Mr. Nipcheese/' said the firat lieutenant, with a leer of his eye, *< I beUevo yon hid better leO 
thai story to the marines.'* 
** YoQ be d — d," said the purser, in a low vtrfee, and then the mess went to bed. 

TOl. Tlw— xio. T. m 



RELIGIOUS CONCEIT. 



BT BOBSBT X I I. D |l B D , PHILA. 



Ir there is one thing more disgusting than another — if there is anything fit to he spoken ittS 
thought of in the same breath with meanness — if there is one paltry vice that, more freqaently than 
another, can he found associated (and that aknost invariably) with meanness — it is self-conceit; 
and worse, far more contemptible, is it, should this self-conceit extend to the confines of religiow 
matters. Is it not very astonishing in this advanced age, when things generally are, or ought to he, 
called by their right names, and viewed in their proper light, that by a sort of ucit understanding, 
men are satisfied to meet one another as pious and godly individuals, and each become too frequent- 
ly to the other a looking glass, representing the delineation of all that is hypocritical and hue?— 
At an era when we might suppose that mere hollow and superficial pretensions in religious as well 
as other matters would be as readily detected as resisted, is it not singular that individuals ahoukl 
assume the simple and unostentatious piety of the apostolic preachers, when the general coaraencM 
and vulgarity of their lives would indicate them to be practically unfit to illustrate the mild and 
charitable tenets of the Christian creed — men to whom our Saviour would have especial reference 
in delivering those reproofs which were elicited from the consideration of that disgusting self-cooK 
placency which leads the mistaken egotist to imagine himself to be whiter than snow in comparLson 
with those around him ! Surely we are not particularly bound to restrain our indignation at the 
contemplation of a class which brings into disrepute, more than any other, the unassuming follow- 
ers of Christianity, and causes us frequently to he fearful of encountering the atheist, when we 
should otherwise *' handle him without gloves !" Yet so it is; and so long as hypocrisy and deceit 
are tolerated as conventional conveniences, so long will the advocacy of the Christian religion con« 
stltute, in the consideration uf many, a reproach, rather than an honorable championship. 

Observe that man of finical mind and smirking countenance — with what perfect respect he ap- 
pears to regard himself, to the exclusion of every thing around him ; conceited not so much at the 
perfection of the outward, as at the infallibility of the inward man — a coxcomb in religion ! He 
will as coolly intimate to you, either directly dr indirectly, his spiritual superiority, as if he (a groae 
and sordid-minded man) had actually received the most direct assurances from above that his scru- 
pulous attention to the forms of piety had merited and received especial distinction! An anathema 
from the pulpit, directed to some less fortunate fellow-creature, surely seems to afford him satis^M- 
tion, rather than uneasiness — an occasion for exultation, instead of an opportunity for sympathy ! 
And, to speak candidly, does he appear like an individual who would coni^ratulato ** one sinner" that 
might repent, in preference to " ninety and nine" persons that might not (in his estimation) require 
any repentance 1 We fear noL Ten to one, but our very worthy Pharisee has had his fleshy in- 
dulgences, and those, perhaps, even according to his own acknowledgement, of the coarsest, the 
roost vulgar description ! — yet having, through the reception of grace, und the adoption of what he 
denominates true faith, abstained from farther participation in tlicm, he will not scruple to let you 
understand that his present entire abstinence (from that which he had not the resolution and dig- 
nity of mind temperately to indulge in) places him in the most refined and elevated contrast to 
yourself, habitually pursuing, as you possibly may, such rational pleasures as may not have been 
associated in your own experience with any unrestrained or vicious indulgence. [And here we 
might enlarge much on the quackery or humbug in many instances associated with a cause we 
heartily respect — the temperance cause ; but having many remarks to make on the subject, whidi 
would be inappropriate here, we intend to reserve them for another and special occasion.] 

The class of persons we are describing cannot be otlierwise than narrow-minded and vulgar. I 
question much whether a perfect artist of noble characteristics could personate a specimen of them ; 
true, he might tolerably caricature their droning whine, and quote their repulsive sentiments, but I 
say, to assume the cynical, mean, and illiberal disposition of their features, is more than any honest 
man, for the life of him, could acc<»nu)lihb — a Ganick would even confess his inability to perform, 
the task. How cautiously pursued is the whole tenor of our Pharisee's life, from the instant he be- 
comes systematically holy and pure ! Entire abstinence from all cheerful pleasures, as already im- 
plied, is the motto he adopts. Speak to him of an uninterrupted or continuous life of comparative 
innocence, and he — yes, he, the holy, good man — laughs at you as representing a chimera, an im- 
possibility !— even as the reformed drunkard ia sure to adopt the system of "abstinence from til 
that intoxicates," being sceptical as to the possibility of carrying out the principles of temperance 
by any plan of uniform moderation, finding in his individual experience, firstly, that he possessed a 
depraved taste, and, secondly, that he is destitute of the necessary resolution to restrain it 

It stands to reason that the specimen we have been describing is now no longer a creature of im- 
pulse, whatever he may once have been ; the necessity of entirely checking all haf ly inclinati<me 
may at once appear obvioas to him. Let not the reader be carried along with the idea that %U creai- 



HAT. 



329 



tores of impulse are instinctively impelled to generous and worthy actions, and therefore to be all 
equally excused for the results. All, it is true, have their impulses, yet all are not actuated by- 
worthy ones. The fact may have been experienced by many, probably by none more than him who 
may have discovered the necessity of surviving the commission of unreflccted acts ; experience may 
have taught him, too clearly and plainly, the evident and revolting direction of his more sanguine 
and immediate wishes ; and the results of former unpremeditated actions not having been accoin- 
panied with either generous or honorable associations, and therefore destitute of the only excuse to 
be oiSered in palliation of error, tkc importance of laying a due restraint on that tendency to abrupt 
action which has never yet been even accidentally directed to a laudable end, is at once apparent. 

After having sacrificed so much, our saint still retains some " longing lingering" hankerings **tS^ 
ter the flesh," and, it is needless to ssy, takes a larger credit to himself, and assumes the more upon, 
the inevitable worldly advantages which result from his austeiity, in proportion to the gratifications 
which he feels he has relinquished. The entire restraint under which he has now placed himself^ 
but which will no doubt soon become a second (if not a palatable) nature, originates an effectual, 
barrier against those accidents of fortune so frequently occurring to men who scorn to attain pros- 
peiity by accepting insignificant favors, oi by abstaining from conferring large ones. It is not im> 
probible, therefore, that our crafty utilitarian (if we may so term him) attributes his prosperity in 
the world to a direct interference from above ! — and he will so frequently imply or assert this piece 
of profanity, that at last he will even himself believe that it is in reality the oidor of his sanctity that 
has sustained him through all vicissitudes, notwithstanding ooi conviction that the petty prosperity 
of such a man is hut little regarded by Providence, however his actions may be overlooked, seeing 
that the world abounds with so many fatherless children, widows, and humble and devout christians^ 
possessing in reality all the cardinal virtues so abundantly, that a tythe of their humility would, ia 
our estimation, be of particular benefit to thdt modest and self-satisfied individual who so compla- 
cently thanks his God that he is " not as other men are." 

We have done with him. Ardently desiring, as we do, the ultimate extinction of the Pharisaic 
class, it is not by addressing ourselves to them, that we should in any way conduce to efiect their 
reformation, and thereby promote an acquisition to the good repute of Cfajristianity. It is too no- 
torious that an ejection of such obstinate diseases is not to be anticipated by adminbtering ouraelvee 
directly to the patient ; but rather by constituting the more ingenuous portion of the world at large 
special and active physicians for the extirpation of the complaint, root and branch. Let them frown, 
upon hypocrisy whenever they meet it — let them battle with it till it crouches in submission — let 
them cherish a disposition to view with lenience those more open and acknowledged faults which 
aro but too incident to human nature, but be unforgiving to that affectation of virtue which can be put 
off as readily as it is assumed — let them accustom themselves to the practice of generosity, and ha- 
bituate themselves to an admiration for it when exercised by others — let them, moreover, read their 
bibles, and reject our humble ideas, if they arc at all at variance with those divine precepts from 
which there is no appeak Finally, with charity towards all the world but those insidious vipers of 
religion, those foul spots upon the page of Christianity that we have been endeavoring to define, let 
our readers resolve to show no quarter to such voluntary enemies to the true intent of a blessed 
creed until, by crushing their haughty aspirings, and compelling them to relinquish a wilful and 
extreme sin, their eyes may become for the first time opened, and they may be taught to consider 
themselves as the most morally prostrated of beings, rather than a chosen few, selected as fit sub- 
jects for salvation, to the exclusion of others : then, and then only, when as *< publicans and sin- 
ners," in the humble attitude of supplicants, they may, in the language of contrition, ask for that 
mercy which they have hitherto so complacently and selfishly appropriated, they will for the first 
time arrive at a just conception of the unbounded mercy of the Supreme Being, and a correct ap- 
preciation of the salvation held out to all, seeing, that with renewed hearts and a ** clean spirit with- 
in them," they may have just occasion to anticipate that favorable consideration from the throne of 
grace which may even be afforded, yea, verily, unto such great sinners as themselves. 



MAY. 



Mat, Summer's mother, sister of young Spring, 
Now votive garlands, woven of infant flowers, 
Festoon thy halls ; and some true maiden towers 
Above her peers as queen where love is king, 
And, in the midst of lusty youths a ring. 
Largesse of smiles and blissful praises showers: 
And virgins pure and fur as thy white hours, 
(To paationtta fretting of fiut-fingered ttiing, 



And rural reeds that pastorally play. 
And on the incensed air profusely pour 
Sounds sweet as scents,) with shepherds, on the 

floor 
Of primrose plots of green, dance fast away 
All winter-harmi, end stir their stagnant bloods 
To the warm flodi and hue of thy first red 

bodi. 



A VISIT TO A MAD- HOUSE. 



BT KISS MART B. MACMICBABLPBILA 



Hast ewr been a aea-vojage, gentle reader ? Hast ever been upon the oeeaa and looked Mil cm 
](B beaoty, its power, iis imiBensity ? 

It was a beautiful afternoon; the sky was blue and cloudless, the winds still; hour apon 
passed gently away, rolling down the dark current of Time into the deep and noiseless gulf of obUvii 
Tbe sun, now verging rapidly towards his goal, threw around his beauties with lavish and 
hand ; here might bo seen a long crimson line, and there a gorgeous mass of clouds, his slant 
swiftly falling along the surface of the deep, as if delighted to commingle with the uncoDgmiid 
element. As be went down into his ocean couch, and gray twilight assumed its dominion, not » 
word was spoken — all eyes were busy in viewing the beauties of nature, and all tongues chaiiied m. 
admiration of the inspiring scene. 

The sea, even in its calmest moments, is an object of indefinable dread. During the most loiwe^ 
day of summer sunshine it is seldom altogether tranquil ; and, in the brightest hour, the deep int<K 
nation, the ceaseless roar of the waters, as they dash upward or onward, comes impressive^ npco- 
the oar. 

Oh Night ! Night ! how intensely beautiful art thou ! Whether in the stillness of thy atany 
twilight, or in the clear, plscid, and pearly effulgence of thy chaste moon, who pursues her patL 
alone, or when thou wrappext thy brow in its black and midnight mantle, and goest forth with tl^ 
tempests to their work of desolation— oh, thou art still beautiful ! Tbe spirit of poesy minglea its* 
voice with the thrillings of thy wind-harp, and, even in thy deep and holy silence, there is a voice t» 
which the soul listens, though the ear hears it not. On the wide sea and on the wide moor — by the 
oceannitrand, and on mountain-lake, and dell, and dingle, and corn-field, and cottage, oh thou art 
still beautiful ! But amid the mighty and everlasting world of waters, rising up in their solitude j 
their majesty, there is an awe in thy beauty which bows down the soul to the dust in dumb 
TBtion. The lofty choir, the dim and massy aisle, the deep roll of the organ — even these oflen strik»- 
like a spell upon the sealed spirit, and the well-springs of devotion gush forth fresh and free. Bat 
oh what are these 1 — what the deep music moaning from vault to vault to the roar of the fieree thu»^ 
dep— or the lofty temple to the mighty ocean, atom though it is in the Universe of God— or th» 
studied darkness of the shrine to the blank dulness of the tempest-night, shadowing forth immensity 
itself in its grim indefinitiveness ! 

I leaned forward, with parted lips and eyes straining from their sockets, resting far onward whsM- 
the sky bent to the ocean ; the clouds had arisen, and a low line where he dipped was already b^ 
Death the horizon ; the sublimity of the scene came upon my spirit with a soothing power, and I es» 
claimed with the immortal bard — 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 

Stops with thy shore. Upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deeds. 

** Alas! on night so sweet such awful mom should rise.'' 

In the morning we were enveloped in a dense fog, black as despair. All day we beat slowlj 
against the wind, contrasting it with yesterday, beguiling the time with cards and conversation, or 
at times plying the busy needle. Night was usurping the dominion of day ; the clouds hung above 
in portentously thick and heavy masses, and the sea wore a black and angry aspect. Each succeed-^ 
ing wave rose higher and higher, rearing its foam-capped crest like a dark mountain, and dashing on 
the vessel with tremendous violence. The winds blew, and the maddened waves sounded like the 
Toice of desolation. I need not speak of the terror of the passengers, nor of the anxiety of the cap- 
tain and crew. The ship drove furiously along ; orders were issued and obeyed with promptitude 
and skill by men who felt that all depended upon their exertions. I watched, in intense agony, tbe 
faces of those iron-hearted men who were accustomed to sport with ordinary dangers, and look upon 
the ocean in its wrath with unimpaired energies. Still I listened — I moved not — stirred not I felt 
like one in the sick apathy of despair, when a kind of trance falls upon the spirit under tbe stroke of 
some unexpected calamity of a magnitude which the imagioation cannot grasp. For a moment all 
was calm ; but it was not the calmness of serenity ; it was that frightful stillness which forbodes a 
dreadful storm — s stillness fiir more fearful than the raging even of the tempest It seemed as if 
Natnm held her breatb with swe, and the waves themselves but paused in their attack to return to 
the charge with tea-fold fury. This momentary stillness was soon broken by the distant roaring of 
the thunder which ever and anon came upon the ear — the whisper of the stoim-fiend. Lightning ia 



A V^ISIT TO A MAD -HOUSE. 231 

sheets of flame careered along the horizon, flashing over heaving volumes of eonc«[itrated brine and 
darknees; or, in arrows of fire, throwing across the waste a land gleam, lighting up the terrors of the 
^leys of the deep ; or springing along its mountains and wreathing their lofty crests, fretted to a 
snow-like foam. 'Phe ship dashed along like a creature of destiny, and, as the lightning afibrded op- 
portunity, its inmates might be seen with pale fiaices, ghastly as spectres. The rain poured in torrents ; 
the black mass of clouds gathered up as a vast serpent its dark folds for combat, and broke ever as in 
majestic gloom and fearful energy. Higher and darker increased the hurricane ; the splendor of the 
heavens was eclipsed as in a pall, and now and then there passed a flash over the sky until the very 
sir seemed in flame and laid <^n for one instant the awful scene so iciing for the theatre of that 
tempest-desolation ; and then again the darkness was so thick and palpable, that, to us who sat thus 
with the storm, it seemed as if there weie no world, and as if the Universe were given up to the 
whirlwind and to him. 

It yrta terrible — terrible ! Death — and to die thos ! Oh what a small portion of what the heart 
has foU has ever been recorded ! How many wordless thoughts — how many unuttered emotions 
rise in the soul and pass away into the nothingness of forgotten things ! On Oiat awful night what 
a world of feeling was stirred to which but a broken utterance can be given t We left ourselves to 
the care of Providence, and the mercy of the waves, ol>edient only to his control who alone could 
shield us from the fury of the blast and iu dread onset But that Almighty Being who lides upon 
the whirlwind and directs the storm calmed, in his own proper time, the tempest*s fury ; and Hope, 
the first fruit of Happiness, whispered Peace. The waves were stilled ; and we offered up heart-felt 
prayers to the great God, who had in his infinite goodness and mercy deigned to save us from lying 
down to our everlasting rest on the oosy bottom of the deep, far from friends, and far from that sweet 
thing, home, with none to sympathise in our dying moments, and none to smooth our descent to the 
(onb. 

The rooming sun in splendor rose ; 
The gale was hushed, end still the wave. 

The facceeding day was bright as the rivets of Paradise, and the sea spread oot befofe oe like a 
Map ; but the horrors of that night so pressed upon oar sools that we mirtrosted its calmness, and 
"Wished for the land. Time, like an eviln temper, kept its own pace, and wafted os onward to oar 
port of destination. As the day approached, we stood upon de^ eoimting the Iszy minutes, and 
atretching the eyes landward, in the hope of catching the first glimpse of the clifii of the promised 
land. 

Here am I in old England ! In the hour of her triumph, or in the moaoent of her adveiaitj — 
whether her steps be on land, or her march on the moantain waves — in her thronging dtiea, or ia 
her green quiet glades — amidst her noble gifted aristocracy, or her free bold peasantry, oh she is 
beauUfol ! 

Memorandum, I have just retomed from a visit to a Lunatic Asylam. There is much of nuauf 
which ever way we turn, but as it has its source too frequently in folly or crime, may we not derive 
a useful lesson from its contemplation 1 I soon reached, after starting out, this abode of diaeasa 
and wretchedness, and, prepared as I fancied myself, was quite shocked by the mullipiicity of eom- 
plaints with whidi I found myself surrounded. 

Here lay the stranger of a foreign soil, whom fever had arrested in his oaieer, deliriously ealling 
upon kindred names and the k)ved ones of that home to which he would never leturn. T%ere was 
stretched the victim of a lii>gering yet hopeless disorder, waiting, with a kind of forced and gloomy 
resignation, for the only change that ooold bring release. Some were there in the last stage of a 
decay evidently indooed by lives of profligacy ; their ghastly lineaments lendered yet more appalling 
by the deep inroads of goiity passion with which tbey were matked. 

To my conductor, a respectable-looking elderly matron, all the cases seemed familiar; and she 
sketched, for my gratification, as we traversed the various depsrtments of the sanctuary, a brief history 
of some of its inmates. 

** There," said she, pointing to a maimed and disfigured being whose vacant eye evinced the otter 
extinction of all aim in life, ** is there not, even yet, npon that furrowed brow, aome indefinable tiaco 
of generous feeling 1 A constant thirst for pleasuie resulted in dissipation, and dissipation in vice. 
At thirty his fortune was wasted, his constitution impaired, and his name associated with infiuny. 
The better part of society shunned him, and the satellites of other daya left him to revolve armmd 
aome ondimmed orb in the expanse of fashion and folly. Withoat fiienda, without profsssion, with" 
•oat diaracter, be looked vainly aroond him for the means of support, and is now destined to weai 
OQt the remnant of a life whose morning was so full of excitement with no object of hope save 
death." 

We went into anoAer apartment, m which was the body of an elderiy liBmale from whom Ufii had 
hat jost departed. Death is a foarfol thing, come as it wilt To think of tfaa bright living spirit tiut, 
birt a momeirt belKe, waa oM with us in Ihoubt tDd IMiBg, gone teth foawvli^ 



'232 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

has hilheito furnUhed it with all the propertiea of being, wandering away alone to some fv country 
beyond the light of the sun and of the moon, where there is no night nor day, nor summer's heat, 
nor cold of the winter — where sight and sound, and all knowledge, rush upon the soul, wbea the 
eye and the car that once served it, are returning to dust in the foigotten earth. It is a fesrfui thing 
to think of iho loved spiiits that have vanished from our path. Oh where aie they when the eye 
glazes on us, and the voice and the smile that have gladdened our homes are as a lost treasure upon 
earth? 

Beautiful indeed is that sweet influence which brightens that fearful mystery, peopling a world of 
light and holiness with the gentle and the lovely that are fading from this, and joining the lone spint 
of the dying, wiih a love stiongcr than Death, to him who is the brightness of that far country, where 
the trees are of Life, and the fountains of living water; and where the trials and sufferings in this 
unstable world are remembered only as the indistinct passages of a dream. 

** The ways of Providence are inscrutable," said my guide — " a blow of peculiar affliction hat cot 
off a life which, although obscure, was spent in usefulness and piety." 

** You knew the deceased then," said I, replying almost mechanically to a remark which, amid nj 
own all absorbing reflections, fell almost unheeded upon my ear. 

** She was the mother of a young man whoso brilliant talents and high-toned character procared 
£>r him an appointment in the navy. The habits acquired in the loose haunts of pleasure were illy 
adapted to the rigid rules of naval discipline, and when he returned to his station he paid a high price 
ibr a few months of gaiety. He was introduced by a brother officer to a fashionable club in the me- 
tropolis, during his furlough. The common intercourse with such associates tended but to corropt 
or impede the better feelings of his heart (there was no skilful hand to call forth its hallowed gush* 
ings, and its exquisite chords had ceased to vibrate) as the foot of the hasty traveller throws mire 
into those fountains which are dug from the rock, and guided through pure channels by a carefol 
and interested hand. His character had lost its early biightness ; the generosity of his nature— his 
noble frankness — his deep scorn of all that was palpably base — remained the same ; but the mora 
delicate shades of moral worth were obscuied, if not defaced, by the contact of depravity. Harried 
hy the dangerous excitement of a constitutional ardor, he pursued the career of fashionable folly, and 
could not recede from the precipice. In the contaminating influence of his companions he lost that 
nice perception of dishonor which in boyhood had marked his career. His mothei pleaded with him 
to renounce his dissolute ways ; but remonstrance avails but little with him who, having embiaced 
Vice under the alluring name of Pleasure, has learned to regard the code of a stem morality as the 
mere dictate of a bigoted and superstitious mind. In his own circle he moved like a meteor, pouring 
around him a flood of wild and brilliant light, while those fearful shadows were gathering over his 
soul which were to settle in perpetual darkness. The misguided youth was dismissed from a pro- 
fession which might have conducted him to the highest eminence, and retuined to the widowed and 
indigent parent who had leaned upon him for support — to die. Disgrace had broken the spirit it 
might not bend. She lost her reason, and now is following him." 

A flood of tumultuous thoughts came rushing upon my brain like a toirent, and all the hidden 
depths of my soul were stirred. Again we passed on to another apartment, and gazed upon the 
wieck of a gambler. The form was outbtretched, and the features fearfully distorted. He was sleep- 
ing — but not a quiet slumber. His breathing was heavy, and gtoans seemed bursting from his sur- 
charged heart. Once he had been a model of manly beauty. He had his all in a fearful hazard ; 
he quitted the table a beggar ; his last possessions had been mortgaged ; his wife, his children were 
in want in another city. Her watchful eyes weie not near to smooth his pillow, and weep over his 
failings. Sleep on — sleep on !— thou wilt awaken no more to the kiss of wedded love ! 

I was well nigh maddened by what I saw. The career of some had been splendid. They had 
sheathed themselves, as the sword in its scabbard, in an atmosphere of gaiety ; their lives had been 
-unprincipled ; they had destroyed minds whose opening promise was fair and sweet as the first smile 
of love, and had finally disseminated the seed of misery, and were now perishing unwept, unhonored. 

^e crossed a corridor, and there lay the victim of intemperance. He had gone on in regular gra- 
dation, quafling the subtle but too sure poison of the fatal bowl, and was now writhing under the 
ticcuniulatcd horrors oi mania a potu. 

** A drop of water, for the love of God ! — my brain's on fire — it scorches — it bums," he cried 
gaspingly — " oh, oh, see the fiend I He comes — he wants me — he beckons me — oh save me — save 
me ! — he reoches forth his skeleton hands — he clutches me — I cannot breathe — I shall die ! Oh 
God — pot yet ! — tear him away ! — look — look at the flames issuing from his mouth ! Oh don*t — 
don't— don't — leave mo to him — to — to— to burn ! Awsy ! — I am not yours ! I defy your power — 
I spit upon you I Loose your hold upon me ! I did not do the deed — there's no blood upon my 
hand. Mother, dear mother, do not curse me thus ! It is engraved upon my soul in characters of 
Are — give me thy blessing as of old — I killed not Jul'-in — he stabbed himself. There — there he 
comes again" — he almost shiieked — " look at the fearful gash in his head, and the blood trickling 
from h:s gory hair. Tear — tear him away ! I am a robl»er — I am a blighted branch — a cankered 
flower, poisoning the air in which I breathe, and killing the sweet shrubs which grow around m& I 
Am a villain— a sordid villain !" A dreadful pang here seemed to ahoot through his whole firame. 



A V181T TO A MAD-HOUSE. 233 

An twfal and piercing shriek burst from his lips— ^ save me," he cried — "save mo ! — have mercy — 
mercy !" — and he laughed as the maniac laughs in the excess of his misery. The flush upon his 
cheek flickered as that which plays in Heaven when the day is dying, and his eye gave forth the 
lustrous glitter of the polished stone. He looked at me with an expression I shall not reaUly forget ; 
a shadow of deep anguish shrouded his features ; his eyes seemed starting from their sockets and 
gleaming with unnatural light; his strong frame shook with fear; he seemed Ial>oring under the 
effect of terror of the most horrible nature. "There — there," he cried, in a thrilling voice, " see how 
Julian stAres upon me with his sightless orbs — ^how he points at me with his fleshless hands — oh, 
hear his laugh, like the bubbling of blood ! Avaunt ! avaunt ! — oh stare not upon me with'the blue 
light of those terrible sockets ! It sinks into my soul — it burns my heart to ashes — away ! away ! 
to the fathomless hell whence you came — down into the fiery furnace — away ! — oh God ! — oh God ! 
Oh, I would live — I would live a liUie longer. Save me, mother — let mo not die — *tis a heavy 
•truggle, but I would master it. Give me air — I faint — give mo air, I say — breath — life — aye, life- 
throw up the windows — dear mother, it is your son who pleads — who suffocates — who dies. Stilt, 
•till it baffles me. There — there— raise me" — ho gasped, and his expressions of horror were dreadful. 

My blood ran cold with fear ; my flesh quivered convulsively, and my mind was filled with an 
unquenchable dread. I was about making the best of my way out, when my guide said, " you have 
not yet seen the female ward ; come, there is nothing to startle you there." I silently assented, and 
followed her almost mechanically, trembling in every joint with the exoen of my highly-wrought 
feelings. 

As we drew near the room I crossed my arms upon my bosom, to repress the throbbings of my 
heart. We wended our way through a low vaulted passage. The sounds that at intervals echoed 
through this abode of misery and crime might have chilled the stoutest heart; but I tried to close my 
senses to all external objects. At the end of a corridor we ascended a flight of steps, at the foot of 
which my guide unlocked a door, when we entered the room. 

The light admitted by the grated narrow window discovered to my view several of its inmates, one 
of whom immediately arrested my attention. She was stretched upon a pallet, and lay with her face 
to the wall, without seeming to notice our entrance. Low moans stole through her lips, and shook 
her frame ; then she shuddered as if in an agony of fright ; and then gasped out " I have not been 
■cen — I am safe." 

The matron advanced, and addressed her in accents of kindness — '* look up, my daughter, naught 
shall harm you." She sprang upon her feet with violence, and demanded passionately — " what 
wouldst thou with me 1 — what new treachery now !" Her brow was so dark, and there was so much 
stern irony on her tongue that I retreated a few paces with fear. I had now ah opportunity of re- 
garding her attentively, as she stood the wreck of a beautiful woman in the piime of life. With a 
wild incoherent burst of language she bared the inmost recesses of her hcait. She wept; and her 
tears seemed gradually to still the tempest which our presence had raised in her soul, till then 
wrapped in moody sullcnness. My guide attempted to soothe her. 

" Am I awake," she exclaimed, " can I believe that I am not uttcily abandoned and despised 1 
But no ! God has no mercy for a wretch like me" — she fell on her face on the bed, and her breast 
heaved with convulsive agony. She then drew a long relieving breath, and murmured passionately^ 
" oh that the grave would hide me from wretchedness ! I would flee to the ends uf the earth — to the 
depths of the sea — but" — and a smile of cunning played about her mouth, ** I have escaped — they 
would have decked me for the sacrifice — ha, ha, ha ! You shall not poison me — I will live out the 
just remainder of my days — Hell upon earth is more tolerable than Hell to come" — and then she 
began to rave and shout, all her delirium coming back again. Suddenly, in the midst of her sneam- 
ing she stopped, exclaiming " what ! who let you in 1 the door is fast — I locked it myself. Who 
is this 1 His face is while — 'tis my child — he is alive again — come back to upbraid me with my 
unnatural crime — to drag me to perdition — to appear against me. But no! I have repented — I have 
prayed — oh, oh, that prayers might avail ! I shall surely die. There is a dark, dreadful secret upon 
my mind — it must forth — I killed my child. What is this white mass in my arms 1 My senses 
awim. What do I holdl It is his corpse as it lay by my side that long, long night when — cold, 
stiff, and motionless — white, horribly white, as when the moon, which would not set, showed all its 
ghastliness. Ah, it moves — it embraces — it chokes me — help ! help ! — drag it away !" Her violence 
had exhausted her powers, and she lay sobbing and moaning like a quieted babe. 

" Her story," said my conductor, " is soon told. She became an un wedded mother ; to hide her 
shame, she took the life of the innocent cause of her misery ; when charged with the act reason de- 
serted her empire ; she has been within these walls ten years." 

There were many others whom I noticed, and in whom I was deeply interested. I was about to 
separate from my conductor when she said, " you have not yet seen poor Rosalie." As we passed 
along the passage, the loud shriek of madness, and voices hideously discordant broke upon the ear. 
We at length entered a chamber, where, at a window, sat the maniac of whom the matron had 
spoken. She had passed her first youth;- the bloom of that early girlhood which is so bright, so 
beautiful, and so transitory, was departed ; yet she had seen scarce nineteen summers. She was not 
strikingly handsome ; but there was a pride, almost a sternness, seated on her high forehead, which 



234 BUETON^S OBNTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

gave an air of nobility to her countenance. Hor eyes were of the deepest blue ; and ytet theie mas 
a cold sadness in their clear star-like depth, which struck the beholder immediately. Her face w«i 
£iir, and the bright sunny hair was tucked up beneath a cap, save where, here and theie, a goldas 
tress escaped as if to contrast with the dazzling transpaiency of her complexion. The efti wwe 
beautiful — so were all the features — but their expression, to me, was painfuL 

At first she had not noticed us. When she did so, she advanced, and giacefully invited us in. 

*< I am glad you are come," said she, in a low sweet voice, and her countenance brightened aaihtf 
spoke, " this is my wedding day. Rich are the jewels and gorgeous the equipage that await my 
bridal How the world talks ! Theic are the lace, and the feathers, and the satins, and the crowded 
house ; and I am to stand at God's altar and pledge my faith with one (here her voice sank into • 
whisper) whom I love dearly. Wait till you see my beloved, with his fine daik countenanca, wad 
raven hair, and his deep, manly, but touching voice." Suddenly, her lips were compressed, and • 
dark cloud settled upon her pallid brow — " why, oh why, comes he noti he must be ill — be no^Mt 
else could have been so cruel. I can bear the thought no longei — I will go to him — I will attend em 
him — ^who can love him — who can watch over him like me V* She walked towards the dooi> and, 
•tamping with her small foot upon the fioor, called out " what, ho, there ! my carriage ! lose not a 
moment — do you hear mo 1 Too ill, did you say 1—1 never was better in my life" — and she would 
have left the room had not the door been iastened. The matron conducted her to a seat, and she ra- 
mained pale and with closed eyes, and motionless, save a scarcely perceptible quivering of the lipUL 
At length she said with a forced smile, " ihcy have confined mc ; they say I am mad ; I am debaifed 
from roaming in the green meadow, or sitting by the purling brot^, as of old, or gazing upon the 
beautiful blue sky, and inhaling the pure air of Heaven. I am shut out from the world, immeiied 
within these dark walls, and glared upon by hideous faces — 

'Tis sure some dream — some vision vain ! 

What I, the child of rank and wealth, 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain 

Bereft of freedom, friends, and health 1 
Ah, while I dwell on blessings fied 

Which never more my heait must glad 
How aches my heart! how bums ray head ! 

But Wm not mad — ^no, 'tis not m^d ! 

I am not mad, but I shall be sq — ^my hand is colda b^t my head's on Are* 

Yes, soon ! — for, lo you ! while I speak 

Mark how yon demon's eye-balls glare 
He sees me ! — txfivr with dreadful shriek 

He whirls a serpent high in aii ! 
Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth 

Deep in my heart ao crushed and sad — 
Ah, ls^:^h, ye fiends, I feel the truth — 

Your task is doiy^ — ^I'ra mad — I'm m^d I* 

She paused for a^ insta;nt; a sigh rose to he« Ups» and she struggled for utterance. I wan fimd W 
look out of the window to conceal my tears. As we left the apartment, and the key turned in t^ 
liQck, I heard a voice whose piteous accents thriUe d me to my heart's inmost core — " hast thou tiftm 
indeed forsaken me, Clarence ? My God ! I am alone — all alone !" 

The modifications which madness assAunes are numerous. From some one paseoon ie Bmr 
absent — that of utter and iocompiehensible dread. Someti^ou^s the aufierer imagines himself biuied 
beneath overwhelming rocks, which crush him on all sides, bnt still leave with him a miserable ooBr 
■ciousness of his situation^ Again, he is involved in the coils of a horrid slimy monster whose poir 
sonous breath fans his cheek. Every horribln, disgusting or teriible thing in the physical and moral 
world is brought before him in fearful army. He is hissed at by serpents, toitured by demonfl, and 
stunned by the hollow voices and touch of cold apparitions. At one moment he thinks a malignant 
being is at his side ; to shun the sppalling sight ho closes his eyes, but the fearful object sUll makes 
its presence known ; his icy breath is diffused over his visage ; his horrid eyes are glaring upon him. 
Others live in a condition of perpetual enchantment The happiest moments of their lives are lived 
over and over again, and those they most love on earth are constantly by their side. For theae m&d- 
n^ss is divested of its horror, and appio^ches, perhaps, mnre closely than aoor eaithly coodiUoa IP 
what we dream of Elysium. Most inscrutable are the ways of God ! 

* M. G. Lewis. 



O M N I A N A ; 



Ereiy (king bj ttftrt^ but nothiny hng. 

Dryden, 

Varioui ; tlMt the mind 
Of detultorjr man, itudious of ehan^ 
And pleased with noTeity, may be maulged. 

Coxpper. 



SIMILITUDES. 

Tbibb ifl an affinity between all natural, animate and inaniniate; the oak, in the pride and Imti- 
hood of its growth, seems to me to take its range with the lion and the migk, and to arsimilate in 
4he grandeur of its attiibutes to heroic and intellectual man. 

With its mighty pillar rising straight and direct towards heaven, bearing np its leafy honors from 
the impurities of earth, and supporting thorn aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem 
of what a true nobleman should be: — a refuge for the weak^-a shelter for the oppressed— a defenee 
for the defenceless ; warding off from thorn the peltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary 
power. He who is this, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is otherwise, 
-abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn finom the 
bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would 
mourn over his fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppresaive hand of power, who would mur- 
mur at his fate 1 « Why cumbereth he the ground 1" 



STUDY OF NATURE. 

If we look, says Sir Humphrey Davy, with wonder upon the great remains of human works, 
such as the columns of Palmyra, broken in the midst of the desert ; the temples of Pcestum, betuli« 
ful in the decay of twenty centuries ; or the mutilated fragments of Greek sculpture in the Acropolia 
of Athens, as proofs of the genius of artists, and power and riches of nations now passed away ; with 
how much deeper feeling of admiration must we consider those grand monuments of nature which 
mark the revolutions of the globe! Continents broken into islands; one land produced, another 
destroyed ; the bottom of the ocean become a fertile soil ; whole races of animals ektinct, and the 
bones and exuvia of one class covered with the remains of another ; and upon the graves of past 
generations — the marble or rocky tombs, as It were, of a former animated world — new generations 
arising, and order and harmony established ; and a system of life and beauty produced, as it were, 
out of chaos and death ; proving the infinite power, wisdom and goodness of the Great Cause of all 
being. 



RHYME-READER. 

Ben Jonson, passing along Fleet street, obeervcd a countryman staring at a grocer's sign ; he tapped 
him on the shoulder, and asked him what so engpaged his attention 1 '* Why, master,'' he replied, 
« I be admiring that nice piece of poetry over the shop." ** How can yon make that riiyme," said 
Ben ; <* the words are, cofiee and tea to be sokL" ** Why, thus," replied Ralph :— 

(« Coffee and tea 
To be s— o— I— d." 

This so pleased the poet, that Ralph was taken into his service immediately, and he conti&QBd to 
serve him until Jonson's death. 



IMPRISONMENT FOR DEBT. 

The anecdote which follows furnishes a practical illustration of the inutility of imprisonment ibr 
small debts. As the genius of oar laws is said to disclaim revenge in the penalties they inflict, wa 
caxmot acknowledge the fitness of that authority, which places the personal liberty of the poor debtor 
at the mercy, perhaps, of an enraged creditor ; who, in most cases, under color of law, seeks only tiie 
gratification of the most immoral and vindictive passions, forgetting the precepts of mercy and loving 
kindness. 

A debtor in the Fleet prison, in London, lately sent to his creditor, to let him know he had a pro- 
posal to make, whidi he believed would be for their mutual benefit Accordingly, the creditor calling 
<m him to hear it, ** Fve been thinking," eaid he, ** that it is a very idle thing for me to lie here, and 
put yon to the expense of seven groats a wedc My being so churgeaUe to yon has given me gnat 
uneasmesB, and it is tmposrible to say what it may eost yoa in the end. Tharalbra^ what I WMid 

TOL. TX.— HO. T K 2, 



236 burton's OENTLEMA^r's HAOAZINB. 

propose is this. You shall let me out of prison, and, instead of seven groats, you shall allow only 
eighteen pence a week, and the olber ten-pence shall go to discharge the debt," 

With us, in Pennsylvania, the law fixes the amount of allowance to imprisoned debtoii, Cbread 
money J at fifty cents per week, paid by the creditor. 



PA LINDROMES. 

^ A word, verse, or sentence, that is the same when read backwards or forwards — such as madams 
eye, and a few others are palindromes ; so that, like the hourgeoute gentilhomme, who talked profe 
alibis life without knowing it, we repeat extemporray palindromes daily, in utter ignoiance of our 
talent. This is a redeeming quality, by the bye, to conceal any quality we have, when we are ao 
proud of displaying those we have not. Indeed, our talents may be oflen divided in the same way as 
-some hand-writing I have heard of; Jirsty such as nobody can find out; secondly, what none bat 
ourselves can discover ; and thirdly t what our friends can also discern. We subjoin an EngUili 
palindrome by Taylor, the Water-poet : — 

Lewd did I live, and evil I did dwell. 

And an enigma where all the words required are palindromes ; the answers will easily be dts*~ 
covered:— 

First, find out a word that doth silence proclaim, / 

And that backwards and forwards is always the same ; -- -ir^ t <- ' .' <— 

Then next you must find out a feminine name 

That backwards and forwards is always the i«ame ; • , ' - •* - 

An act, or a writing on parchment whose name ' , . J 

Both backwards and forwards is always the same ; - 

A fiuit that is rare, whose botanical name ^^ . 

Read backwards and forwards is always the same ; ^ ^ »<:/''* • 

A note, used in music, which lime doth proclaim, / , ■ 

And backwards and forwards is always the sarwe ; - -~ ^ j. it J( t l: ^ , 

Their initials connected, a title will frame. 

That is justly the due of the fair mairied dame. 

Which backwards and forwards is always the same. 



"OLD MAIDS." 

Although we would not be understood to approve the state, or inculcate the <* cold comforts o' 
single blessedness," it is but justice to admit that the satirical aspersions cAst on " old maids" are in- 
£nately more to their praise than is generally imagined, or as it should seem intended. A lively 
"Writer on this subject says: — " Is a woman remarkably neat in her person! She will certainly die 
an old maid. Is she particularly reserved towards the other sex ? She has all the squeamishness of 
an old maid. Is she frugal in her expenses, and exact in her domestic concerns 1 She is cut out for 
an old maid. And if she is kindly humane to the animals about her, nothing can save her from the 
appellation of an old maid." In short, I have always found, that, neaincfs, modesty, economy, and 
humanity, are the never fading characteristics of that terrible creature— an " old maid." 



S A N I « 8 U A 1 OMNIA SANA. 

Celsus very sensibly says that " a healthy man, under his own government, ought not to tie 
liimself up by strict rules — ^nor to abstain from any sort of food ; that he ought sometimes to iast sad 
aometimes to feast" 

Dr. Aibuthnot, says, ** a constant adherence to one sort of diet may have bad efiects on any con- 
stitution. Nature has provided a great variety of nourishment for human creatures, and furnished 
,118 with appetites to desire, and organs to digest them." 

An unerring regularity is almost impracticable, and the swerving from it, when it has become 
Jiabitual, dangerous; — for every unusual thing in a human body becomes stimulus, as wine or flesh 
.jnest to one not used to them ; therefore, Celsus's rule with proper mora/ restrictions, is a good one* 



THEOCEAN. 

There are people who affect to think nothing but the human character deserves their study, and 
pass over the great works of Gron as unworthy the trouble of contemplating. But I wonder any being 
"who afiects tatte would venture to assert that this immense body of water presents only sameness 
jmd monotony. To roe it seems that even the colors and sounds axe little less vtried than those we 
or bear in the midst of the most luxuriant landscape. 



THE.ODORICLOF THE AMALI. 



«» 



BT J. TOMLIir, AVTHOm OF " XABT OP CAtTLL PIHCKKIT. 



" Cait it be possible, Ariadne, that the promises of the Byzantine Coaitwill woo me to meet my 
eousin, the son of Triarius! 1 had promised myself much happiness in this, our rural.glen; hot 
this seclusion will be exchani^d, I fear, for the buttling camp — and the lore of the Verina will pur- 
chase this, our luve of solitude !'' 

'* Why, dearest, these quiet groves are not comparable to marble halU, lit by alabaster lamps, and 
the ambitious are ever weaving their destiny with the great and glorious of the earth. Banish, dear, 
mil regrets at a separation that secures a lasting amendment to fortune. The wind whistles charm- 
ingly through these dense forests, which is magic enough te those bom to obey ; but the noble mmt 
have high places — for it is their destiny. Is Odoacer's station compatible with his birth ! No ! — 
The base Isaurian should not rule the empire of the Ccesais while an Ostrogoth can trace the waters 
of the Danube !" 

" Charming woman ! I did not believe, Ariadne, that conquest had for thee this witchery ! ThoH 
that hast been reared in the soft nursery of peace, to forego its gentle harmony for the noise and 
confusion of the camp, speaks a marv^Hpus language in thy favor. But are you not, love, from an 
over fondness for thy husband, anticipating a glory that may never be realized 1" 

'' Not at all ! The fourteenth in lineal descent of the royal and valorous line of the Amali must 
and will triumph over the base Isaurian that is now invested with the Rom^n purple." 

" Then you advise the acceptance of the proposals made by the Byzantine CouA ? Do yoa 
know the treacherous and wicked spirit of the Verina that governs the palace of Constantinople t 
There is danger in trusting her too much ; for her promises are ever seemingly fair — the covert of 
their treachery." 

'* It cannot, Theodoric, be dangerous to you ; for the star of your destiny has been ever in tho 
ascendant." 

It was on one of those beautiful perfumed nights, when tho stars had met midway the heavena 
to talk of love : it was in tho cast — the place where the lost Pleiad had not been lost — where na- 
ture lives in the annual foMage of years, and the bulbul's song makes the roundelay of the night 
the melody of mind — that the ex-empress, the Verina, was sitting in the audience chamber of Con- 
stantinople, cogitating on the revolutions of dynasties. Not a sound was heard, but her low breath- 
ings. A stray zephyr had flitted by, and was playing maidenly with her grizzly ringlets. A soli- 
tary cricket was chirping underneath the heaithstone^save that, echo was voiceless. The dull mo- 
notony was increasing around, when the footsteps of some one crossing the carpetted floor, broke 
its listlessness. As they stopped, the Verina, without looking around, asked — 

** Who comes there !" 

" Your faithful Trascalisscus," replied the person spoken to. 

" Indeed ! Then I suppose you are the bearer of some comfortable news — for faith ever ifflplies 
happiness." 

** A perfect drought has been in your servants head, to>day ; and the germs of yesterday's thoughts 
have refused to fructify any thing that would be interesting to the Verina." 

** You acknowledge, then, the inconigibleness of your dullness ? But you should doff that bar- 
barous name for one more euphonic. What say ye V* 

'* I have thought of it before, but was fearful that I would be loath to heed your call, under anj 
other cognomen. Habit is all powerful with the old soldier, and cannot be put off, like an old gar- 
ment, at one's pleasure, and resumed again at will. To accommodate one's self to a mutation of name, 
is like establishing a new system of tactics when the battle is at the hottest But as you have sug' 
gested the thing, I will try it for once under the appellative of Zcno. Call me Zeno, now, and see 
whether or not I will recognise my own name." 

" Zeno !" called tho Verina ; but Zeno answered not. 

** How is it that you do not heed when you are called V* angrily spoke the Verina. 

« Because I did not hear you call," answered Troscalisseus. 

«* How ! did I not call Zeno 1" 

** But Zcno had forgot his name." 

" Your memory is strangely treacherous to-night." 

** It will reform itself soon, I hope." 

«< Shall I call Zeno again t" 

«* I am pleased for you to do it," answered Trascalisseus. 

««Zeno! Zeno!" 

" Zeno is dead— died a long time ago— it is Trascalisseus that is here in yoor presence." 

« The devil he is— then let him bo Trascalisseus to the end of his days." 



238 BURTON^s gbntlemanIs magazine. 

« A short respite to your faithful senrant, and Zeno will not forget his name again." 

<*It is granted. But no word yet of the herald sent to the young king of the Amali 1 I do wiflh, 
Zeno, that our mission may be received with an acquiescence to our behest" 

« Are you speaking to Zeno, the author of the Apothegms t" innocently asked TiascaliMeiis, of 
the Verina. 

" God's death on the man for his forgctfulness !" responded the Verina. 

<* Bear with your servant awhile, and he will certainly amend the fault. I am oblivious to-nighty 
but the morning will revive the recollection. Let me call myself, and see if I will forget to answer. 
Zeno ! Zeno ! Zeno ! who is that a calling Zeno 1 Tis strange that I should call the Grecun phi> 
losopher that has been dead some hundred of years. I must certainly be bewitched !" 

" Thou shouldst go nameless to the end of thy days, for this strange perversity of memoiyy" tAr 
swered the Verina. « But what of the herald V* 

« Nothing as yet heard of him. Theodoric will not dare to refuse the proposals made by Ibfi 
Court. Is it not our policy to keep down the energies of the Goths, by engaging an enmity at 
homo !" answered Trascalisseus. 

" Most certainly ! We hope to check the ardent ambition of this young barbarian by chwngin g 
the bent of his inclination, which is Rome, to the danger of suffering the son of Triaiios to reign 
in the territory of the Amali. If we can engage him in a war with his cousin, our aim is mcetaar 
plished, and we reap the fruits of their toils. Let the distraction result to the benefit of either^ the 
event cannot be otherwise than beneficial to the Byzantine Court, and the aggrandisement of your 
loving mistress." ^^ 

" Hark ! some one is passing through the corridor ! Ha ! they are, if my ears have caughl Ibo 
sound correctly, the staid footsteps of Anastasius !" 

<< How now, Anastasius — what of our mission 1" asked the Verina of the herald, as he marched 
boldly into the audience chamber. 

<< Theodoric has consented to check the ambition of the haughty son of Triarius." 

<< *Tis well ! — but what are the capabilities of the king — his capacity to govern 1" 

" They are of the first order ! Young and handsome, prudent and brave, he awaits a ha|^y dci- 
tiny !" replied Anastasius. 

" If he docs, then omx finesse to prevent it has been overruled, and our calculations are baolkedt** 
replied the Verina. 

« When his ambition has finished chewing the strength of the son of Tiiarius, the teeth of bis 
invincible Walamirs will be very much worn," spoke the new christened Zeno. 

<< A sensible remark, Zeno, truly, is that same apothegm of thine," answered the Verina. 

" Zeno 1 there is no Zeno here, as I know of!" replied the general Trascalisseus, with impertur- 
bable gravity. 

« 'Sdeath ! damnation ! a trifling with my good nature, art thou 1 Thou hadst better tamper 
with the dragon's tooth, than to jeer thy mistress, the Verina. Avaunt ! my presence is painful to 
such as thou ! Beware of thy ridicule — will it not create a scowl that will wiUier thee 1 Begone !" 

Trascalisseus left the Verina's presence, perfectly astounded at her harsh language. He had not 
the faintest recollection of the name of Zeno being bestowed on him by his own suggestion. It 
was only as he passed out of the palace into the wide streets of the city, that memory revived the 
circumstances under which he had assumed the name of Zeno. He felt embittered against himself 
that his memory should have been so forgetful as to give a provocation to the anger of the most in- 
dulgent of mistreitees. In his distraction, he wended his way to the hippodrome — the circus of the 
Bosphorus. At that period, the proud and lascivious city of Constantino was kept in a continual 
commotion by the clashing interests of the different factions. Each assuming the most barbaric 
costume that the fancy could originate, they affected to strike terror into the peaceable citizens. In- 
solent from royal favor, the pretensions of all were despised. They united in putting down all pre- 
tensions to power, whether legitimate or borrowed, they discovert springing up in others. The 
blue faction had gained the ascendancy. Narses, of the Herali, a bold and indefatigable individual 
in prosecution of pleasure, was their commander. Practising constantly the coquetry ofjdWnmla- 
tion, he became a perfect proficient in deception. The patrician, or high bom, he flatteral^to fa- 
vor, while the canaille were forced to yield their inherent rights. This city, which was ond( under 
the protection of the Saviour of the world, is now the abode of the bloody prophet of the Bedb- 
xveens. The cross was then triumphant, but the crescent is now waving o'er the blue waters of the 
Bosphorus. An awful change ! — Uio retribution for the sins of the Christians. The andiem that 
pealed in a diapason clear through the fretted aisles of St. Sophia, is heard no more ! But the 
idolatrous worship of the Muezzin is held there ! The lecherous houri flaunts gaily where the chaste 
virgin presided. 

As Trascalisseus entered the hippodrome, he was somewhat startled at the exhibition on the arena. 
There he saw a naked woman. He could not be deceived — it was no other than the Comito, one 
of the females of the palace. Her beauty had long been the subject of the most flattering praise^ 
and her favor was courted by the ambitious and wealthy. Her features were delicate, and moulded 
with an exquisite grace; the eyes were always expressing the every sensation that moved the 1)0^ 



V 



oDORic. 239 



warn ; the lipa were ehifieUed, delicatelj pouting, tnd cimtamed the soft nectar of kiaset ; the checks 
were like the white rosehad burnished by the setting sun ; and her ambition was the. love and praise 
of the world. But her charms were venal, and wAre probably abandoned to the love or desire of 
the high or low. Being fickle and revengeful, distrustful and cruel, the lover of to*day was aban- 
doned for a new one on to-morrow. In the hippodrome, she was courted and despised, praised and 
dbuaed ; in the palace, she governed the counaellors of the Vcrina, that governed her. Her mo- 
tions were easy, ever displaying the graces of ^ small but elegant figure ; painting could not deli- 
neate, nor poetry portray, the divine symmetry of hei^form. tiuch was the Comito. Flagrant .to 
TiTtae, she despiseid the benisons of the good. Beauttful-Mihe was a thing to love ; for the beauti- 
ful are always worshipped. The times she lived in were etrapgcly crooked, and sanctioned doings 
that would be considered, now, a p^version of common decency. In exhibiting herself before the 
mad populace, she had no consciousness of sham^, fa| custom had not interdicted this modem in- 
deoency, but rather encouraged a prostitution of ctkixjOBm, As she eaime out, an unholy desire was 
visibly expressed in the features of the spectators, fl^ roiioded liinfae, modelled exquisitely, were 
neat and graceful in their several proportions. The JMow flake, f^ng from the high latitude of 
heaven, was less white than her skin. /jB ThiscalisdHs came in» ^e was leaning against one of 
the pillars that supported the circular gauerit^;her looiglisir was hanging around her limbs almost 
to her very feet ; a coy laugh was on her chfek, which m^ij$tA half-suppressed when the adoration 
of the multitude became frantic A band was round hex^oiiken hair, that parted midway her white 
£Nehead, and fell down blushingly, as if to conceal from the gaze of man her ahameless shame. 
^^ Massive golden bracelets, studded with ^ipnonds, clasped her wrists ; and the diamond star crasted 
Iter head. ** A beautiful piece of flesh, sue is, indead I" muttered, to himself, the stoical Tiascalis- 
; ** but what use she is to mankind, I cannot conceive, unless it be to make them fools." Nar- 
of the Herali was beside himself. His blood was inflamed, and his brain was maddened. The 
soA witchery of her charms surrounded him, and he was lost to discretion. 

'" A glorious sight, by heaven !" spoke the HeralL " See how proudly she lists to the wild huz- 
las of the people. Thoy adore her, and she is satisfied. Now she is half-scorning the motivo of 
their infatuation. She seems determined to show her disgust at their overweening servility. How 
strange it is that the mind's observation soon teaches its capacities to reject such flattery. She 
leaves the arena — now she leans against one of the columns of the vestibule, as if in deep thought. 
Now she is gone. Til follow her ; she roust be won. I have power— does it not secure every wish 
of the heart ? I have gold — will it not buy her* love? U it fail, she is not woman. Come, desire, 
thou wilt lead me to the Comito, and a bold heart will win the pledge pf its idolatry." 

The Herali hastened from the hippodrome, in pursuit of the Comito ; but she had dls^>peared. 
The moon shone brightly on the cumbersome building, revealing the disproportions in its rounded 
apex ; but nothing ^f the Comito was seen. 

** She is gone," m muttered to himself, " but not to elude me ; FlI find her at the Vcrin^'s. There, 
1*11 secure her love by gold — she yields the purchased slave !" He met Trascalisseus in the opeu 
streets, and asked him if he had seen the Comito. ^ 

" Not since she left the hippodrome," replied Trascalisseus. ^How should I, when I take no 
cognizance of these toys that the foolish of the earth play awhild^ith, then leave with loathing t" 
'* Thou art a fool, Trascalisseus, and I the same, for asking thee questions that do not relate to 
the sacking of some strong fortress. Come, Til accompany thee to the palace." 

Through the broad streets of Constantinople, the ambitious Herali took his way, accompanied by 
Trascalisseus, in pursuit of an embodiment of a fervid fancy. The Comito had vanished. A iew 
gray clouds were lining the pathway of the moon, ^ she showered through their opening drapery 
tier yellow beams. It was a night for love to sport awhile on the altar of its aflections, and awhile 
4esert its worshippings. It was a night wnen the worn-out debauchee might renew his revels with 
« keen appetite. The Herali hurriedly pMied on, muttering at intervals in the way, <* Til have herf 
It was his first love — therefore it was sw8et and ravishing. It was deep and intense — swollen and 
bloated. Nothing could assuage the wild phrensy of his passion, for the electric flame of love had 
taken possession of his heart, and held the entire possession of its ramparts. 

** V\i have her, though this marble palace ofifers its protection !" spoke the Herali, as he leaned 
against one of the Doric columns of the vestibule of the palace, ere he essayed to make his ingress 
into its magic chambers. ** Til have her, though the ex-empress, the Verina" — 
" Docs what 1" asked Trascalisseus. 

<' Rejects my pretensions," answered the Herali, as he marched boldly into the audience chamber, 
and begged of the Verina an interview with the Comito. 

" An interview with the Comito !" repeated the Verina, in much astonishment. 
** Assuredly, it is the favor asked by the Herali," answered Narses. 

'' The request of the Herali is granted," spoke the Verina. « See that chamber door !" pointing 
with a haggish finger to the same — '< a gentle tap on it, and you are received into the presence of 
the Comito. As a friend of the Herali, the Verina advises caution ; for every admirer of the Co- 
mito is in danger." 



240 BURTON^S GENTLfiM^'s MAGAZINE. 

« The strength of the blue faction causes the Hcrali to despise the danger !*' replied the yoon^ 
barbaiian. 

** Your fearlessness does not make the danger less certain." 

<* But it banishes cowardly fears, which makes it of no consequence/' responded the HeralL 

'* You have a rival that is dangerous ; beware, oi thy destruction is inevitable !" 

" You encourage me to go on ! Now, I seek her because there is danger in the undertakiDff'^ 
before, I sought her for pleasure." 

«* Wilfulness biings repentance !" V^k 

" Kcpentance is not known in the vocabull^of my actions. What does it mean 1 1*11 be wi^ 
ful again, to be taught its definition !" answered the Herali. 

** Experience never fails to teach its import." 

** Experience/ — indeed, experience is noUring but the slander of old age on yooth ! Haplj, if 
thy prophecy of danger meets me on the way, Til never know experience to learn what rep e n t e n ee 
is!" ' ^- ■- 

" Thou art hopelessly wilful^ Narses," 

" 'Tis my nature to be so." *#^* 

Naises, of the Herali, gave aoentle tap on the door of the Comito's chamber with the handle of 
his sword. The door immediately flew open, and he was admitted into the saloon of beaaty. She 
sat — the beautiful Comito sat-:— on the silken cushion of the sofa, a true copy of the ancient VenaiL 
A small lamp was suspended from the high ceiling, burning perfumed oil. An odor, at onoe lei^ 
sitively agreeable, was emitted from its flickering flame.#ltich tablatures were seen of strange de- 
signs, ostensibly painted to make the desires of the licentious more ardent. Each design confoni^ 
ed to this purpose. The Comito, as the Herali came into the room, half raised herself fi cm ih* 
sofa, and asked in a languid tone his business. 

" It is of love," answered the Hcrali- 

** Therefore the more dangerous," replied the Comito. 

** I seek it for its danger." 

" It will destroy you." 

" That gives it all of its consequence." 

** I do not believe it" 

*< There is more danger to you in doubting my word, than there is to me in loving yon.*' 

•* Prove it." 

" I am of ihe faction." 

" Your color V* 

" The blue." 

" I will reject you, and make interest with the leader." 

«» I am the Herali." 

" Indeed !" 

<* I have spoken it, and it must be so." 

" I thank yt)u for the informtlion — it makes me more cautions." 

" I love you distractedly." 

" Then you are a madman." 

"Howl" 

" It is only madmen that love in that way— and fools believe in virtue. I love nothing bat plea^ 



sure." 



« So do I." 

" With this diflference. Yon love me because I am beanliful ; and a thing of beaaty ii e thio^ 
of love — to men. Women are constituted diflferently. Having no objects of beauty to pletae end 
delight their fancy, (for men are invariably ugly,) they are only careful to secure the meuie at 
pleasure." 

" This is a dreadful picture you have drawn of yourself," replied the Herali. 

** I am honest, which makes it startling. You have lived with women that have been more cv»» 
ful to hide their blemishes, than to tell the truth. They have only exhibited to thee tbeti sorlaoe^ 
of fair proportions, and thou art deceived." 

" I like your honesty." 

" It may betray you." 

" How 1 I do not understand you." 

" The future will explain it.* 

" I will venture my happiness on your care !' 

" I will not promise to protect it** 

" Not if I marry you 1" 

" Marry me !** repeated the Comito. 

"Whyndtl" 

" I have abjured the yoke.** 

" Indeed ! — wherefore 1" 



If 



TH^ODORIG. 241 

« To humor my fancy ! Any other apology is fulsome; bat as it may not suffice for one who 
wisbcs a reason for evety thing, I will explain fully. Celibacy gives me freedom which I do not 
choose to barter away in matrimony ; and the marriage vows would be perjury to my souL" 

'* I have wealth — will it not allure thee to wedlock 1" 

'* I have daily ofTers of gold on easier terms." 

♦* Has it conquered V* 

'* No ! I receive the gold as a guerdon for their love gratifying my desires." 

*' Half of my wealth is laid at your feet, as a ie<^pen8e for the privilege of affording you ple»» 
•ure," " 

*• The boon is accepted." 

*' Then seal it with a kiss." 

The Herali imprinted on her ruby lips a long passionate kiss. The rich nectar which her soft 
lips distilled lef^ its sweetness long aflei on his. As bees are loath to leave the opening flower, 
half wet with morning dews, thus the Herali clung fondly, awhile too long for the chaste sensibili- 
ties of the pure, to the moistened lips. 

" Thou ait somewhat too rode and lavish of your friendship," replied the Gomito. « Kisses are 
like the odors of the flowers, pleasant enough when a little is received, but ofiensive when they 
throw off too much of their sweetness." 

** I deny it ! — for I feel as if I could sip of the nectar from your lipe for ever," replied the Herali^ 

" So thinks Ecebolos." ' 

« Who is Ecebolus t" asked the Heraik 

«* What ! know ye not him ih>it has been dismissed from the government ef the African Pent^ 
polls 1" 

*• I heard of him not before!" 

** Then I will inform you. This gentleman, who is a native of Tyre, was appointed by the Ve- 
lina sole governor of the African Pentapolis. Having good native paits, and much solid merit, be 
governed the people with wisdom and moderation — so as to secure the friendship of the people, and 
the esteem of the Verina. Being on a visit to this city, he saw me, and was smitten. Not being 
careless of the impression my. beauty had made on him, I managed so as to secuie his affections. 
He is now the merest automaton — moving only as the spell that binds him dictatee. Vigilantia, 
his concubine — a beautiful woman yet, although she has experienced eveiy mutation in fortune-— 
has made a virtue of her situation, and contents herself with the old Trascalisseus." 

♦• Where is Ecebolus now t" 

** He is in the city, and I expect his return every minute. If he were to find you here, you would 
be in danger of his stiletto, which he is ever free in using." 

** Danger/ it is only cowards that dread it ! I have no fears of the kind. Does the eagle dread 
the broad gaze of the day in her cirie, or shrink from the seething sunbeam 1 Does the nightingale 
fear a rivalry in the matin song of the lark ! Narses of the Herali fears nothing — neither man 
nor devil !" 

" A bold barbarian, truly ! Danger sometimes lurks unseen, and when least expected makes the 
nearest approaches. Come, follow me ! — take the lamp, for I am more mindful of your safety than 
your destiny will suffer you to be." 

The Herali did as he was desired. Having approached the wall, the Comito touched a conceal- 
ed spring in the tapestry, and a door flew open, revealing a flight of steps. Being duected by the 
Comito, he took the lamp and started down the steps, she following close behind. In fact, they 
could not go otherwise, for the steps were so narrow that only one person could proceed at once. 
They did not descend regularly, consecutively in a strait line, but winded about so as to have lost 
one unfamiliar with the way. They were not a regular flight of steps, continued unbrokenly ; but 
a labyrinth strangely devised, running in and out to deceive. There appeared to bo one main flight 
of stairs, having many branches, leading to different subterraneous compartments, like a big road 
having many neighboring paths. As they went along, the Herali was ever appealing to the Co- 
mito for directions, and she ever crying out '< To the right — to the left." The air was thick and 
heavy. Probably yeais had elapsed since the footsteps of man had trodden the dusty steps. Crick- 
ets had chirped there to the droning of the beetle. The spider had wove her gossamer«web, and 
the intruding insects had become entangled in its meshes. The steps terminated at last in a long, 
low and narrow corridor. The air was so heavy and dark that the light of the lamp refused to pe- 
netrate more than a few steps through its darkness. It flickered yellowishly. Immediately to the- 
right of where they had stopped, was seen in the wall a door of heavy black oak, suspended by 
ponderous rusty hinges. A large bar of iron was across the door. The Herali appeared to be as- 
tonished at the whim that gave the suggestion to their nocturnal jaunt. It was a strange place, and 
he broke the fearful stillness by asking the following question : 

*< How is it that I find myself in this abode, only fit for the habiUtion of owls 1 This lookamore 
like the gallery between the council chambers of the devils, than a place for lovers to wile away the 
laggard hours plcasurably." 

'* This u love's pitsoo, to the right !" ngmtnl the Comito. <« A few daya of dalUanoe with •<>» 



242 



BURTON^S gentleman's MAGAZINE. 



iitade hath a wonderful effect in chastening the fever iiih afiectione. The prison is aiwajs an anti- 
dote to love. Unbar the door, and enter the chamber of solitude." 

** To jeopardize my liberty, and be laughed at for my credulity. But one that axpecta fatare fii- 
vors must not be squeamish in obeying the commands of a lovely mistress,'* replied IIm Henli, aa be 
endeavoied, but in vain, to raise the bar of iron across the door. 

" Here, take these two iron spikes from above the bar, and you can take it off easy enough" 

" It is done ! — what shall I do nextl" asked the Herali, as he laid the bar of iron againat tlia 
moulded bricks. 

" Open the door !" 

The Herali pushed with all of liis strength, but the door yielded not to the effort of hia mnaeokr 
arms. Finding; his strength insufficient to open it, he pettishly observed^ " It waa foc^irii m oaa 
desiring the opening of a thing that could not be opened." 

** Is it not more foolish in one's trying to open a door by pushing it into the iDoniy whan it opva 
on the outside V* retorted the Comito. 

" You are right ; but I can get no hold of it — then, how do~yoo expect me to poll V 

<* Is not love fertile in inventions V* 

" Very ! give me a bodkin, and I will open it from this crack." 

The Comito pressed her finger, unperceived by her lover, on a secret spring in the wiU, end Ae 
door flew open. The damp vapor in the room was impenetrable to the light of the lamp. Il wia 
a fog forming a drapery around the web of the spider. It was a place for the scxeech-owl to dwell 
in, and the bat to flit. It was a place dreary enough lor sculls to roL The Herali tremUed, but 
ehronk not as the Comito spoke her commands thus. 

** Take the lamp — pass through the room to the outer wall, and there await my farther etdflnk" 

" Answer me this question before I go. Arc you treacherous V* 

** Not more so than my sex," replied the Comito. 

'* I will obey you," apake the Herali, as he marched boldly into the room. 

** To repent it !" scornfully replied the Comito, as she pushed the door to, and departed Cor ber 
chamber. 

[To be continued.] 



THE BETRAYED. 



BT SPXKCSR WALLACE CONX 



MermR, my breath giows shorter, 

I acarce can see thee now ; 
Dark shades weigh down my eyelids. 

And the death damp's on my brow ! 
Mother, I know I'm dying, 

Yet 'tis for thee I moan ; 
For I must leave thee in the world 

A widow and alone. 
Yet weep not, dearest mother. 

That we so early part ; 
I go where there's oblivion 

For this poor broken heart ! 

And if you meet him, mother, 

Tell him the love I gave 
Died not until this body 

Was cold within the grave-^ 
Tell him that I forgave him 

The wraoga that dnak my Uii^ 



And prayed he might be happy 
With her he made his wife. 

Yet tell him not, my mother, 
'T might bring back memory's tide» 

And I would not he looked coldly 
Upon his trusting bride. 

Farewell ! &TeweU ! my mother ! 

I cannot see thee now. 
My eyes are closed and dark. 

The death damp's on my brow I 
Yet weep not, dearest mother, 

I go from wo and pain. 
And we shall meet in heaven, 

Never to part again ! 
Oh ! weep not £» thy daagbter, 

Let not a tear-drop start; 
She goes where there's oblivion 

F«r ber poor broken heart I 



THE PHILOSOPHY OP FURNITURE 



T SBQAK ▲. POX. 



^ PfliiosorHT/' Mys Hegel, «i8 utterly nielesi and fraiUesi, and, for tkU very naaon, u Um 
sublimcst of all puisuits, the most deserving of our attention, and the moat worthy of our leal"*— • 
tomewhat Colerkiegy aaseition, wilh a rivulet of deep meaning in a meadow of words. It would be 
casting time to disentangle the paradox — and the more so as no one will deny that Philosophy haa 
ita merits, and is ai>plicable to an in6nity of purposes. There is reason, it is aaid, in the roaatiBg of 
agge> and there is philosophy even in fuYniture — a philosophy nevertheleas which aeems to be iBora 
inp^rlectly understood by Americans .than by any civilized nation upon the face of the earth. 

In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture, of their residences, the English are 
•upieme. The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colors. In Fiance mdivra 
j^bantf deteriora sequuntur — the people are too much a race of gad-abouts to study and maintain 
those household proprieties, of which indeed they have a delicate appreciation, or at least the elements 
of a proper sense. The Chinese, and most of the i^aatem races, have a warm but inappropriate 
ftacy. The Scotch are poor decorists. The Dutch have merely a vague idea that a curtain is not 
a cabbage. In Spain they are a// cuftains — a nation of Aonj^men. The Russians no not fumiah. 
The Hnitentots and Kickapoos are very well in their way — the Yankees alone are piepoaterouat 

How this happens it is not difficult to see. We have no aristocracy of blood, and having, there* 
fore, as a natural and, indeed, as an inevitable thing, fashioned for cursives an aristocracy of dollai% 
the display ofweaUk has here to take the place, and perform the o0ice, of the heraldic display in 
IDonaichical countiies. By a tranaitioo readily understood, and which might have been easily fi>re> 
wfi^SK, we have been brought to merge ia aimple thaw our notions of taste itseUl To speak leas ab- 
stractedly. In England, for example, no mere parade of costly appartenancea would be so likely as 
with us to create an impression of the beautiful in respect to the appurteoancas themselvta, or of 
tai9te as reapects the proprietor — this ibr the reason, first, that wealth is not in £nglan<l the lofUeat 
object of ambition, as constituting a nobility ; and, secondly, that there the true nobility of blood 
vather avoids than aflSacts costliness, in which a parvenu rivalry may be successfully attempte^d, 
ceufining itself within the rigorous limits, and to the analytical investigation, of legitimate taste. The 
fieo^ naturally imitate the nobles, and the result is a thorough diffusion of a right feeUng. But, in 
America, dollars being the supreme insignia of aristocracy, their display may be said, in general lermi^ 
to be the sole means of aristocratic distinction ; and the populace, looking up for models, are insen* 
aibly led to confound the two entirely aeparate ideM of magnificeoce and beauty. In short, the ooat 
9f an article of furniture haa, at length, come to be, with us, nearly the sole teat of its merit in a 
deeoirative point of view. And this test, once established, has led the way to many analogous erfon^ 
readily traceable to the one primitive foUy. 

There could be scarcely any thing more directly offensive to the eye of an artist than the interier 
«if what is termed, io the United States, a well furnished apartment. Its most usual defect is a pr^ 
posterous want of keeping. We speak of the keeping of a room ae we would of the keeping of a 
picture ; for lioth the picture and the roosa aie amenable to these undeviating principles which r»> 
gulate all varieties of art ; and very nearly the seme hiws by which we decide upon the higher merit! 
of a painting, suffice for a decision upon the adjustment of a chamber. A want of keeping is ol>> 
aervable sometimes in the character of the several pieces of fumituie, but generally in tlieir colors, 
er modes of adaptation to use^ Very often the ^e is offended by theii inartistical arraagemenl. 
dtmight lines are loo prevalent, too uniatenuptedly continued, or clumsily interrupted at right angles 
If curved lines occur, they are repeated into unpleasMU uniformity. Undue precision spoils the a^ 
l^eazanoe of many a room. 

Curtains are rarely well disposed, or ipeU ehoeen, in respect to the other decorations. With forMil 
furniture curtains are out of place, and an excessive volume of drapery of any kind ie, under any 
eireumstances, irreooncileahle with good taste ; the proper quantum, as well as the proper adjustment, 
4epeode upon the character of ik» general effect. 

Carpets are better understood of late then of ancient d<iys, but we still very frequently err in their 
patterns and oolorsw A carpet is the soul of an apartment. From it are deduced not only the hues 
but the forms of all objeeta incumbenL A judge at common law may be an ordinary man ; a good 
judge of a carpet mu^ be a genius, Tet I have heard fi^ows discourse of carpets with the visage 
of a shoep in a reverie-*^ d'un mmdom ^i rM* — who ahould not and who eould not be entrusted 
wilh the management el their own uaoalachiof. Every one knows that a brge floor should have a 
covering of large figuree» ai4 a asMdl one of small ; yet this is not all the knowledge in the workL 
iU regards texture ihe Saxony ie alone svlmiasible. Btiiesels is the pa^cte^plttpelfect tense of f)MhioJi« 
«b4 Turkey is taste in its dying agonise. Toiichiag pattern, a carpet should not be MicBeeed oat 
iihenBicaieeIndMA--^iedchaU(»yelW«QdMEe«jdl^^ lahrie^diatuicigRMMidawi 



244 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

-vivid ciicular figures, of no meaning, are here Median laws. The abomination of flowers, or re|>r»- 
sentations of well known objects of any kind should never be endured within the limits of Chiisteii> 
dom. Indeed, whether on carpets, or curtains, or paper-hangings, or oltom in coverings, all upholsteiy 
of this nature should bo rigidly Arabesque. Those antique Hooi-cloths which are still seen occaaionp 
ally in the dwellings of the rabble — cloths of huge, sprawling and radiating devices, stripe-inter- 
speised, and gloiious with all hues, among which no ground is intelligiblc^ — are but the wicked in> 
vention of a race of time servers and money lovers — children of Baal and worshippers of Mammonr— 
men who, to save trouble of thought and exercise of fancy, fiist cruelly invented the Kalridoicopeiy 
and then established a patent company to twiil it by steam. 

Glare is a leading error in the philosophy of American household decoration — an eiror eariljv^ 
cognized as deduced from the perversion of taste just speciiied. Wc are violently enamoaredof 
gas and of glass. The former is totally inadmissible within doors. Its harsh and unsteady light iv 
positively offensive. No man having both brains and eyes will use it. A mild, or what artists term 
a cool light, with its consequent warm shadows, will do wonders for ^en an ill-furnished apartment; 
Never was a more lovely thought than that of the astral lamp. I mean, of course, the astral lamp 
proper, and do not wish to be misunderstood — the lamp of Argand with its original plain groom^ 
glass shade, and its tempered and uniform moonlight rays. The cut-glass shade is a weak invention 
of the enemy. The eagerness with which we have adopted it, partly on account of itMjkuhineMif 
but principally on account of its greater eost, is a good commentary upon the proposition withwhtdt 
I began. It is not too much to say that the deliberate employer of a cut-glass shade is a person either 
radically deficient in taste, or blindly subservient to the caprices of fashion. The light proceedmc 
from one of these gaudy abominations is unequal, broken, and painful. It alone is suflicient to mar 
a world of good effect in the furniture subjected to its influence. Female loveliness in especial is 
more than one half disenchanted beneath its evil eye. 

In the matter of glasii, generally, we proceed upon false principles. Its leading feature is glitter^-' 
and in that one word how much of all that is detestable do we express ! Flickering, unquiet lights 
uTeaometimea pleasing — to children and idiots always so — but in the embellishment of a room thej 
should bo scrupulously avoided. In truth even strong steady lights are inadmissible. The huge 
and unmeaning glass chandeliers, prism-cut, gas-Utten, and without shade, which dangle by night in 
our most fashionable drawing-rooms, may be cited as the quintessence of false taste, as so many con* 
centrations of pre[i08terous folly. 

The rage for glitter — because its idea has become, as I before observed, confounded with that of 
magnificence in the abstract — has led also to the exaggerated employment of mirrors. We line cor 
dwellings with great British plates, and then imagine wo have done a flne thing. Now the slightest 
thought will be sufficient to convince any one who has an eye at all, of the ill effect of numeioos 
looking-glasses, and cKpccially of large ones. Regarded apart from its reflection the mirror presents 
a continuous, flat, colorless, unrelieved surface — a thing always unpleasant, and obviously so. Con- 
sidered as a reflector it is potent in producing a monstrous and odious uniformity — and the evil is 
here aggravated in no direct proportion with the augnicntation of its sources, but in a ratio constant- 
ly increasing. In fact a room with four or Ave mirrors arranged at random is, for all purposes of ar<- 
tistical show, a room of no shape at all. If we add to ibis the attendant glitter upon glitter, we have 
a perfect farrago of discordant and displeasing effects. The veriest bumpkin, not addle-headed, upon 
entering an apartment so bedizened, would be instantly aware of something wrong, although he 
might be altogether unable to assign a cause for his dissatisfaction. But let the same individual be 
led into a room tastefully furnished, and he would be startled into an exclamation of surprise and of 
pleasure. 

It is an evil growing out of our republican institutions, that here a man of large purse has usually 
a very little soul which he keeps in it. The corruption of taste is a portion and a pendant of the 
dollar-manufacture. As we grow rich our ideas grow rusty. It is therefore not among our aristo- 
cracy that we must look if at all, in the United States, for the spirituality of a British boudoir. But 
I have seen apartments in the tenure of Americans — men of exceedingly moderate means yet ranu 
avc8 of good tuste — which, in negative merit at least, might vie with any of the or-moltud cabinets 
of our friends acro.«s the water. Even now there is present to my mind's eye a small and not osten- 
tatious chamber with whose decorations no fault can be found. The proprietor lies asleep upon a 
sofa — the wcatlicr is cool — the time is near midnight — I will make a sketch of the room ere he 
awakos. It is oblong — some thirty feet in length and twenty-five in breadth — a shape affording the 
best opportunities for the adjustment of furniture. It has but one door, which is at one end of the 
parrallelogram, and but two windows, which are at the other. These latter are large, reaching 
downwards to the floor, are situated in deep recesses, and open upon an Italian veranda. Their 
panes arc of a crimson-tinted glass, set in rose-wood framings, of a kind somewhat broader than usual. 
They are curtained, within the recess, by a thick silver tissue, adapted to the shape of the window 
and hanging loosely, but having no volumes. Without the recess are curtains of an exceedingly 
rich crimson silk, fringed with a deep network of gold, and lined with the silver tissue which forms 
the exterior blind. There are no cornices ; but the folds of the whole fabric, (which are sharp rather 
than massive, and have an airy appearance) issue from beneath a broad entahlaiuro of rich gUWmNfc 



THE PILGEIM Td HIS STAFF. 



245 



"which encircles the room at the junction of the ceiling and walls. The drapery is thrown open, also, 
or closed, by means of a thick rope of gold loosely enveloping it, and resolving itself readily into a 
knot — no pins or other such devices are apparent. The colors of the curtains and its fringe — the 
tints of criinion and gold — form the character of the room, and appear every where in profusion. 
The carpet, of Saxony material, is quite half an inch thick, and is of the same crimson ground, re- 
lieved simply by the appearance of a gold cord (like that festooning the cui tains,) thrown upon it 
in such a manner as to form a close succession of short irregular curves, no one overlaying the other. 
This carpet has no border. The paper on the walls is of a glossy, silvery hue, intermingled with 
small Arabesque devices of a fainter tint of the prevalent crimson. Many paintings relieve the ex- 
panse of the paper. These are chiefly landscapes of an imaginative cast, such as the fairy grottoes of 
Stanfield, or the Lake of the Dismal Swamp of our own Chapman. The tone of each is warm bat 
daik — there are no brilliant effects. Not one of the pictures is of small size. Diminutive paintings 
give that spotty look to a room which is the blemish of so many a fine work of art overtouched. The 
frames are broud, but not deep, and richly carved, without being fillagreed. Their profuse gilding 
gives them the whole lustre of gold. They lie flat upon the walls, and do not hang off with cords. 
The designs themselves may, sometimes, be best seen in this latter position, but the general appear- 
ance of the chamber is injured. No mirror is visible — nor chairs. Two large sofas, of rose-wood 
and crimson silk, form the only seats. There is a piano-foite — also of rose-wood, and without cover* 
Mahogany has been avoided. An octagonal table, formed entirely of the richest gold-threaded marble, 
is placed near one of the sofas — this table is also without cover — the drapery of the curtains has been 
thought sudicient. Four large and gorgeous Sevres vases, in which grow a number of sweet and 
vivid flowers in full bloom, occupy the angles of the room. A tall and magnificent candelabrum, 
bearing a small antique lamp wilh strongly perfumed oil, is standing near the head of my sleeping 
friend. Some light and graceful hanging shelves, with golden edges and crimson silk cords with 
gold tassels, sustain two oi three hundred magnificently-bound books. Beyond thes^ things there 
is no furniture, if we except an Argand lamp, with a plain crimson-tinted glass shade, which depends 
irom the lofty ceiling by a single gold chain, and throws a subdued but magical radiance over alL 



THE PILGRIM TOHIS STAFF. 



BT JAMXS TICAKS, NXW TORX. 



«« 



Bat sje he looked baek to the ds) a o* lang syne !** 



CoMPAKroir of my giddy youth, 

Supporter of my hoary age, 
"With thee what pangs I've borne for tiuth 

Along my weary pilgrimage. 
'When first I grasped thy slender form, 

A stranger to iife*s fitful storm, 
I had not felt its joy or grief — 

I dil not know what 'twas to be 
A hap'ess wanderer for relief, 

A p.lgtim on a stormy sea. 
I did not know — I never thought 

Thai man was pmud — that man was vain — 
I dreamt he was that which was wrought 

As BijL'h within my idle bruin ; 
But timo soon worked a mighty change. 

And y ;mrs soon brought sad scenes of sorrow- 
The fund hopes of to-day in strange 

Con^lI^io^ vanish'd on the morrow. 
And all the harmless scenes of mirth, 

Of ciiilJish bliss, and childish joy. 
Soon ccasod to be a pleasant birth» 



1 Remembered only to annoy ; — 
For want and sorrow, grief and pain. 

Alternately within my breast 
Have often held despotic reign, 

And robb'd me of my wonted rest ; 
And every friend from me has fled, 

My trusty staff, excepting thee. 
And every joy and hope is dead, 

That warm'd my youthful breast with glee. 
And now alas ! in hoary age 

I still pursue my pilgrimage. 
Nor pine for pleasure — mourn at woe — 

But wi:h contentment's homage pay, 
And bended knee, on earth below, 

A fervent prayer to him whose sway 
Is blent with mercy — not with ill — 

And then I go my weary way 
With thee, obedient to my will, 

And though the world has on me frown d, 
i In thee I've constant fiiendship found! 



A CHAPTER ON SCIENCE AND ART 



Plate Glam. — At the mtnufactory of St. Gobian, n«iar Pari*, a plate of glass has been lately 
cast, in a single piece, sixteen feet three inches in length, and eleven feet six inches in hieMML 
The ridiculously large mirrors of which we Americans are so fond, ate all imported, and piincipaBy 
from England. The house of Chance and Co. send over a great deal annually, and find their aoeoimt 
in so doing, notwithstanding the heavy duties exacted from them by the British goremment. Mtmm* 
C. and Co. pay a weekly duty of no less than five thousand pounds sterling. 

Railway Gates. — We observe that a Mr. T. Lambert, of Stockton upon Tees, Engiand, hat in- 
vented an ingenious gate to be employed at the crossings of rail roads. This gate tarns upon a 
central support, and is readily managed by one person. When open it prevents any one from paning 
on the road. It is furnished with an elevated circular signal, containing a lamp, whidi announeei 
danger, at night. Its general effect tends to the proteclioR of life and property at croosings, allowing 
at the same time the greatest possible facility for passing on the road. 



TuE Bomb Cahnon. — Experiments with Mr. Cochran's bomb cannon have lately been made 
at the Arsenal in Washington, and the efficacy of the invention satisfactorily tested. The firit 
thirty-two discharges were made within four minutes. In another trial seventeen discharges wmt 
made in two minutes and twenty seconds — in a third, eight were made in a minute — in a fourth, 
three in the third of a minute. This cannon is readily managed by six men, while for ordinary gnna 
eleven are required. The charge is introduced without either swab or ramrod. It can be fired €i 
least eight times as fast as the common cannon. There is no recoil, and of course there is no 
cessity for breeching, and a hundred shots in quick succession do not produce inconvenient 
These are the main advantages, but there are many others which we cannot here specify. 



Velocitt of Caitnon Balls. — It has been found by recent experiments that a thirteen-poonder, 
with an ordinary charge, impels its ball five hundred and six yards in the first second, and that, bf 
increasing the load, it will send it eight hundred and seventeen yards in the same intervaL 

Medals Cofies bt Galvanism. — We spoke, in our last number, of Professor Jacebrs prooear 
for copying medals and engravings by galvanism. ** The American Repertory of Arts, Sciences and 
Manufactures" (a very excellent periodical, whose publication has been lately commenced, at New 
York, by Professor J. J. Mapce) observes that several scientific gentlemen of that city have sn ce e i 
fully repeated the experiments of Jacobi. The galvanic apparatus is very simple, and, by its aid, 
copper is precipitated from its solution as a sulphate, in a metallic form, upon the surface to be coined, 
making a perfect cast or impression. This discovery is of vast importance. 

iMpnoYEMEiTTs iif THE DAonBRBsoTTPE.*— Mr. A. S. Wolcott, of Ncw York, has nearly revdo- 
tionized the whole process of Daguerre and brought the photogenic art to high perfection. The in- 
ventor, it is well known, could not succeed in taking likenesses from the life, and, in foct, bat few 
objects were perfectly represented by hisn, unless positively white, and in broad sunlight By m<nnf 
of a concave mirror, io place of the ordinary lens, Mr. W. has succeeded in taking miniataraa from 
the living subject, with absolute exactneai^ and in a very abort spaee of time. 



Trencb's Papeh MiLLd — This is, perhaps, the most astonishing machine ever invented. By its 
means the common rags of theatrecC are converted, in one process, and withoat Isaving the mill, into 
a printed volume, cut into ^eels and kiid ready for the binder. Dr. Quin, id a late lecture upon the 
Mechanic Aits, at the New York Mechanics* Institute, remarked very truly concerning Mi. Trench's 
invention, that a peison might ** throw in his shirt at one end and see it come out Robinaan Cmaoa 
at the other." Mr. T. has deposited in the rooms of the Mechanics* Institute a single sheet of paper 
containing six copies of Towb*s SpeUing Book. He says that be can manafaGtura, if DMeaaaiy, a 
single sheet one mile in length. 



THV!?Dsn.— It is the opinion of M. Arago that thunder is never heard in the open aea, or in iilanda 
beyond aeventy-five degrees of north latitude ; and he thinks the same remark is applicable to oan- 
tinents. No raaaon b yet assigned. The opinion itaelf ia baaed i^Km a variety of intereitiiig !•• 

searches. 



The CoafPRBssBB Air Evoire. — We mentioned in our last a snppoaititkNis iwvenlioo of • llr* 
Bissell, of N. J., which professed to make use of condensed air as a oMitiw power^ and apoka men* 
dolously of the attempt. It appeared obvious that no greater powet eaaU he ohtaiaad^Mi < 



A CHAPTER ON 8CIBNCB ANI> ART. 247 

air than was employed in its compresBion, miniia the friction of the compressing machine. However 
Mr. Bissell may think of getting over this radical difficulty, (one involving a leading principle of 
physics) still he can have no claim to be considered an inventor ; for we find that the veiy same 
thing has been attempted, some time ago, by M. Houdin, and a patent of importation granted for it 
in Belgium. 



AinruALs. — In the '* Art Union, or Journal of Fine Aits," it is stated that during the seventeen 
yean in which annaals have been published in England, seven millions of dollars have been expend- 
ed upon tbem. A table is given which showa that the engravers come in for the largest share of the 
•poiL' The sums paid them precisely douUe those paid the pooi authors^ The binders come nsst 
albr the aathoia. 



' ^BosTATioif . — It is anBoiinoed in the PariabB papers that M. Garneiin is fitting up a balloon 
at the Eeoie MHlUaire which will aeeomplish the deaidciatiim of navigating the air in any direction 
at the win of the cronaat. On each side of a boat (which serves for car) are placed four boanU 
something Kke the sails of a windwill, which Mr. G. moves by the assistanrf of a machine in the in» 
terior, •* the secret of which is known only to himself." The resistance made by the air when struck 
by one of the boards ** acts upon the balloon and earrica it forward like a bird flying. Mr. Gameiin 
has already made several essays, which have been compietdy successful." 

This statement is nothing better than downright nonsense. It has been moie than once demon- 
strated, a priori, that the control of a balloon in the manner here described is impossible. Among 
scientific men the idea ranks only with such projects as the quadrature of the circle, or the doctrine 
of perpetual motion. It is more than possibte that the machinery here spoken of is the same as that 
of Mr. Green, the London eronaot, by means of which that ingenious gentleman proposes, not to 
direct the horizontal course of his balloon, but merely to regulate its elevation. It is composed of 
two fans, or blades of wood, attached to a spindle which passes through the bottom of the car. The 
fane are of one kmgitodinal piece, to the ecntre of whidi the spindke is fixed, in the fashion of a 
windmill, with bnt two wings or arms, their blades presenting a given angle horixontally, in whick 
direction they move. A London paper describes the cfiect as follows. 

** A miniature balloon of about tiires foet diameter, was filled with common eoal gas ; to this wero 
attached the hoop, nettiiig and car, and in the car a small piece of spring mechanism was placed, to 
give motion to the fans. The baUoon was then balanced ; that ia^ a sufficient weight was placed in 
the ear to keep it suspended in the air, without the capacity to rise or inclination to sink. Mr. Green 
then toQched a stop in the mechanism, which immediately communicated a rapid rotary motion to 
the fans, whereupon the machine rose steadily to the csiting, from which it continued to rebound 
until the clock-work had run out Deprived of this assistance, it immediately fell. The reverse of 
this experiment was then performed. The balloon was first r^ed into the air and then balanced. 
A similar motion was imparted to the fans, the action of which in this case was, however, reverssd, 
and the balloon was immediately polled down to the ground by their forees. 

A mote interesting effect still wos then exhibited. The belloon, with the guiue-ropc attached U> 
it, was balanced as before, the gnide>rope having a small brass weight fixed to the eiid of it The 
fans were then removed from under the car and placed sidewaya upon it, by which their action be- 
came vertical. Upon motion being communicated, the balloon floated in a horizontal line, dragging 
the guide-rope after it, with the weight trailing along the floor, and continued to do so until the me- 
chanism ceased, when it immediately became stationary again. Theea experiments were frequenily 
repeated with complete success.** 

The guide-rope here mentioned is an invention very folly described, by Mr. Green himself in tho 
March number of the " Polytechnic Magazine.*' It is another aid in the attempt at regulating eleva- 
tion — a very material point There are many causes continually in operation to exhaust the gas in 
an ascension — but none is more potent than the variation of dktance from the earth. When the 
halloed gets up rery high, into a rare stratum of atmosphere, the gas is exceanvely expanded and 
most be lot off to prevent explosion. Meeting then with a cloud, the silk and cordage become satu- 
rated with moisture, and the whole machine falls with rapidity. Ballast must be thrown over — and 
this once or twice repeated incapacitates the vronaut from pursuing his voyage. The guide-rope, 
to remedy this evil, is a very long cord, wound upon a windlass, and with several small buckets at 
its lower extremity, an contrived ae to act either aa floats, relieving the balloon of their weight by 
resting upop the sea, or ait additional ballast by catching and retaining water. Mr. G. also gives an 
account oi a drag by which his progress msy be retarded while in the air. He speaks with entire 
confidence of the feasibility of crossing the Atlantis from America to £6rope, and we have no doubt 
that he will shortly accomplbh his design. He asserts thst a cnrrentof air sets invariably from the 
north of west, at an elevation exceeding tea thounuid fieeV— that in ssvesal hudied ezpeiimenta be 
has never once found the caw otherwiM. 



250 BURTON^s obntleman's magazine. 

Tank of the finest iniollecta of the country, and several of the piccet which competed H woald haHf 
done honor to any pen of the day. Excellent aa this collection was, however, ita beat poems hatv 
been aurpasaed by some later onea of ita aathor, and, among the many American effuaiona to wUdi 
we might point with ptide, we really know of nothing auperior to the *' Obaeqaiea of Sbellej" fiiii 
pubUshed in " The Gift'' for 1839. These atanzaa evince powers of a noble order, and in all Uiat i«> 
garda the minor morals of literature, may be cited as a model In especial, the atately and wtA 
balanced march of the rhythm telle of a ear finely attuned to the delicaciea of melody. We aeldoa 
xaeet with finer lines than theae— 

From hla meridian throne the eye of day 

Beheld the kindlings of the funeral fire 
'Where, like a war-worn Roman chieftain, lay, 

Upon his pyre, (rrtrid t- 

The poet of the broken heart and lyre. 

The Address lately deUvered at Gettysburg embodies many of its author's customary excellence^ 
and, although upon a subject somewhat hackneyed, is an essay of merit. Its style is elaborate and 
ornate, but particularly correct — betokening a chastened taste and a critical feeling. With the genenl 
arguments of the thesis we only partially accord, and with some of its detached positions we totaDj 
disagree. For example — " I consider the study of the Languages superior to any other mental ezec^ 
else in disciplining the mind." The end or object of mental discipline, does not, in the propoaiiim 
of Mr. B., enter sufficiently, wo think, into the estimate of that discipline itaelf— but we cannot now 
commence a discussion. In his denial of imperfections and errors of style to the Greek of the Oki 
and New Testaments, the essayist is completely carried away by his enthusiasm for these writings 

The poem by Charles West Thomson — a name familiar to all, and especially so to the readers of 
the ** Gentleman's Magazine" — u in every respect worthy of the fine tasto and talents of the author. 
Would our limits permit, there is nothing would give us greater pleasure than to copy it entire. Tho- 
argument — the uncertainty of literary reputation — is made out with skill — the versification ia sweet 
and foicible — the whole every thing that the most ardent admirers of the writer could expect or 
desire. We never saw a difficult task more deveily executed. The composer of a finepoemy ypOA 
a stated occasion, gives evidence of a far more than ordinary power. 



T%e FlorUfa Guide, containing Practical Dirediona for the Cultivation of Anmud, Biennial, ( 
Perennial Flowering Plants, of different classes. Herbaceous and Shrubbery, Bu&ous, Fihrmu^ 
and Tuberous-rooted; including the Double Dahlia i with a Monthly Calendar, containing 
Instructions for the management of Green House Plants throughout the year, T, Bridgemon, 
New York, Hirst and Drcer, Philadelphia, 

This is indisputably one of the best directories to Flora's beauties that can be placed in the handi 
of an amateur gardener. There is no ostentatious humbug in the development of botanical knowledge 
no diffuse spread of scientific details and technics li ties, written to gratify the scribbler's vanity, and 
confuse the tyro, rather than instruct. We have some knowledge of horticulture, and can safely re- 
commend this unpretending volume to the attention of our readers. Messrs. Hirst and Dreer are 
well known as superior fioiists, and the insertion of their name in the title page is a sufficient guarantee 
of the work's utility. 



Frank ; or Dialogues between a Father and Son on the subject of Agriculture, Husbandry, and 
Rural Affairs, By the author of"^ The Yellow Shoe-strings," First Series, Kay and Brother, 
Philadelphia, 

We have committed an oversight which causes us no little vexation in not having befofe Aotioedf 
these excellent " Dialogues" — but the accident (for it is purely such) is mainly attributable to the 
unobtrusive and unpretending form in which they are given to the public. Their parophleted good 
things have lain buiied and perdus — for six or seven weeks we believe — under a huge pile of mere 
lumber done up in boards. But although ** Frank" baa come to light at a late hour wo do not the 
less cordially shake him by the hand. 

Mr. James Pedder, its author, is well known in England, as the composer of one of the mosl 
popular juvenile books of the day, *' The Yellow Shoe-strings" — three words familiar in narseij 
annals. To indite a really good work of this kind is a task often attempted in vain by men of high 
Uterary eminence. In truth the qualificationa for success depend not a little upon a clear heed, bot 
still more upon a a warm heart. Mr. P. now edits « The Farmer's Cabinet" of this cttj. 



BURTON'S 

«T51VTI.EMA.JS^S M Aft 4 KIIVK: 







BURTON'S 



GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN MONTHLY REVIEW. 



JUNE, 1840. 



SOME ACCOUNT OT 



STONEHENGE, THE GIANT'S DANCE, 



A DRUIDICAL BUIN IN ENGLAND. 



BT SBOjim A. POZ 



Thx pile called Stonebenge is an anemblage of upright and proHtrate stones on Salitbaiy plain^ 
England, and is generally supposed to be the remains of an ancient Druidical temple. From its sin* 
gularity, and the mystery attending iis origin and appropriation, it has excited more surprise and 
cariosity than any other relic of antiquity in Great Britain. It is situated about two miles directly west 
of Amesbury, and seven north of Salisbury, in Wiltshire. When viewed at a distance it appears but 
a small and trifling object, for its bulk and character are lost in the extensive space which surrounds 
it; and even on a near examination it fails to fulfil the expectations of the stranger who visits it with 
exaggerated prepossessions. To behold this " wonder of Britain" it should be viewed with an artist's 
eye, and contemplated by an intellect stored with antiquarian and historical knowledge. Stonebenge, 
notwithstanding much that has been said to the contrary, is utterly unlike any monument now re- 
maining in Europe. Many of its stones have been squared or hewn by art ; and on the top of the 
outer circle has been raised a continued series of squared stones, attached to the uprights by mortices 
and tenons, or regular cavities in the horizontal blocks, with projecting points on the perpendicnlar 
ones. Nearly all other so called examples of Druidical circles are composed of rough tmhewn stones, 
and arc without imposts. 

Our Engraving represents the present appearance of Stonebenge — a confused heap of erect and 
fallen stones. The original arrangement of these, however, may be readily understood ; for by the 
situation and condition of the yet standing and prostrate members, we are enabled to judge of the 
number and site of those which have been removed. The whole consisted of two circular, and two 
other curved rows, or anangements of stones, the forms and positions of which may be eaaUy ssoer- 
tained. Horizontal stones, or imposts, were laid all round, in a continued order, on the ooter drde, 
and five similar imposts on ten uprights of the third row. The whole is surrounded by a ditch and 
vallum of earth, connected with which are three other stones. The vallum does not exceed fifteen 
feet in height, and is exterior to the ditch. Through this line of drcnmvallation there appears to liave 
been one grand entrance from the north-east side, and this is decidedly marked by two banks and 
ditches, called The Avenue, Approaching Stonebenge in this direction, the attention is first arresled 
by an immense unchiselled stone, called the Friar^a Heel^ which is now in a leaning position, and 
measures about sixteen feet in height Immediately within the vallum is another stone lying on the 
ground. It is twenty-one feet two inches long, and a hundred feet from the stone jnst mflntioiied; 
and about the same distance from the ouuide of the outermost circle. Each impost of this circle has 
two mortices in it, to correspond with two tenons on the top of eadi vertical atone. The impMi 
wue so connected as to fioim a omtiQiied series of ardutimvae. The iloiiBe of the iiUMt cbck «# 
TOL. yi4— iro. Ti. % 



252 



BURTON^S GENTLEMAN^S MAGAZINE. 



much smaller and more irregular than those of the outer. Within these two circles are arranged two 
inner rows of stones, one of which constitutes the grandest portion of Stoncbcnge. k was formed by 
Ave distinct trilUhons — a trilithon is a large impost upon two uprights. The woikmansbip here 
appears to be better. The interior row of stones which next claims attention consisted of nineteen 
uprights without imposts, and inclined to a pyramidical form. The most perfect among them is seven 
feet and a half high. The Altar Stone, as it is usually called, lies flat on the giound, and occupies 
the adytum of the temple. The total number of stones of which Stonehenge was composed, is, ac- 
cording to Dr. Smith's plan and calculation, one hundred and twenty-nine. 8ome of these were of 
a compact sand-stone, some of a fine-grained grunstein, interspersed with black hornblende, feltzpar, 
quaitz and chlorite, some a siliceous scbistus, others an argillaceous schistus, others horn-stone. The 
Altar Stone is a gray cos. 

In regard to the history of these extraordinary monuments, there is little of any definite nature. 
The earliest account of them occurs in Nennius, who lived in the eighth century. He says they 
were erected by the Britons to commemorate a massacre which took place at the spot The Histo- 
lical Triads of the Welch refer their origin to the same cause. Camden calls the structure inaana^ 
but says nothing about it entitled to notice. Modern authors have been profuse in speculation, bat 
no more. The general opinion seems to be in favor of a Diuidical Temple. The Rev. James In- 
gram supposes it to have been " a heathen burial-place." Borlase remarks that " the work of Stone- 
henge must have been that of a gieat and powerful nation, not of a limited community of priests ; 
the grandeur of the design, the distance of the materials, the tediousness with which all such masmve 
works arc necessarily attended, all show that such designs were the fruits of peace and religion." 
Bryant, whose authority we regard as superior to any, discredits the Druidical theory altogether. 

We may be permitted to conclude this cursory article by an extract from the Greek historian, 
Diodorus Siculus — leaving the application of the passage to the judgment or the fancy of ourreadem. 

** Among the authors of antiquity Hecatceus and some others relate that there is an island in the 
ocean, opposite to Celtic Gaul, and not inferior in size to Sicily, lying towaids the north, and in- 
habited by Hyperborei, who are so called because they live more remote from the north wind. The 
soil is excellent and fertile, and the harvest is made twice in the same year. Tradition says that 
Latona was here bom, and therefore Apollo is worshiped above any other deity. To liim is alao 
dedicated a remarkable temple of a round form " 

The ancient superstitions gave the giants credit for the construction of Stonehenge, believing that 
the massive piles wore moveable but by giant power — hence, the name of Choir-gaur, which liter- 
ally means « The Giants* Dance.*' 

The whole number of stones now visible, amounts to one hundred and nine. 



THE PARTED YEAR 



BT JOHK S. DU S0LLE| ESa*} EDITOB OF THE FHILADELPHIA SFIKIT OF THE TIMES. 



flow very, very brief 
Time's accents in the parted year have seemed ! 
Laughter was voluble, and so was grief. 
Much spake care and crime ; 
Yet ere their utterance was familiar deemed— 

Ere we had laid their touching stories by, 
(Gathering as Uwere the ripened harvest in,) 

A far-off cry 
Bevealed them fading, death-struck, fiom the 
scene. 
We looked not for such transience — for a life 
Bo meteor- like — 3 flash! — a sudden burst! 
But, for a starry one, with radiance rife, 

As it appeared at first 
Oh! then it came all smiles, as if its face 
Were quite unused to storm, and loved not 
gloom — 
A very laughing one ! And then the grace 
Of iU light fbotatepa 'mid the aummtr'bloom ! j 



Its south wind music 'mid the whispering 
flowers — 
Its forests peopling with their leafy voice, 
And all the deep blue glory of its skies — 

Oh! these were beautiful, and they were ours! 
Strange ! that such charms should have such rot 

at core! 
We may have flowers as fair and skies as bright- 
Winds whose rich breath may perfume be all 
o*er, 
Still (such is memory's power) 
As, 'mid the plenty of a festal night, 
The gushing well-spring where we drank of yore. 
Will come on our remembrance with delight; 
Sc the fond heart will idolize the past. 

Wooing its gifts as lovers woo a bride, 
Till present thoughts, hopes, wishes, all wm^ 
passed. 
Become but paasienless objects by their ndet 
rhiladelphia, May 13, 1840, 



A NIGHT AMONG THE DEAD. 



'9T JOSEPH B. CHAKDLSK, XSdv XDITOB OF THX PHILADELPHIA rXITEB STATES GAZETTE. 



It was some time in the month of July or Aagust, 1812, while I was on a ^isitat Portland, Maine^ , 
ihut several young people accepted an invitation to make an excandon umong some of the beautiful 
islands that stud that princely bay, and afford places of delightful recreation during the summer 
months. Captain Tucker, of the Gun Boat No. — , was the master of the feast, the Arcbitrichlenos 
of the day, and most bountifully did he discharge the duties he had assumed. By ten o'clock, A. M^ 
the deck of the gun boat was crowded with youth and beauty, and taking advantage of the tide and 
a moderate breeze, we were soon in the midst of some of the Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Islandii 
of which the people of that vicinity justly boast. Fish were caught and cooked, raspberries were 
gathered and sugared — and the young ladies were delightful and delighted. A merrier day withal 
we scarcely number among the very few which in n^eaily half a century we have given to pleasure. 
Song, dance, and story sent the day away, and it was not until quite sundown that we left the shore 
of our island pleasuies to resume them upon the deck of the gun boat. Light and joyous were the 
beaits that beat on that deck, and brilliant were the eyes that glistened approval to some fortunate 
pun. The ruddy cheek was made redder in the excitement of the occasion, and the dimple deeper in 
the hearty mirth. O where are those who trod that deck in the artless dance, or whose voices sound- 
ed over the still waters like the chorus of hymning angels 7 They have almost all found a resting 
place on the lofty eminence that overlooks the harbor, and ,perhaps, of the joyous group of that night,, 
few remain to recognise this notice of the event, or to recall to their memory the stranger who shared 
their courtesies. The stem voice of the commander of the vessel has long since ceased, and the 
athletic frames of the crew have been placed where they will rest ** until the sea shall give up its- 
dead." 

Before the boat could he brought to the wharf and the company landed, the hour of eleven had 
struck, and it was twelve when the adieus at the door of the ladies had been pronounced; and I per- 
ceived even through some dim gathering of my own eyes that the young gentleman with whom I was 
left had more of Captain Tucker's medicine on board than comported with that regular and even 
step to which an elderly man and a father likes to listen when his only son returns late at night. 

The young gentleman proposed that instead of disturbing our friends at such an unseemly hour^ 
we should go to a building in which he pursued his studies, and finish the night, where an old sofii. 
in one room, and a settee in the other, would afford apologies for a bed, and sleep would probably 
come without an apology. I accepted the proposition without knowing where the rooms were or 
what was the nature of my friend's studies. 

He turned up a small alley in order to enter the building by the back door, and ascended a flight 
of stairs in entire darkness. Loco-foco matches were not then in use. AAer some gi oping' my file 
leader laid his hand upon an old sofa, upon which I threw myself, while he retreated to the other 
room, and stretched himself upon a bench or settee ; and in a few minutes I could hear by his deep 
regular breathings that he was not only given up to the leader) god, but that no small temptation 
would be likely to lead him from his devotion. 

Having disposed myself upon my roost, and turned myself towards the window, scarcely distin- 
guishable in the general darkness, I addressed myself to deep, which was not long in responding to 
my aspirations. The cool breeze from the open window aided my weariness, and in a few minutes 
I was not only asleep, but in the midst of a warfare of dreams. The quantity of fish which a quicken- 
ed appetite had induced me to eat, lay upon my stomach like a mill-stone. A thousand thick coming 
&ncies brought with them visiters of unearthly shapes, who seemed to be chattering and mewing in 
my face, and mocking me with grimaces and distortions most horrible, while a strange consciousneis 
of (fome undefined evil was adding to my torments. 

At one moment the vessel in which we had made our excursion was foundering, and a thousand 
goblins were peeping from behind a cloud to push beneath the waters the struggling victims of the 
storm. Again I was fleeing away from the Earth-visiting spirit of a former friend, who was continually 
gaining upon me, while I toiled on with retarded step, some unknown cause checking my progress, 
and placing me more and more within reach of my pursuer. At length I reached the cliff which 
overhung the harbor, when further flight was impossible, and where retreat was cut off by the near 
approach of the object of my fear, who rushed upon me, and, with a long bony arm, dished me from 
the summit of the rock. 

I awoke with my nerves horribly shaken. The moon in the mean time had risen, and was pour- 
ing into the room a rich flood of light that was peculiarly agreeable in my disturbed state ; for I could 
not divest myself of the strong impression that the skeleton fonn was yet near me, and that I had 
only temporarily evaded his chase. 

Only paitially awake, I raised my head to shake off the loathsome images that had haunted me 



254 BURTON^s gentleman's magazine. 

-when an object, full in the moonlight, arrested my attention. It was a skeleton — the very one ths 
had chased me in my sleep— there it was standing uptight against the wall, with an awkward mo- 
tion of its head and limbs. My attention was so intently fixed upon the stiange visitation that it was 
•ome time before I could withdraw my eyes from it. A slight noise, however, withdrew my regards^ 
and I saw, beyond that figure, two smaller skeletons in mid air. They were holding a mock 
dance in the moonshine; and the noise which I had heard was the rattling of their dry bones, as they 
twisted about in their infernal revelry. The moon sent in its light so horizontally that the shadows 
of these fantastic visitants were cast upon the wall, and their strange motions and sickening forms 
were multiplied to my senses. Other shapes began to appear as I looked about the loom. The lank 
beny arms of a mother were folded regularly around a skeleton child prest with the mockery of ma* 
temal solicitude closely to her liosom, through which the moonbeams came and played upon the bony 
face of the child, while a rocking motion of the skeleton mother seemed to indicate a wish to soothe 
into rest the long dead infant 

In the gloom of a distant comer of the room I could discern in motion the skeleton of a horse^ 
urged forward by the ghastly hand of a rider who must years since have died. I gazed at these 
objects until my eyes ached with unwinking watchfulness. At times all would be still, and then the 
tiny revellers above would re-commence the dance. While they whirled a strange gyration, their 
hands rattled wildly against their thigh bones. Then the stem figure ag^ainst the wall shook his bony 
hssd, and the rider in the dimness spurred up his steed, whose hoofs rattled in the air like pebblw- 
thiewn down upon the coffin-lid. Wild with fear, for I was most assuredly frightened, I called to 
my companion — but he was sleeping off the effects of an unusual debauch. I shouted at the top of 
my longs, and the skeletons seemed to echo my voice from the distant corner of the room. I looked 
up again to see whether I was suffering the miseries of a frightful dream, or whether these things 
were real — my recollection was too distinct for deception, though all that was around me was too 
boirible for reality. Every time that I ventured to lift my head the ghastly crew seemed to have in-^ 
creased in number ; and beyond tho horse and rider, I could see the dry flediless shanks thrust 
out from beneath garments, while a hat deeply shaded the eyeless sockets beneath its brim — and anon 
the whole would circle their victim, and arms would swing, and legs would move, and the wild wind 
that swept round the comer of the edifice seemed to make music for the waltz of this chamel house* 

At length feeling that it was not safe to trust my mind to such excitement, I determined to grope 

y way to the door, and reach my friend whose deep gutturals could be distinctly heard. I there* 
loie Toae, with a resolve to quit a place where such unearthly scenes were enacted. But scarcely was 
I upon my feet when the rout commenced anew their careerings, and I saw directly over me, in the 
full light of the moon, a skeleton head grinning down upon me, and then turn slowly away, as if in 
mockery of my fears. I tlircw myself again upon the bench and covered my face. Cold drops oT 
sweat stood upon my whole form, while fear seemed to relax my frame and prevent motion. 

Strange as it may seem, the exhaustion to which I was reduced allowed me aflet some time to 
drop into partial sleep, from which I was awakened by my friend, advising me that it was near sun- 
rise, and that we ought to retire to our respective houses. I started up— but the room was dark as 
when I entered it at midnight, and when I was conducted into the street I hesitated, in doubt whether 
by protracted evil dreams I had not b^n paying the penalties of the previous day's excess — ^but it 
was impossible that a dream could be so long continued, and with such horrible distinctness. 

My companion, who had confessedly indulged largely in the table pleasures of the previous day, 
expressed his surprise at the evidence of suffering which my face presented, and added that he had 
hoped a good night's sleep would have been as beneficial to me as it h^d l)een to him. 

I told him that I had either had most horrible dreams, or else had suffered wakeful visitations not 
friendly to repose and refreshment. 

•* Your looks betray that," said he, " and I would advise repose and sleep." 

I tried my bed, but neither rest nor sleep would come ; the horrible visions of the previous night 
were constantly before me, and, after some hours vainly spent in attempts to sleep, I rose and went 
to find my night companion. He was abroad and well. 

** Are there never any noises heard at night in the room in which you put me to sleep!" said I. 

** Never. All is as quiet as death in that room." 

« The tenants, or visiters seemed very active last night," said I. 

« Was there any conversation 1" asked he, in surprise. 

** None at all ; though there were a good deal of mirth and strange frolic," said I. 

'* Oh," replied my friend, *< I see that you went deeper into Captain Tucker's wine than I thought 
yon did, or your head is weaker ; for no one could have gained admission into that room excepting 
through the door of which I had the key. For we do not allow any one to enter there." 

« Why not 1" 

**It is Doctor A 's lecturO'Toom, and there are twenty or thirty skeletons, some natural and 

some artificial, hong up in the chamber, with specimens of comparative anatomy, and when I enter- 
ed this morning, the windows were wide open, and the old bones wereltickiDg about in the breen 9M- 
if they had been piat«s hung in chains." 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN. 



8iive AX AccouxT of tbx Fikst Pabsaox across thb Rockt MouxTAurs or No&nc 

AlUBICA XYXB ACHIXYXB BT CiTlLlZXD MaJT. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Tbs character of the country through which we had passed for the last two or three days was 
cheeiless in comparison with that to which we had been accustomed. In general it was more level ; 
the timber being more abundant on the skirts of the stream, with little or none at all in the dbtance. 
Wherever blufis appeared upon the margin we descried indications of coal, and we saw one exten- 
sive bed of a thick bituminous nature which very much discolored the water for some hundred yards 
below it. The current is more gentle than hitherto, the water clearer, and the rocky points and 
■shoals fewer, although such as we bad to pass were as difficult as ever. We bad rain in ce s sa ntly, 
which rendered the banks so slippery that the men who had the towing lines could scarcely walk. 
The air too was disagreeably chilly, and upon ascending some low hills near the river we obserred 
no small quantity of snow lying in the clefts and ridges. In the extreme distance on oar light we 
bad perceived several Indian encampments which had the appearance of being temporaiy, and had 
been only lately abandoned. This region gives no indication of any permanent settlement, but ap- 
pears to be a favorite hunting ground with the tribes in the vicinity — a fact rendered evident by the 
frequent traces of the hunt, which we came acioss in every direction. The Minnetarees of the Mis- 
aouri, it is well known, extend their excursions in pursuit of game as high as the great fork, on the 
south side ; while the Assiniboins go up still higher. Misquash informed us that between our pve- 
aent encampment and the Rocky Mountains we should meet with no lodges except those of the Mm- 
netarees that reside on the lower or south side of the Soskotchawine. 

The game had been exceedingly abundant, and in great variety— elk, buffalo, big-horn, mule-deer, 
bears, foxes, beaver, etc., etc., with wild fowl innumerable. Fish was also plentiful. The width of 
the sUeam varied considerably fiom two hundred and fiAy yards to passes where the current rashed 
between blufis not more than a hundred feet apart The face of these bluffii generally was composed 
of a light yellowish freestone, intermingled with burnt eaith, pumice-stone, and mineral salts. . At 
one point the aspect of the country underwent a remarkable change, the hills retiring on both sides 
to a great distance from the river, which was thickly intsrq)ersed with small and beautiful islands, 
covered with cotton-wood. The low grounds appeared to be very fertile ; those on the north wide 
and low, and opening into three extensive valleys. Here seemed to be the extreme northern tetmi- 
nation of the range of mountains through which the Missouri had been passing for so long a tine, 
and which are called the Black Hills by the savages. The change from the mountainous region to 
the level was indicated by the atmosphere, which now became dry and pure ; so much so indeed ibat 
we perceived its efiects upon the seams of our boats, and our few mathematical instruments. 

As we made immediate approach to the forks it came on to rain very hard, and the obstructions 
in the river were harassing in the extreme. The banks in some places were so slippery, and tfie 
«lay so sofl and stiff that tha men were obliged to go barefooted, as they could not keep on tbsir 
moccasins. The shores also were full of pools of stagnant water, through which we were obliged to 
wade, sometimes up to our arm-pits. Then again we had to scramble ovei enormous shoals of sharp- 
pointed flints, which appeared to be the wreck of cli£i that had fallen down en maue, OccasioDsUj 
we came to a precipitous gorge or gully, which it would put us to the greatest labor to pass, and in 
attempting to push by one of these the tope of the large boat (being old and much worn) gave way 
and permitted to be swung round by the cunent upon a ledge of rock in the middle of the stream, 
where the water was so deep that we could only work in getting her off by the aid of the pirofoe, 
and so were full six hours in effecting it. 

At one period we arrived at a high wall of black rock on the south, towering above the ordinary 
difis for about a quarter of a mile along the stream ; after which there was an open plain, and about 
three miles beyond this again, another wall of a light color on the same side, fully two hundred fiseC 
high ; then another plain oi valley, and then still another wall of the most singular appesr«ice* 
arises on the north, soaring in height probably two hundred and fifty feet, and being in thickness 
about twelve, with a very regular artificial character. These cliffs present indeed the most extraor- 
dinary aspect, rising perpendicularly from the water. The last mentioned are composed of very 
white soft sandstone, which readily receives the impression of the water. In the upper portion of 
them appears a sort of frieze or cornice formed by the intervention of several thin hosiiontal stnit^of 



256 BURTON^s gentleman's magazine. 

awhile freestone, hard, and unaffected by the rains. Above them i^i a dark rich poil, sloping gradual' 
]j back from the water to the extent of a mile or thereabouts, when other hills spring up abruptly 
to the height of full five hundred feet more. 

The face of these remarkable cliffs, as might be supposed, is chequered with a variety of lines 
formed by the trickling of the rains upon the soft material, so that a fertile fancy might easily imagine 
them to be gigantic monuments reared by human art, and carved over with hieroglyphical devices. 
Sometimes there arc complete niches (like those we see for statues in common temples) formed by 
the dropping out bodily of large fragments of the sandstone ; and there are several points where 
staircases and long corridors appear, as accidental fractures in the freestone cornice happen to let the 
Tain trickle down uniformly upon the softer material below. We passed these singular blufis in a 
bright moonlight and their effect upon my imagination I shall never forget. They had all the air of 
enchanted structures, (such as I have dreamed of,) and the twittering of myriads of martins, which 
have built their nests in the holes that every where perforate the mass, aided this conception not a 
little. Besides the main walls there are, at intervals, inferior ones, of from twenty to a hundred feet 
high, and from one to twelve or fifteen feet thick, perfectly regular in shape, and perpendicalar. 
These ate formed of a succession of large black-looking stones, apparently made up of loam, sand, and 
quartz, and absolutely symmetrical in figure, although of various sizes. They are usually square, bat 
sometimes oblong (always parrallelipedal) and are lying one above the other as exactly and with 
as perfect regularity as if placed there by some mortal mason ; each upper stone covering and secaring 
the point of junction between two lower ones, just as bricks are laid in a wall. Sometimes these 
singular erections run in parrallel lines, as many as four abreast ; aometimes they leave the liver and 
go back until lost amid the hills ; sometimes they cross each other at right angles, seeming to en- 
close large artificial gardens, the vegetation within which is often of a character to preserve the illa- 
sion. Where the walls are thihnest, there the bricks are less in size, and the converse. We re- 
' gaided the scenery presented to our view at this portion of the Missouri as altogether the most sor- 
prising, if not the most beautiful which we had yet seen. It left upon my own mind an impression 
of novelty — of singularity, which can never be effaced. 

Shortly before reaching the fork we came to a pretty large island on the northern side, one miie 
and a quarter from which is a low ground on the south very thickly covered with fine timber. After 
this there were several small islands, at each of which we touched for a few minutes as we passed. 
Then we came to a very black* looking blufiTon the north, and then to two other small islands, about 
which we observed nothing remarkable. Going a few miles farther we reached a tolerably large 
island situated near the point of a steep promontory ; afterwards passing two others, smaller. All 
these islands are well timbered. It was at night on the 13th of May, that we were shown by Mis- 
quash the month of the large river, which in the settlements goes by the name of the Yellow Stone, 
but by the Indians is called the Ahmateaza.* We made oar camp on the south shore in a beauti-^ 
ful plain covered with cottonwood. 

May 14. This morning we were all awake and stirring at an early hour, as the point we had 
now reached was one of great importance, and it was requisite that, before proceeding any farther, 
"we should make some survey by way of ascertaining which of the two large streams in view would 
afford us the best passage onward. It seemed to be the general wish of the party to push up one 
of these rivers as far as practicable, with a view of reaching the Rocky Mountains, when we might 
^rhaps hit upon the head waters of the large stream Aregan, described by all the Indians with 
"whom we had conversed upon the subject, as tunning into the great Pacific Ocean. I was alsa 
anxious to attain this object, which opened to my fancy a world of exciting adventure, but I fore- 
saw many difficulties which we must necessarily encounter if we made the attempt with our present 
limited information in respect to the region we should have to traverse, and the savages who occu- 
pied it ; about which latter we only knew indeed that they were generally the most ferocious of the 
North American Indians. I was afraid, too, that we might get into the wrong stream, and involve 
ourselves in an endless labyrinth of troubles which would dishearten the men. These thoughts, 
however, did not give me any long uneasiness, and I set to work at once to explore the neighbsr* 
hood ; sending some of the party up the banks of each stream to estimate the comparative volume 
of water in each, while I myself, with Thornton and John Greely, proceeded to ascend the high 
grounds in the fork, whence an extensive prospect of the surrounding region might be attained. 
"We saw here an immense and magnificent country spieading out oti every side into a vast plain, 
"Waving with glorious verdure, and alive with countless herds of buffaloes and wolves, intermingtod 
"with occasional elk and antelope. To the south the prospect was interrupted by a range of high, 
snow-capped mountains, stretching from south east to north west, and terminating abruptly. Be- 
hind these again was a higher range, extending to the very horizon in the north west. The two 
rivers presented the most enchanting appearance as they wound away their long snake-like lengdis- 

• There appears to be some discrepancy here which we have not thought it worth while to sltar^ 
as, after all, Mr. Rodman may not be in the wrong. The Amateaza (according to the Narrative of 
Lewis and Clarke) is the name giTen by the Minnetarees, not to the Yellow Stone, but to tfaft 



THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN, 257 

in die dintance, growing thinner and thinner until they looked like mere faint threads of silver n 
they Tanitihcd in the shadowy roista of the sky. We coold glean nothing, from their direction ao 
far, as regards their ultimate course, and so descended from our position much at a loss what to do. 

The examination of the two currents gave as but little more satisfaction. The north stream was 
found to be the deeper, but the south was the wider, and the volume of water differed but little. 
The first had all the color of the Missouri, but the latter had the peculiar round gravelly bed which 
distinguishes a river that issues from a mountainous region. We were finally determined by the 
easier navigation of the north branch to pursue this course, although from the rapidly increasing 
shallowness we found that in a few days, at farthest, we should have to dispense with the large 
boat. We spent three days at our encampment, during which we collected a great many fine 
skins, and deposited them with our whole stock on hand, in a well constructed cticke on a small 
island in the river a mile below the junction.* We also brought in a great quantity of game, and 
especially of deer, some haunches of which we pickled or corned for future use. We found great 
abundance of the prickly pear in this Vicinity, as well as chokeberries in great plenty upon the low 
grounds and ravines. There were also many yellow and red currants (not ripe) with gooseberries. 
Wild roses were jusf beginning to open their buds in the most wonderful profusion. We left our 
encampment in fine spirits on the morning of 

May 18. The day was pleasant, and we proceeded merrily, notwithstanding the constant inter- 
ruptions occasioned by the shoals and jutting points with which the stream abounds. The men^ 
one and all, were enthusiastic in their determination to persevere, and the Rocky Mountains were 
the sole theme of coi\jersaiion. In leaving our peltries behind us, we had considerably lightened 
the boats, and we found much less difficulty in getting them forward through the lapid currents 
than would otherwise have been the case. The river was crowded with islands, at nearly all of 
which we touched. At night we reached a deserted Indian encampment, near bluffs of a blackish 
day. Rattlesnakes disturbed us very much, and before morning we had a heavy rain. 

May 19. We had not proceeded far before we found the character of the stream materially 
altered, and very much obstructed by sand bats, or rather ridges of small stones, so that it was with 
the greatest difficulty we could fotce a passage for the larger boat. Sending two men ahead to re- 
connoitre, they returned with an account of a wider and deeper channel above, and once'again we 
felt encouraged to persevere. We pushed on for ten miles and encamped on a small island for the 
night We observed a peculiar mountain in the distance to the south, of a conical form, isolated, 
and entirely covered with snow. 

May 20. We now entered into a better channel, and pursued our course with little interruption 
for sixteen miles, through a clayey country of peculiar character, and nearly destitute of vegetation. 
At night we encamped on a very large island, covered with tall trees, many of which were new to 
us. We remained ai this spot for five days to make some repairs in the piroque. 

During our sojourn here an incident of note occurred. The banks of the Missouri in this neigh- 
borhood are jirecipitous, and formed of a peculiar blue clay, which becomes excessively slippery aAer 
rain. The clifis, from the bed of the stream back to the distance of a hundred yards, or thereabouts, 
form a succession of steep terraces of this clay, intersected in numerous directions by deep and 
narrow ravines, so sharply worn by the action of water at some lemote period of time as to have the 
appearance of artificial channels. The mouths of these ravines, where they dehouchc upon the river, 
have a very remarkable appearance, and look from the opposite bank, by moonlig-ht, like gigantic 
columns standing erect upon the shore. To an observer from the uppermost terrace the whole descent 
towards the stream has an indescribably chaotic and dreary air. No vegetation of any kind is seen. 

John Greely, the Prophet, the interpreter Jules, and myself started out after breakfast one 
morniug to ascend to the topmost terrace on the south shore for the purpose of looking around as; 
in short to see what could bo seen. With great labor, and by using scrupulous caution, we succeed- 
ed in reaching the level grounds at the summit opposite our encampment. The prairie here difiers 
from the general character of that kind of land in being thickly overgrown for many miles back with 
cotton-wood, rose-bushes, red willow, and broad-lcavcd willow ; the soil being unsteady, and at tiroes 
swampy, like that of the ordinary low grounds — it consists of a black-looking loam, one-third sand, 

* Caches are holes very frequently dug by the trappers and fur traders, in which to deposit their 
furs or other goods during a temporary absence. A dry and retired situation is first selected. A 
circle about two feet in diameter is then described — the sod within this carefully removed and laid 
by. A hole is now sunk perpendicularly to the depth of a foot, and afterwards gradually widened 
until the excavation becomes eight or ten feet deep, and six or seven feet wide. As the earth is 
dug up, it is cautiously placed on a skin, so as to prevent any traces upon the grass, and, when all 
is completed, is thrown into the nearest river, or otherwise effectually concealed. This cache is 
lined throughout with dried sticks and hay, or with skins, and within it almost any species of back- 
woods property may be safely and soundly kept for years. When the goods are in, and well 
covered with buffalo hide, earth is thrown upon the whole, and stamped firmly down. Afterwards 
the sod is replaced, and a private mark made upon the neighboring trees, or elsewhere, indicating 
the precise location of the dep6t — Bus. 6. M. 



258 BUETON^B gentleman's MAGAZINE. 

and when a handful of it is thrcvwn into water, it dissoWeB in the manner of aogar, with atroiig 
bobbies. In several spots we observed deep incrustations of common salt, some of which we ooUeded 
«nd used. 

Upon reaching these level grounds we all sat down to rest, and had scarcclj done so when we 
were alarmed by a loud growl immediately in oor rear, proceeding from the thick underwood. We 
etarted to our feet at once in great terror, for we had left our rifles at the island, that we might be 
unincumbered in the scramble up the clifis, and the only arms we had were pistols and knivea. We 
bad scarcely time to say a word to each other before two enoimous brown bears (the first we had yet 
encountered during the voyage) came rushing at us open-mouthed from a clump of roee-boabea. 
These animals arc much dieaded by the Indians, and with reason, for they are indeed ibrmiddife 
creatures, possessing prodigious strength, with untameable ferocity, and the most wondprfui tenacitjr 
of life. There is scarcely any way of killing them by a bullet, unless the shot be through the braine^ 
and these are defended by two large muscles coveiing the side of the foiehead, as well as by a pro- 
jection of a thick frontal bone. They have been known to live for days with half a dozen balls 
through the lungs, and even with very severe injuries in the heart. So far we had never met with 
a brown bear, although often with its tracks in the mud or sand, and these we had seen nearly a foot 
in length, exclusive of the claws, and full eight inches in width. 

What to do was now the question. To stand and fight, with such weapons as we possessed, was 
madness; and it was folly to think of escape by flight in the direction of the prairie; for not only 
weie the beats running towards us from that quarter, but, at a very short distance back from the 
cUfis, the underwood of briar-bushes, dwaif willow, etc., was so thick that ^e could not have made 
our way through it at all, and if we kept our course along the river between the underwood and the 
top of the clifl*, the animals would catch us in an instant ; for as the ground was boggy we could 
make no progress upon it, while the large flat foot of the bear would enable him to travel vrith ease. 
It seemed as if these reflections (which it takes some time to embody in words) flashed all of them 
through the minds of all of us in an instant — for every man sprang at once to the clifis, without 
eofficiently thinking of the hazard that lay there. 

The first descent was some thirty or forty feet, and not very precipitous; the clay here also pa*- 
took in a slight degree of the loan of the upper soil ; so that we scrambled down with no great 
difficulty to the first ten ace, the bears plunging after us with headlong fury. Arrived here, we had 
not a moment for hesitation. There was nothing left for us now but to encounter the em aged beaata 
upon the narrow platform where we stood, or to go over the second precipice. This was nearly per- 
pendicular, sixty or seventy feet deep, and composed entirely of the blue clay which was now satu- 
rated with late rains, and as slippery as glass itself. The Canadian, frightened out of his senses, 
leaped to the edge at once, slid wiib the greatest velocity down the clifl*, and was hurled over the 
third descent by the impetus of bis course. We then lost sight of him, and of counie supposed him ' 
killed ; for we could have no doubt that his terrific slide would be continued from precipice to precipice 
until it terminated with a plunge over the last into the river — a fall of more than a hundred and fifty 
leet 

Had Jules not gone in this way it is more than probable that we should all have decided, in our 
extremity, upon attempting the descent ; but his fate caused us to waver, and in the meantime the 
monsters were upon us. This was the first tinte in all my life I had ever been brought to dose 
quarters with a wild animal of any strength or ferocity, and I have no scruple to acknowledge that 
my nerves were completely unstrung. For some moments I felt as if about to swoon, bat a loud 
ecream from Greely, who had been seized by the foremost bear, had the efi*ect of arousing me to 
exertion, and when once fairly aroused I experienced a kind of wild and savage pleasure from the 
eonflict. 

One of the beasts, upon reaching the narrow ledge where we stood, had made an immediate rush 
at Greely, and had borne him to the eaith, where he stood over him, holding him with his huge teeth 
lodged in the breast of his overcoat — which, by the greatest good fortune, he had worn, the wind being 
chilly. The other, rolling rather than scrambling down the clifll^'was under so much headway when 
be reached our station that he could not stop himself until the one- half of his body himg over the 
precipice ; he staggered in a sidelong manner, and his right legs went over while be held on in an 
awkward way with his two left. While thus situated he seized Wormley by the heel with his mouth, 
and for an instant I feared the worst, for in his efibits to free himself from the grasp the terrified 
etruggler aided the bear to regain his footing. While I stood helpless, as above described, through 
tenor, and watching the event without ability to render the slight^t aid, the shoe and moccasin of 
W. were torn off in the grasp of the animal, who now tumbled headlong down to the next terrace, 
but stopped himself, by means of his huge claws, from sliding farther. It was now that €rreely 
ecream^ for aid, and the Prophet and myself rushed to his assistance. We both fired our pistols 
at the beat's head ; and my own ball, I am sure, must have gone through some portion of his akoll, 
lor I held the weapon close to his ear. He seemed more angry, however, than hurt ; the only goed 
effect of the discharge was in his quitting his hold of Greely (who had sustained no injury) and 
making at us. We had nothing but our knives to depend upon, and even the refuge of the tenaoe 
below was cut off from us by the presence of another bear there. We had our backs to the difl^aiid 



CHILDHOpo'S JOTS. 



259 



were preparing for a deadly contest, not dreaming of help from Greely (whom we enppoeed mortally 
injar^) when we heard a shot, and the huge heast fell at our feet, just when we felt his hot and 
horribly fetid breath in our faces. Our deliverer, who had fought many a bear in his life>time, had 
put his pistol deliberately to the eye of the monster, and the contents had entered the brain. 

Looking now downwards, we discovered the fallen bruin making ineffectual efforts to scramble up 
to OS — the soft clay yielded to his claws, and he fell repeatedly and heavily. We tried him with 
several shots, but diid no harm, and resolved to leave him where he was for the crows. I do not see 
how he could ever have made his escape fr6m the spot. We crawled along the ledge on whidi we 
etood for nearly half a mile before we found a practicable path to the prairie above us, and did net 
set to camp until late in the night. Jules was there all alive, but cruelly bruised — so much so ia« 
'deed that he had been unable to give any intelligible account of his accident or of our whereaboata. 
He had lodged in one of the ravines upon the third terrace, and had made his way down its bed to 
the river shore. 



CHILDHOOD'S JOYS. 



VT AFDBIW itJLAKlW, BSe,., OO-IVITOB OW THB PHILA9SLPHIA SATUBBAT COVBJOm. 



Oh ! for a voioefui harp of Love to sing 

The radiant joys of childhood's early mom, 
Apollo's hand should touch each quiv'ring string, 

And songs from Music's witchery be born. 
The Tree of Life just swelling into bloom, 

No blossoms scatter'd, and no branches torn— 
A babbling streamlet fringed with scented broom 

Ere yet on ocean's troubled wave 'tis borne. 

Oh ! who would not return again to youth, 

From manhood's boasted, wish'd-for pow'r and 
prime 1 
To roam again those peaceful paths of truth, 

Unstain'd by hand of care, or shade of crime. 
In thought I hasten back o'er weary yeai's. 

And hope to stay the pond'rous hand of time, 
In Fancy's world a bright*ey'd band appears, 

And I can hear their merry Yoices chime ! 

They are my play-mates, brothers, sisters, all 

In garlands deck'd as for a holiday ; 
Who see me coming, hear me fondly call. 

And to their pastime beckon me away ! 
I run, I fly to join the merry crew ; 

Through fields of flowers, and groves of shade 
we stray- 
No brow is sad — all hearts to friendship true ; 

And pleasure ceases but with closing day. 



At CTeninghour, when Dian's brow is fair, 

And gently tolls the neighboring Tesper beU, 
In merry groups we breathe the perfumed air^ 

And list the tales that wrinkled gossips tell. 
Gazing the while into the spangled skies n 

In youthful wonder at the spacious cell, 
Empierced vrith worlds of ever-sparkling eyes, 

In whose bright orbs in time we hoped to dwell* 

Then en the downy pillow's peaceful shrine^ 

Thomless with innocence— unwet with teacf» 
Beneadi a mother's care our heads recline, .. 

Free from the snows of time or weight of yeazit 
With infant fingers clasp'd and lips apart, 

Our whisper'd pray'r the God of children* hears 
Warm gushing from each gentle sinless heart, 

And wafted heav'nwaid free from earthly ' 

Oh ! would ye not return again to yonth 

Along that primrose path of heau^ brig^ 
To wear anew the spotless garb of truth, 

A shield from evil, and a badge of right t 
// may noi be ! yet no one seeks in rain, 

A wreath of innocence — a robe of white. 
In Jesus' love ye may be bom again. 

And win a youthful crown of living light 

PhUadelphia, May, 1840. 



* " Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom oC 
Heaven." 

yoL. VI. — Ko. rr. l2 



THE LIFE OP A VILLAGE PASTOR. 



BT XZHA HOLDSir, £SQ,.| CO-ED ITOB OF THE PHILADELPHIA SATUBDAT COUEIEE. 



Did yoa evet visit Weckford ? If you have not, take the advice of the writer and go there while 
the floweis are filling the air with the sweets of the coming sammer. It is a charming village, and 
Its people are among the most intelligent the country can boast. Neat buildings always do mocii 
towards making a favorable impression upon the minds of strangers ; and nowhere can be met a 
more uniform prevalence of a chaste s^^Ie of architecture, than is to be found in the village of 
Weckford. There is no one edifice so likely, perhaps, to strike the stranger with awe and admira- 
tion as the venerated Doric structure, known in all the region round about as <«The Church of oar 
Village," which has stood for almost a century, a proud monument of the public taste and Chris- 
tian spirit of its early founders. 

Oace more, adopt the advice of the writer, and do not take a hasty departure from the peaceful 
Tillage of Weckford. Stay but a short time, and you will indeed exclaim, with its inhabitants, this 
is ** Our Village." Contentment, sociability, and happiness are there diffused apparently with the 
universality of the genial air. 

If it shpuld now become your happiness, as it was mine, to be made acquainted with the venera- 
ble Pastor, who, for more than half a century has ministered at the altar of " Our Church," as the 
Tenerable chapel is there called, you would prove yourself no lover of the rural retreat, if you should 
not offer an earnest desire that your future days might be passed <* where real happiness has fixed 
her abode." 

There are men in this world of ours who have been endowed with virtues so expansive and 
benevolent, as to prove they were placed upon earth for the sole purpose of doing good to their 
fellow beings. The venerated Armstrong (for that is the name of the Pastor we have mentioned) 
has proved this truth, in his own unexampled life of charity, meekness, and wide-spread benevo- 
lence. 

It is no part of the purpose of this sketch to picture the life and services of the revered Ann- 
strong. But it may be interesting here to allude to one custom of his life, which was that of gather- 
ing frequently at his own fireside, such young men as he regarded worthy of his acquaintance ; and 
it had ever been his invariable practice to seek such acquaintances among all walks and professions 
of society. He acted always as if he looked upon young men as hb sons, and they had reasons 
enough to regard him as the patriarch of their little community. 

It was at one of the assemblages to which allusion has been made, that the following incidents 
were narrated. They are strictly true, and as they made a deep impression upon the mind of the 
writer at the time, he will endeavor to give them, as nearly as he can remember, in the words of thb 
Pastor. 

THE PASTOR'S NARRATIVE. 

I was sitting, said the venerable man, in my study, as is my custom when I have no company- 
It was a sweet evening of August. AH nature appeared to conspire to make me fee! an exalted 
vense of the unnumbered blessings with which Providence is ever surrounding us. I cannot tell 
bow it was, but I had been passing in review the evidences of especial Providence, which, through 
*lDy long ministerial life, had sometimes appeared to have been so remarkably displayed, in regard to 
my own parishioners. My mind was, at the moment, dwelling upon the recent death of the only 
daughter of one of the most wealthy individuals of the parish. She had been suddenly taken 
away. Two days before her death she was well, and on the third I was called to perform the 
last rites over her lifeless form. She had been a gay, but a very amiable young lady — the 
pride of her parents, and justly so. Her father, especially, appeared almost to adore her ; she 
seemed the chief object of his delight. His soul appeared to centre in Maria; and as he was a very 
-wealthy man, it had been obviously a cherished purpose of his heart to make her his heiress — -bat 
that God whose ways are past finding out, had decided far otherwise. 

I had been pondering in my mind the deep impression which Marians death appeared to have 
produced upon her afilicted father. He had once or twice taken occasion to converse with me upon 
it, with feelings very difieient from any which I had ever witnessed during all the intercourse I had 
previously had with him. He had always been regarded by myself, and indeed by all the parish- 
ioners, as a very reserved, proud, and, at times, especially, a very morose man. He had been suh- 
ect to fits of indescribable depression, which, for years and years, had given his family the deepeat 
alarm, and especially his wife, who is one of the best women that ever lived. 

It was in this contemplative mood of my mind that I was broken in upon by a rap at the outep- 
-door, when T was not a little struck with the coincidence of the depressed father of Maria bemg 
«ihered into the room. He appeared in the deepest excitement ; and taking a seat by my lid^ ba 



THB LIFB OF A YILLAGB PASTOR. 261 

af\ed me with much emotion — "Are we alone 1 Are yon sure we are alone 1*' I assured him tliat 
we were. 

**Then/' said he, "I have come to unburthen my soul. I must confess to you. I cannot 
live longer in this agony of guilt. For years and years I have existed in unutterable misery. 
I am a wretch. The world looks upon me as a fortunate man. They know I am rich. They know 
I have honors ; and, oh God ! they think me a moral man. I would exchange conditions with the 
most lowly, if I could purchase peace of mind. A load of guilt hangs upon my soul. I cannot en- 
dure it longer. I cannot pray. I cannot ask forgiveness of my God ! How often have I sunk upon 
my knees as you sec mc now. But my lips refuse all utterance. I cannot ask forgiveness for so great 
a crime. I cannot live, and I dare not die. I would have taken my own life, but I fear to enter the 
presence of Him who gave me being. I am a murderer. I must confess it. I must confess it to 
you. Pray for me. Do pray for mc. Do not spurn me from your presence. Help me, oh help 
me, to seek rest for my sinking soul. Turn not from mo, wretch as I am. I would gladly invoke 
the penalties of tbe law ; but that will not save me from the mountain that sinks me to the earth. I 
cannot wash out the blood that stains my hands. I cannot bring my victim to life. He was my 
little nephew. I was his guardian. I had the charge of his property. His mother (my dear and 
only sister) had left him and his little sister to my fatherly protection. 8he had been left with a 
handsome property by her husband, who died two years previously. Well do I remrmbei the night 
of her demise. She clasped my hands in heis, while I knelt by her dying couch. Raising her eyes 
to heaven, she most fervently invoked its protection for her children, who were soon to bo left 
orphans in the world. * Yes,' she added, with a pmile that I now see playing upon her confiding 
lips, < you, my brother, will be a father to my poor children. Ye3, 1 see it in your countenance. 
You will be a father to the fatheiless — you will guide, protect and train them to meet their mother 
in that mansion of rest, to which I have the most glorious assurances I am soon to ascend.' 

" With uplifted eyes, I pledged my soul, to become the faithful guaidian and parent of my sister's 
children ; and as the words died upon my lips, her pure spirit peacefully departed, with a look of 
confiding benignity that is ever mirrored to ray distracted vision. 

" I never can escape the watchful eyes of the dying Elizabeth. Upon the peril of my soul I swore 
to protect her little ones; snd how I have sold my peace bete and hope of happiness hereafter, by 
murdering, in cold-blood, the son of her aficctions ! 

" It was for his portion of the estate that I lifted my arm against my little nephew. To poison his 
sister, by administering to her a fatal drug in her food, when sufficient time had elapsed to prevent 
suspicion, was then the purpose of my heart. But my conscience smote me. I could not do it. It 
was agony that cannot be told to put out of the way the murdered body of my little namesake. We 
were in the forest when 1 killed him. I was engaged in splitting rails for a fence upon the estate, 
where I have since lived and become a rich man. With a single blow of the beatle upon his head, 
I killed him upon the spot. The body I fastened to rocks, that would prevent it from rising, and sunk 
it in the neighboring river. 

*• It was in the early settlement of the country, when the roads were few. To go to the dwellings 
of our neighbors (who were then miles from us) we had to traverse the forests by foot paths. The 
better to conceal my guilt, I gave out that I had sent the boy to a distant neighbor's upon an errand^ 
through the woods ; and that since I had no tidings whatever of him. 

" You have no doubt beard of the fearful event. The neighbors came even from twenty miles 
around, to join m in hunting for days and days, in the forest. I was then truly afiected, not as my 
neighbors were, but with a feeling of horror for what I had done, which no language of mine can 
describe. The general fear was that the boy had been killed and devoured by wild beasts ; and the 
people finally gave up their search, satisfied in their own minds that that must have been the fatal 
end of poor Edward. 

** I cannot tell you with what emotions I sought my bed, night after night. My family attri- 
buted my distraction to the mysterious loss of Edward. I could not sleep. God knows that 
thousands of times I would willingly have died, if I could have thus brought my victim to life. There 
was no rest for me. I passed months and montha in the most unutterable agony, sometimes resolving 
to give myself up, and then as quickly breaking the resolution, when I thought of my family, and 
the wretchedness with which such a disclosure would overwhelm them. 

«* Sure I am, by my own case, that there is no telling whither a single step in crime may lead us, 
A demon took possession of me. I became hardened as it were to the crime I had perpetrated. I 
went forward in business ; and soon acquired a large property. I used all means to get rich. 
I became a taker of usurious interest ; and hard has been the rod I have held over those who onco 
got into my power. 

"You know I have long since been a man of great wealth. But, thank God for once more making 
me feel so, I would give it all away, if I could bring Edward to life and restore to him the property 
which his mother placed in my hands for protection. It became the basis of my wealth ; but heaven 
is my witness that I have not seen a happy hour since that fatal day, which sent Edward into another, 
and, I hope, a better world. 

" You alone have my secret. Had I not been deeply penitent I could not have entered this rooitt 



362 BU&TON^S GBNTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

to night. You will not expose me to the penalties of the law. Mj mind is made up. If yon do it, 
-with this little vial, which is filled with a deadly poison, I swear to add another crime to the one I 
liave already committed, and pass into that world which I shrink from the contemplation of with the 
utmost horror. I could not mount the scaflbld to he executed in the midst of my fellow-men, who 
have so many years regarded me as an upright man. Oh ! the thought is almost distraction ! My 
poor family, too ! What a sad spectacle for their gaze. My wife ! She who has been my stay and 
consolation, so many a time when I should have been my own executionei but for her kindnww 
and attachment, which grew firmer and more constant as she saw unutterable anguish preying upon 
me in secret — I caimot, dare not tell her what a wretch I am. 

** Forgive these tears. They arc the welcome tokens of a deep contrition. I thank God that I can 
weep. It is only since the death of Maria that I can weep. Pray for me. Help me to ask God 
to remove the mountain of oppression from' my soul ; and if there be mercy wide enough to cover my 
enormity, aid me in the future effort, to which here upon my knees, I most solemnly devote myself, 
to obtain a remission of my guilt. 

** Wretch as I am, I will make all the atonement in my power. Deeply grateful do I feel that 
a mutual attachment has grown up between Edward, (my only son,) whom I named from the murdeved 
Iwy, and the orphan girl whom I dared not sacrifice. You know that I have cherished Louise as if 
she had been my own child. She is indeed as dear to me ; and I betrothed her to Edward. They 
are worthy of each other. My will is made, and all my property at the death of myself and wife 
will go to her, save an ample reservation to found an Orphan Asylum for the poor of Weckferd." 

*< Here !*' exclaimed the pastor with a most heavenly serenity of countenance, " let me assure you, 
my dear young friend, there is an everlasting reality in religion. If all my life before, I had regarded 
its hopes and consolations as delusions, I should have that night bowed my head in humble sab- 
mission to the most High, in the full belief of the sublime truths of Chiistianity. I was powerfully 
afiected. I knelt by the side of the guilty man, and if ever an earnest prayer went up to the throne 
•of God, it was then uttered from the quivering lips of the broken-hearted murderer. 

** I will not detain you," continued the Pastor, " by detailing the incidents of his subsequent 
career. To me it is every thing to say that he lived for years afterwaiids, showing daily evidences 
that he was indeed an altered man. I have no power even to describe the great chango which had 
come over him. Instead of being melancholy, morose, forbidding, the milk of human kindness was 
now coursing in his veins. His whole life was entitely changed. Instead of being a miser, taking 
away the little all of the poor and the destitute, he was kind-hearted, benevolent and cherishing, 
bestowing liberally from his great wealth to smooth the path of those upon whom the dealings of 
Heaven had mysteriously fallen. Many a widow and orphan now offer up prayers from the altar 
of their grateful bosoms, for the eternal rest of one who had come to feel that there is indeed a 
gUmpse of Heaven upon earth in cheiiahing the inspiration to do good charities to our fellow 
creatures; and the unpietending benevolence of the repentant bore me amply witness that from his 
soul he felt there is no greater happiness in the present world than that which urges us to seek daily 
to scatter one more flower in the rugged way of the forlorn, the destitute, and the deserving. 

" It is not, perhaps, to be supposed that the great reformation of the guilty man was instantaneously 
brought about You have heard by his own confession that for years and years the load of guilt 
had been sinking him to the most fearful depression ; and ere he could have become so contrite of 
heart as to acknowledge, even to one humble being, so great a crime, He, who coutrolleth all things 
for good, had dealt with him in secret and mysterious Piovidences. We are abundantly assured 
that * The contrite and broken-hearted shall in no wise be cast out.' Of my own course towards 
the guilty man," said the Pastor, '* I can only tell you, my dear young friends, that I constantly 
sought direction of Him whom I have delighted to follow. I soon felt that I was placed by the 
confession of so dreadful a crime, in a most painful position. Was it my duty to give up the mur- 
derer to the penalties of the law 1 If I ever sought light with fervency it was that I might here be 
guided in the only true course ; and it was not soon that I felt fully persuaded of my positive duty. 
He who came to bring down the great truths of Christianity to the wants of the human femily, 
taught in his whole life that God is more ready to forgive than we are to seek His mercy ; and from 
the moment when the guilty man unburthened his sinking soul, I never had reason to doubt that he 
had met forgiveness from on High. 

** In his death, too, he gave the sweetest evidences that he had not been mistaken in his unspeak* 
able hopes. I was called to minister at his dying couch. He had passed a short sickness with the 
utmost serenity and resignation. From the first he expressed to me the full belief that he was not 
to recover ; but nothing like a murmur escaped his lips. I had frequent conversations with him. He 
sought such intercourse ; and earnestly desired me never to be away from him, when my duties could 
possibly allow my presence. I yieldcKl to his wishes not more from his urgency than from the full- 
ness of my own desires to witness in his last moments the triumphs of that fsiith ' which leadeth to 
life everlasting.' 

*' He became at last fully sensible that the moment of dissolution was rapidly approaching. Then 
it was that he gave us the fullest assurances of his unspeakable happiness. The cold sweat was 
ixlreody on his brow. The family had gathered around his couch, to take the last farewell of the 



THE PBATER OF TBB BBTEOTHBD. 



263 



dying father. Edward and Louise had onconacioasly bent over him, side bj side. With a look of 
benignity, such as is spoken of angels over a soul that is saved, he raised himself by the last effort of 
expiring nature, and, placing their hands in each others, he turned to me with an expression of un- 
utterable felicity, and breathed this last wish of his grateful bosom : — * Join them in holy wedlock; 
join them ere T close my eyes for ever. They are my children ; may they be happy here, and when 
they come to meet this solemn hour of decaying nature, oh that they may be filled with the blight 
assurances of a glorious hereafter, which are now beckoning me into that world which shall never 
pass away.' ** 



THE PRAYER OF THE BETROTHED. 



BT BOBBBT XOBBIS, XSa*f XBZXOll OV THB PBTBSTLTABIA IWaVZBXB. 



Fathxb and God! to whom the thoughts 

Of every human breast are known, 
Eternal — Vast — Omnipotent ! 

Worlds are bnt footstools to thy throne ! 
Amid the pcsans of the host— 

The shouts of joy — the peals of pn 
The breath of bliss from seraph lips — 

The songs that cherub voices raise— 
Oh ! deign to bend a listening ear — 
A child of earth consent to hear ! 

Porgive, if I too fondly cling 
To one— a thing of dust I know, 

And yet in thy bright image made- 
High heart, free soul, and manly brow — 

Forgive, Great Judge, that even now. 
When I would turn my thoughts above, 

I feel upon my cheek the glow. 
And in my breast the fire of love ! 

Forgive, that while I bow, I feel 

A woman's weakness on me steal ! 

Alas ! how vain ! and yet to Thee 

Why need I each fond thought disclose 1 
Without Thy aid no star could shine. 

No hue could beautify the rose, — 
Great Architect of myi iad worlds, 

Thou knowest all we feign or feel — 
Each shallow thought — each empty dream, 

Then why this »mple heart reveal 1 
The hopes that bud — the joys that bloom — 
Thou know'st them all, their date and doom ! 

Thou know'st the Future! as the Past 

Its chequered scenes are spread before Thee— 
Fate's airow quivering in the heart — 

Youth's sunny dream and manhood's story — 
The flower-crowned bridal and the bier — 

Spring's golden light and winter's even^ 
The cloud that's meant to shadow here — 

The shaft that wings the soul to Heaven^ 
The breeze that bears a fatal breath. 
And wan consumption's subtle death ! 



My present path seems strewed with flowers^ 

And bright blue skies are bending o'er mei 
While Hope points to the coming hours, 

And whispers, « Bliss is now before thet I" 
And is it so 1 At times I feel 

A fearful chill upon my spirit, 
And dream of broken hopes and pangs — 

The woe that all our kind inherit— 
Father and God ! oh, be to me 
A guide on life's tempestuous 



Without Thee, none could live or move; 

The sun from its high place would fall. 
With all the spheres that shine above 

As lamps to light this earthly ball. 
Planet and star, and glitteiing orb, 

Far distant hung amid the air, 
Attest the Universal God, 

The power that made and placed them then ; 
And yet, Great Source, how mean a thing 
May nestle under thy wide wing ! 

Thou art the all Eternal One, 

The soul of nature and of heaven ; 
The eye, the ear, the mind of man, 

All speak of Thee and blessings given. 
Without Thee, who could raise a hand. 

Or hear the thunder's loudest peal— « 
Or tell when Morning's rosy light 

Along the East began to steal ? 
Thou art the spirit of the whole. 
The all-pervading source and soul ! 

Thou know'st my heart — its hopes and fears— ^ 

Its tumults wild — its plighted faith— 
The flame that burns within its depths. 

Oh ! keep it pure and true till death ! 
And that heart's idol — may he prove 

All that my fancy pictures now, 
A being meant and formed for love — 

No stain upon his soul or brow — 
Then, then kind Heaven, this life will be 
A path that upwards lead^ to Thee I 



MY COUSIN HELEN. 



BT C. PETERSOir, Xda>) EDITOR OY TBS PHILADELPHIl. 8ATURDAT KTX5I2IO PCSTi. 



"She was like 
A (Irpam of poetry that may not be 
Written or told — exceeding beautiful !" 

Willis. 



She was a bright and beautiful being, too pure and holy for a sinful world like this. If an angef 
could have wandered from the skies, and found a dwelling in an earthly form, the beauty of the 
starry visitor could not have equalled her suipassing loveliness. She had a soul, too, full of poetry, 
drinking it in from every lovely thing in nature. The lawn — the stieamlet — the rich meadow-land — 
the gorgeous hill side, and the daik solitary forest were all to her beauty and incense. Often have 
I wandered with her in the still hush of the summer twilight, listening to the low anth?m of the 
forest trees, or the wild murmur of the mountain streams, and gazing on the illimitable void above, 
until our souls seemed to drink in of the majesty of that far off realm, and we longed to be away, 
soaring amid those worlds of light, and treading the starry pavements of her own beautiful sphere. 
As she wandered thus with me, leaning upon my arm, and lifting her dark eyes to mine, she would 
say that it seemed as if she had once lived in a brighter and more glorious state of being, the choids 
of which still lingered in her bosom, and vibrated as if touched by some mysterious hand, in har- 
mony with the woods, and streams, and stars. 

There is a music in some voices almost divine ; but I never heard a voice like Helen's. It had a 
softness in its tones like the low breath of summer among rushes, stirring the heart with vague and 
mysterious feelings. I have listened to it in the silence of twilight, coming and melting on the air, 
until it almost seemed to float from that better world she loved to think upon. The memory of 
those low, reedy tones still lingers around me, and often at the quiet hour of midnight it comes 
across my soul, making every sense thrill under their subtle influence, as they did long, long years 
ago. And then the deep, dark, swimming eye, looking out from beneath the silken lashes, and 
seeming hkc the stars to speak a language too deep for words ! 

Helen was scarcely sixteen when we first met. She had always lived in a world of her own ; but 
her heart panted for some one to share in her communings. From the first hour of our meetings 
we felt a mysterious sympathy linking us together, as if, according to the olden philosopher, we bad 
once known each other in that brighter state of being, and met again after ages of separation. We 
were both young, and full of youth's indefinite yearnings. It was just that period of life when we 
love with that purity of sentiment with which, alas ! we never love again. Beautiful — too beauti- 
ful was that sunny period ! How we loved to wander together up the hill side, or through the 
shadowy glen, oi along the flowing banks of the stream f How we loved to hear the low winds 
whispering among the willows, or to listen to the waters rippling pleasantly over their strong bed ; 
and when twilight came, and the pale moon led on the choral hosts of heaven, how we lovec^ to 
gaze upon the weird-like landscape, melting dreamily away, and fancy that the airy sounds floatin^^ 
by — coming and going we knew not whither — were the whispers of guardian angels. And thus 
would we gaze for hours, until our souls would be strung to this high harmony, and each a crowd 
of holy feelings at our hearts, we would silently stroll home. Thus we loved. 

I shall never forget that summer. It was like a dream of infancy, all innocence and delight. I 
lived only in Helen's presence, until she became almost a part of my being. We loved with the 
fervency of youth, and life seemed to us only a summer morning. But the summer at last went 
by, and when the corn-fields yellowed in the sun, and the grapes hung in purple clusters from ttko 
vines, I received the long expected summons to begin, in reality, a life which had yet been to me 
only a romance. Need I say Helen wept when we parted 1 And my own heart — was it not fiill ? 
I pressed her to my bosom, kissed the tears from her dewy lashes, gave one long look into those 
dreamy eyes, and scarcely murmuring " farewell," rushed out, leaped into my saddle, and went 
down the road with the rapidity of lightning. But as I passed the old comer, I turned a moment 
to look back. A white handkerchief waved from the piazza, and then the trees intervened, and L 
was — alone. 

Years had passed away, and I was grown to manhood. I had mingled with men — traversed the- 
vast prairies of the west — seen mankind in savage as well as civilized life, and lived years of a quiet 
existence in the wild changes of my wandering being. I had learned to know the human heart— > 
to unmask its deceitful veil, and to lay bare its workings of selfishness, hatred, passion, and too 
rarely — affection. I had become one of the world, and my bright and beautiful dreams were over* 
Yet, oh! how I still longed for that quiet old mansion, with its little stream, its row of willows, end 
the innocent young girl with whom I spent that happy summer. It used to be a dream of my 



COUSIN HBLEN. 265 



solitary hours — and God knows it was the last I ever had — that I woald soon return to claim her 
my own, and live once more in the light of hei smiles. Often, at such times, would my imagina- 
tion take wine, until I fancied myself hacic again in her lonely home, listening to her low voice 
camlUog some favorite air ; and when a letter leached me in her hand-writing, old memories would 
crowd thick upon me, and a feeling come down upon my heart that almost brought the tears into 
my eyes, I scarce knew why. Alas ! that in a world like this we are so often separated from the 
ones we love. 

At last the purposes of my absence had been accomplished, and with a glad and bounding heart 
I set out on my return. Every thing around, too, seemed to partake of my joy. The savannahs 
were coveted with flowers, the orange blossoms whitened the groves, and the voices of the birds 
cai oiled forth their music in exulting strains. But as I drew farther north the signs of approaching 
spring became less evident. Here and there, upon the hills, yet lingered the snow, and only in the 
lich meadow lands of the valleys the flowers began to bloom. The larch had scarcely put on its 
Terdure, the lilac was yet stern and bloomless, and the voices of the merry songsters of the forest 
were heard only at solitary intervals. 

There is a vague, mysterious melancholy, which steals upon us at times, bringing with it an 
indefinable dread of approaching evil — a melancholy which we strive in vain to shake oflT, and 
"which can only be soothed by gentle music, some old memory, or the sympathy of those we love. 
Such a presentiment had gradually come across my soul, until I began to tremble lest I should hear 
some terrible misfortune as I approached Helen*s home. In vain I strove to shake off my feelings; 
they clung to me with the tenacity of life. It might be that it was only the surrounding scenery ; 
hut I felt that I had grown too much in manhood to be stirred with such idle phantasies. I hurried 
on however with the rapidity of an excited mind, and reached the little village by my uncle's, one 
beautiful morning in spring. 

More than two years had eUpscd since I last saw the old mansion, and as I turned in from the 
highway to the*well known gate, a gush of olden feelings swept across me. Every thing around me 
had some memory connected with it reminding me of Helen. There was the bench which I had 
built for her beneath the oak, and here the clump of maples under which we had strayed in the 
summer twilight. Beside mo was the shrubberry, whence I had plucked flowers for her hair, and 
yonder the little brook bubbled along, floating through the willows in the sunlight, as it danced 
merrily on its way. For a moment I felt a thrill of gladness tingling in every nerve — my heart 
heat high with joyful anticipations, and giving my steed the rein, I went rapidly up the old road to 
the mansion. 

As I approached the house, I was struck by the unnatural stillness brooding on every thing 
around. Though it was a sunny morning in early spring, when every thing is full of joy and light, 
the silence of a summer noonday reigned about the house, and among the ancient trees. The 
garden and porch were deserted, most of the window shutters wer^owed, and not a solitary being 
could bo seen anywhere in the dwelling or surrounding oflices. Thick, fearful feelings struggled 
within roe. I sprang from my horse with a palpitating heart, and hunied to the door of the hall> 
determined to know the woist. 

I entered the hall unopposed ; but it was silent and deserted. The sound of my quick footsteps 
echoed through it with a distinctness which startled me. Where were the warm hearts and happy 
faces that were wont to wclcomo me ? Where was my good old uncle, and where my own sweet 
Helen? Alas ! something terrible had happened to produce this unnatural silence. But the sound 
of my disordered step had already been heard — a side-door opened, and the old housekeeper stood 
before me. W^hen she beheld who the intruder was, she turned ashy pale. 

" For heaven's sake," said I, eagerly grasping her hand, " what is the matter 1 Speak — speak^ 
is— is Helen — " I could say no more. 

** Thank God you have come, my dear young master," said the old lady with a thick voice. 

** But what has happened T* I exclaimed wildly. "I feel it is something terrible — tell me the 
worst — " and with unnatural calmness I added, " Helen is then dead." 

<*Oh! no— no. God be praised she is yet living; but she is ill — very, very ill ; though" she 
added eagerly, as I gasped for breath, and staggered against the wall, ** there is yet, perhaps, hope. 
Henry, Henry," she added, grasping my cold hand, " oh ! that you had been spared this — but the 
Almishty's wilt is inscrutable." 

With a strong effort I conquered my feelings, and said in a voice that made my companion start, 
it was so deep and hollow — 

" But she yet lives — for mercy's sake then lead me to her." 

** And so I will, but she has just fallen into a gentle sleep," said the old lady, bursting into tears* 
<* but, oh ! do not, my dear Henry, look so. Compose yourself— come in here — a little cordial may 
make you feel better. I will go and call your uncle. Oh ! that I should have lived to see a day 
like I his." 

I cannot tell the sensations of that moment. The agony of a life-time was compressed into an 
instant, until my brain reeled, and my frame tottered beneath it. Nor will I describe the meeting 
with my kind old oncie^he who had been to me a second parent. We threw ourselves into eadv 



266 burton's gentlbman's magazine. 

other's arms, and then, and not till then, did my emotions find vent in tears. It is a terrible thing 
which can make a strong m^n weep. 

Helen had been caught one night in a shower, and thoroughly drenched before she reached 
home. A slight cold was the consequence, to which none paid any attention, except the ever 
caieful housekeeper. But a short, dry cough soon awakened the attention of her parent, and a 
physician was called in. He declared it was a mere trifle, and quieted tbeii apprehensions, at leait 
for a while. But the Mow was struck. 

There is a fearfulncss in the approach of consumption which strikes awe even into the stoatest 
heart. With a slow and stealthy step it creeps upon its victim, and the first notice we often have 
of its coming, is the arrow driven into the heart ; while the bloom which we hail as the sweet omen 
of a long and happy life, is only the signet mark of this insidious foe. Hourly he goes his rounds 
among the beautiful and young, leaving every where behind him the fearful traces of his visit. 
"While some linger on for years, others wither at once like flowers in an early frost. Helen was 
not one of those doomed to a prolonged torture. Scarcely six weeks had passed since the first 
approaches of this fearful conquerer. At first the steps of the destroyer were slow, and she coqld 
still linger around her old haunts in the open air — then his strides became quicker, she grew daily 
weaker, and her failing strength confined her to the limits of the house ; and at last feeling that 
«ven this was more than she could bear, she was forced to remain in her own little room, only ven- 
taiing into the hall on a warm, sunny day for a moment, and even then leaning on her parent's 
aim. Yet, if anything bowed down her spirit, it was to be thus shut out from the free air of 
heaven; and when spring came, and the little walk into the hall became an exertion too great for 
her failing strength, she would ask them to bear her to the open window, that she might see thfl 
green fields, hear the murmur of the streams, and gaze again upon that beautiful sky which had 
been to her so glorious. Oh ! how she panted to be once more in the old haunts she loved — to 
hear the birds sing — to feel the winds upon her cheek, and to look upon all the mysterioos work* 
ings of nature's wonderful machinery. 

As she grew weaker and weaker, it seemed as if every thought became more holy, tmtil she 
breathed a language almost divine. She had long given up all hope of life, and her only wish was 
that she might see me before she died. Da^ after day she had counted the hours which would 
have to elapse before the summons they had sent to me should bring me to her side ; though little 
did she think that I was already far upon my way towards her before the message had departed. 
Thus she sank away. Was it not better that one so pure should go up to her own glorious hornet 
but, alas ! for the broken-hearted old man and the desolate ones she left behind. But I pass it by. 
The nurse at last appeared to tell me Helen was prepared to see me. In an instant we were in 
her chamber. 

Her room was always simply ornamented ; but now it seemed more so than ever. The white 
•curtains — the pale counterpane — the early wild flowers on the little stand, were all arranged accord- 
ing to Helen's exquii>ite taste. But I saw nothing except the sulTerer herself. 

If Helen had seemed beautiful to me in our earlier acquaintance, oh ! how surpassingly so did 
she now appear. The white brow, the lustrous eye, the small hectic spot upon her cheek, and, 
above all, the calm ethereal expression lighting up her countenance with an almost angelic loveli- 
ness, gave her the appearance of a seraphic rather than of an caithly being. I stood spell-bound for 
a moment She was the first to speak. 

** Henry," she said, in a voice so low and sweet, that it seemed to be the whisper of the. summer 
wind ; ** Henry — how glad I am you have come — and so soon, too — I am changed, I fear — "and 
she ceased speaking, while a fit of coughing racked her delicate frame. 

I would have given worlds to have been able to reply ; but my words choked in my throat, and 
despite every effort, the hot tears gathered into my eyes. Oh ! she was indeed changed. 

** I am not so well as I was once, Henry," she said, with a slight quivering in her voice, as she 
lifted her deep eyes up to mine and gazed tenderly upon my face, " but do not weep^it is all for 
the best, and though we shall no more stroll through the old woods together, there is a land iu 
away where we shall yet meet after a very little while. Henry, as you love me, do not weep." 

But why should I dwell upon the sc-ene? I found words at last to speak, though the agony of it 
I may not picture. Yet when I listened to Helen's gentle voice, a peace seeQicd to steal down upon 
my darkened soul, and I almost forgot my grief in admiration of her own weak, uncomplaining 
safferings. ^o young, so fair, so innocent, yet withering slowly away, and even silently reproaching 
us all by her resignation. 

For a few days after my return, Helen seemed to regain her strength, and her fond father even 
indulged a faint hope of her recovery. She smiled almost like she did of old, when I brought her 
in the wild flowers I gathered every morning for her; and her voice seemed to gather a strength 
which the good old nurse said it had not possessed for weeks. But how delusive were our hopes! 
Before a week had elapsed, she began again rapidly to decline, and each successive hour only bore 
her the more rapidly to her end. Every heart trembled with apprehension. The servants went 
ahd came noiselessly — the sound of the wind was seemingly quicker than usual, and the old 
around the mansion sighed low and padly in the breeze. 



COUSIN HELEN, 267 

' It was on one of thoie snnny days in early spring, when the tfees are jost beginning to pat on 
tfaeir vesture, when every bad is bursting into the flower, and when from hill, stream, and wood- 
land floats op the music of nature's hidden harmonies, that Helen begged us to place her near the 
<casement, that she might look out once more upon the beautiful things of this earth, from which, 
«las! she was so soon to pass away. The window opened into the g^arden, and the perfume of the 
young flowers floated through, filling the room with a delicious fragrance. As Helen sat, propped 
up with pillows, her eye wandered ovei a wide expanse of hill and forest, stretching proudly away 
ontil they melted into the far-ofi" horizon. Our little group stood silently around her while she 
gazed long and ardently upon the scene. We saw that she was failing rapidly, and we watched 
her with the intensity of love. At last her eye turned a moment from the landscape, and I fancied 
I hoard a low, soft sigh. 

<* This is a beautiful world, after all," she said in that seraphic voice, which seemed momentaijly 
to grow more heavenly ; « it is a bright and beautiful world ; and I once thought how hard it woald 
be to leave its sweeu, and all that I loved to look upon. Bat oh ! father, cousin, it is nothing to 
Ihe leaving those we love — ** and she looked up into oar &ces with an eye that already seeaed 
like ** that of an angel." Our hearts were full — the tears gathered on our lashes ; but after a 
moment, as if she had not seen it, she continued : 

•* There are the hills, Harry, where we used to walk together. We shall walk there no more. 
How beautiful they look in this sunlight! Will you think of me when you gaze on them after I 
am gonel" 

I could not answer. My heart was swelled to bursting. But I pressed her hand, and turned 
away to wipe a tear. At this instant her little bird, whose cage hung close under the window, sent 
up its hceering note. The familiar sound caught her ear, and she continued: 

" AikI my poor canary — will you take care of it, too, for my sake, Harry 1 It will sing to yo«, 
sifter I am no more, and remind you sometimes of your own poor Helen — will you, Harry 1" 

^ Helen, for mercy's sake, do not talk so— I will cherish all— every thing. Oh, God !" I ejaet- 
feted in atter agony. But the mild eye of the dying eofierer smote me for my repinings, and I was 
«dnmb. She smiled sweetly, and extended her hand. 

« Thank you — I knew yoa would. And now bring me nearer to the window." 

We moved the couch tenderly. For a few minutes there was another silence, broken only by 
«n occasional half-stifled sob from one of our group. 

'« Why do you weepi" she said, suddenly looking up, while a glow of seraphic glory seemed to 
irradiate her countenance. " I have always prayed to die thus," and she took her father's band 
and mine each into one of her own— "am I not going to that better world of which we loved to 
talk in happy days long pasti where the flowers ever bloom, the waters murmor moaie, and the 
atars hymn on in anceasing harmony ! Yes ! — ii is only going home. Who would not rather be 
there than in a worid of care like thist" she continued with a look of triumph Hghting op her 
countenance ; ** there, too, we shall all meet at last — never to put. It is not — so hud — ^parting- 
after all— is— it 1" 

- God bless yoo, Helen !" was the heartrbroken answer of her father. 

" Read me that chapter — will you — Harry 1 — ^you know — the one we spoke— of yesterday," ihe 
mormured in a rapidly foiling voice. 

; I opened the Bible, and in faltering tones read aloud that sublime chapter which holds oat to 
gloriously the promise of the resurrection of the dead. As I proceeded, holding Helen's hand in 
my own, I felt it growing coklcr and colder, and stealing my eyes to her face, when I drew towards 
the close, I saw it glowing, to my heated jfancy, with a halo of light. I finished, and closed the 
book. The rapt expression of that fuce I shall never forget. Bhe looked up as if something met 
her eye, half rose upon her couch, and inclined her head slightly as if listening. 

** Hark !" said she, in a whisper we could clearly distinguish, so deep was the silence of that 
room ; " hark !" and she lifted a finger — *« the music is sounding — father— cousin — heaven — ho- 
me—" and with a smile of ineffable sweetness she sank back upon the couch. Her lips moved a 
moment, but we could distinguish no sounds. They closed — and her spirit had flown back to her 
«wn heavenly sphere. 

I know not how it is, but the quiet little churchyard where Helen lies, seems to me a spot almost 
as holy as that heaven I used to dream of when a child. I am altered now. The cares and sor- 
rows of this worid have dimmed the brightness of my early vision, and I never see now in sleep the 
glorious things I once saw. But I always feel a holy quiet at the grave of my cousin, which re- 
minds mo of the lofty aspirations we had together after that better state of being. I love at such 
times to fancy that she hovers, like a guardian angel, over me ; and often when my heart is stirred 
^th strange, mysterious feelings, and a hush like the Sabbath comes down upon my soul, I think 
that it is the spirit of Helen communing with my own. 

Philadelphia, l^Iay, 184a 



THEOD'ORIC, OF THE A MALI. 



BT J. TOMlIjr, AUTHOR OF »* MART OF CA8TLS PIjrCKHET." 



[Concluded from page 242.] 

The vicissitudes of this life are never subject to man's will. Every change that comes over thr 
dream of his fancy proves the existence of a binding fate. The shadow that falls in his pathway 
is beyond his control. Chains are ever weaving by our wierd bister, to keep ma from stiaying be- 
yond the boundaries she circumscribes. As an ignis fatuus is carried along by the current of air, 
6o the spirit of man, whethei it be high or low, is moved to its goal by the capriciousneas of its des- 
tiny. The resolve of our reason is as changeable as the freaks of the butterfly sporting over the 
village green. Doing deeds ever to find- repentance, and repenting to find the deeds needing repents 
ance aie accumulating faster than the means for forgiveness. Acting, that his actions may be noted 
down foi regiet. A poor thing, boasting of reason, less certain in its truth than the instinct of the 
brute. 

Agreeably to the terms of the league entered into between Theodoric and the Verina, the former 
marched at the head of twenty thousand Walamirs to suppress the revolt of the son of Triaxioab 
On the confines of Thrace, he was intercepted in the dark defiles of Mount Sondis by his disobe^ 
dient and .refractory cousin. The two armies met as belligerents, and parted as friends. Kindred 
blood warmed the veins of the commanders, and the people became brothers of unity. Like ciip 
cumstances having transmitted their opinions — barbarian being their generic appellative, their reii- 
' gion the same, they could not otherwise than capitulate. , Such a combination of old assodatioB 
made them friends, who had otherwise been implacable foes. Standing on a bold eminence of the 
mountain, Theodoric, the son of Triarius, addressed the army of his cousin thus : 

*' Brave Walamirs ! what are -you a doing ? Are ye the mercenary slaves of the Verina, that 
you are willing to become the instruments of destruction to your own people 1 Pause, I beseock 
you, ere the alatum of discord is rung in your ears. The cry, < To arms, ye brave!* shall be the 
watchword for an expulsion of an enemy ! Is it not the interest of the Byzantine Court to see baiv 
harian meet barbarian in deadly feud 1 Why is it that Goth is fighting against Goth 1 Are they 
not brothers 1 Have not our Dacian mothers, in their rude huts, wept for our foolishness 1 Think 
awhile ! £ie the tocsin peals its note on the morning breeze of the mountain, proclaiming * Te 
arms, ye brave,' let us be friends ! Ere the clarion bugle sends its wildest note to the deep forests 
that skirt our streams, calling * To arms, ye brave,' let us bury our feuds, and nerve our arms in de- 
fence of our ancient customs ! Brave Walamirs ! I appeal to our judgments ; if this difiSculty is 
not terminated amicably, the Byzantine Court reap the benefit of our bickerings and strife. Pause> 
before you strike!" 

This short speech had the desired effect. Theodoric was forced to capitulate with his kinsman. 
A new treaty of bargain was ratified between him and the Verina, which opened to him new glo- 
ries in perspective. Odoacer, the baseless Odoacer, was invested with the Roman purple, and The- 
odoric had powers plenipotentiary given by the Byzantine Court to prosecute the war to the de- 
thronement of the Isaurian, and the aggrandizement of the dynasty of the Bosphorus. Italy — the 
fair Italy — that weakened the energies of a Hannibal, was to be the theatre of his glory. Possess- 
ing in an eminent degree the peculiar powers of governing Barbarians, the choice of the Verina — 
the directing Pythoness of the Bosphorus faction — was not inaptly made. Inheriting an empire 
that had been governed by a race of popular kings, he ascended the throne of a nation that had 
leaned obedience in wars. 

Theodoric, being true to his interest, was not tardy in taking steps to secure every advantage to 
himself, that the conquest of Italy could give. By rapid marches, he soon found himself, with aa 
invincible army, beyond the Julian Alps. Near the ruins of Aquileia, he met Odoacer and con- 
quered. In writing back to the Verina, he adopted the laconic style of Julius Caesar. " The Goth 
has conquered !" was the contents of his letter. In the second, he was equally laconic — ^ Theode- 
lic makes conquests for himself!" Establishing himself at Kavenna, he reigned by the right iff 
conquest. 

The fugitive Odoacer fled to Theodoric for protection, and on bended knees invoked bis benisocs. 
* I throw myself on the clemency of the invader of my rights, and invoke his prelection !" was the 
IMtition offered by the craven Isaurian. 

" He that cannot protect his own rights is unworthy of that of his conqueror !" replied Theodo- 
ric, as he stabbed him deeply in the heart. 

" I have received the stab of a coward !" replied Odoacer, and fell dead at his murderer's fmX^ 



THBODORIC. 269 

As Theodoric sat on« evening in his villa, near Ravenna, holding fond dallianc# with his beaoti* 
fal Ariadne, a courier was announced from the Byzantine Court. 

** I do hate to have my hours distuibed by petitions of claims admitting no compromise. Shall 
my toils have no reward but a vassalage to the Byzantine Court ? Conquering the fairest portion 
of the earth foi those that aided only by counsel 1 The thing is preposterous — it would be sheer 
cowardice ! By heavens !'' spoke the excited Tlieodoric, " so long as the Tiber laves the banks 
around Rome*s CoUisseum, so long shall Theodoric, or his descendants, reign over these fair fields 
and hamlets. If I give awsy the diadem that crests my brow, it shall be to one all worthy to re- 
ceive it — indeed, it must not be to the Veiina." 

" They have practiced double treachery to you," replied Ariadne. " In the first place, they en- 
deavored to kindle in your bosom a hatred to your cousin, the son of Triarius. Failing in that^ 
they induced you by fallacious promises to wrest the sceptre from Odoacer, in Italy. Changing th& 
true spirit of the league of capitulation, they construe their baigain into a positive promise made by 
you to reign here as their lieutenant. A poor subterfuge to cover their treachery." 

As Ariadne finished speaking, the courier presented herself before Theodoiic, in the shape of the 
Verina. She was attended by Trascallisseus. Age had settled on her cheek the deep furrows of 
years, but it had had no power in chastening the turbulence of her mind. 

^ I come," spoke the Verina, ** to settle the difficulties existing between yourself and the Byzan-- 
tine Court." 

" Unassisted by the Byzantine Court, I conquered these fair provinces — unassisted, by arms I ex- 
pelled the base Isaurian — with God's blessing, I will reign here by the right of conquest 1" replied 
Theodoric. 

** But have yon not violated the spirit of the Court's agreement, when she allowed you to invade 
this country 1" 

** I grant it ! But has not the Byzantine Court compromitted her honor in refusing to abide the 
truth of the agreement 1 I have betrayal for treachery !" replied Theodoric. 

'* You are then determined to compromise nothing 1" 

" Nothing !" 

** Thy baseness is intolerable !" 

<* Betrayal has mastered thy treachery !" 

** Will you grant me a passport through these, thy dominions ?" 

« I will »" 

<*Then, Til leave you ; but to return with an army that will for ever spoil the usurper's happi« 
ness. Know ye not that it is dishonest to betray confidence ?" 

" I will drive from these fair provinces the armies of the ex-empress, the Verina of the east- 
Know ye not that treachery is always foiled with its own weapons 1" 

" I go to avenge my wrongs." 

•* I stay to keep my rights from invasion." 

" Then God judge between us!" 

" Amen !" 

<' Come, Zeno," spoke the Verina, as she got up to leave the room ; " come, let as return, and ox> 
the way talk over our wrongs, and scheme a reparation for our injuries." 

** Zeno ! — who can she mean 1 Is my beloved mistress affected ih the head ?" spoke Trascalis- 
seas. 

** Come along, you old fool, and not be gaping like an idiot at his own nonsense !" angrily com> 
manded the Verina. 

The Verina left the Italian dominions, to devise new schemes in the palace of the Bosphorus.— 
Theodoric, in the love of his Ariadne, remained at his villa near Ravenna, and secured the well 
wishes and love of his suhjectn, by ruling them with moderation. In the embosomed shades of his 
▼ilia he spent the remainder of his days, undisturbed by civil commotions from the jealousy of friends,, 
or the envy of enemies. In him the last male in direct descent from the Amali expired, and The- 
odoric, the Scythian Ostrogoth, bequeathed the Roman Empire to Athalaiic, the Dacian Goth ! 



It becomes necessary to retrace our footsteps to where the Herali was immured in the dark dun-^ 
geon. As soon as the door had been closed on him, as has been lecorded, he quaked all over with 
fear. The darkness was of such impenetrable thickness that the light of the lamp refused to pene- 
trate it He could scarcely breathe, for the thick vapors hung in cobweb festoons over his head. 
His naturally frank and confiding disposition would not permit him to believe in the Comito'» 
treachery. ** It is a freak of hers," he would whisper to himself, «* to try the strength of my nerve.'* 
He was deceived ! A few hours sufficed to convince him that something was wrong ; yet he felt 
unwilling to acknowledge it. The lengthening hours were becoming insufferable to one who had 
never before known what restraint was. His mind soon reverted to the many cruelties of the day — 
the wrongs inflicted on the weak — which the pablic functionaries passed by onaveoged, and eren 



270 BURTON^S GENTLBMAN^S MAGAZINE. 

unnoticed. He thought of the like enormity he had often sanctioned, aid the many that he had 
been guilty of. These old time recollections administered no balm to his gloomy reflections, but 
rather tended to create an aberrant disquietude of the mind. Was he to be sacrificed to appease the 
▼engeance of a vindictive woman ? Would not an individual of less note answer all of the pur- 
poses of a victim to revenge 1 Such thoughts as these were flitting rapidly through his mind. Had 
any of the members of the blue faction wronged her ! — he was willing to make the amende honor" 
Mtf by giving the required satisfaction. Had he injured any of hei friends t — his devotion to her 
would more than cancel the injury ! The longer he studied on the matter, the moie inexplicable 
the subject became. It was a mystery that time alone would solve. He soon discovered that the 
longer he stayed in the dungeon the lighter it grew. The vision will soon accustom itself to look 
through a vapor or fog that the unaccustomed eye will not penetrate. This is apparent to every 
one that has noticed the difficulty he expeiiences in discovering objects in a darkened room, aAer 
leaving the light of a burning meridian sun. But so soon as the eyes throw off the superabondant 
light it has received, the vision acknowledges its former accuracy. In examining the room the He- 
rail found nothing to wanant the belief of it being used ever as a prison. The lUsted chains^ sus- 
pended from staples in the wall, were not to be seen. The skeleton's naked deformity was no where 
visible; the straw pallet was no where to be found. A dirt floor and the walls of the prison were 
the only visible objects. What could he do 1 He could not batter down the door with his bare 
hands, nor move the walls from their heavy foundations. He had a small dagger in his bosom, bat 
what availed its sharpness on two feet walls 1 It could free him of life, but it could not give re- 
venge ! A momentary delirium seized on his brain, but it passed away as a cloud before the tem- 
pest. Was he to die — starve — famish in the habitation of toads and scorpions 1 — and unavenged t 
It was poLion to his soul ! A fair fight in an open field was his glory ; but to be cooped up, like a 
mouse in a trap, was distraction. 

He had remained some twenty hours in the dungeon, as well as he could judge of time, immured 
as he was in the close walls of a prison, when he heard the footsteps of some one coming down the 
stairs. He was not mistaken in his conjectures, for « tall, bony female opened the door of the pri- 
son, and presented herself to the astonished prisoner. She carried in her hand a small lamp, from 
which gleamed fitfully a fiery red flame. It afibrdcd a light sufficiently good for the purpoee of dis- 
covering the features of the woman, but the excitement of the Herali was such as to conjure in its 
appearance a peculiarity bordering on the supernatural. Her hands were long and attenuated : her 
eyes were sunken, and emitted a baleful influence that chilled the feverish blood : the cheek-bones 
were high, and the chin terminated in a point : the hair was grizzly, and hung in matted elMocks 
on her projecting shoulders. Her bosom was bare, and revealed the skinny breasts, hanging down 
like a lank dog*s ears. . She wore a kind of tunic that only reached to the knees, embroidered with 
those devices of the fancy that were ihought to exist in a world of spirits, and lived embodied in 
others of this world. She carried in her hand a small but exquisitely neat wrought dagger. The 
handle was ivory, and begemmed richly ; the blade was polished like the surface of a steel mirror. 
She held it in an offensive attitude. The point was tipped in blood, which gleamed in the fiery 
light of the lamp, in horrible contrast to the bright, mirror-like blade. The light formed a halo 
around her head, which was caused by the reflection of the light on the settling vapor. He became 
much alarmed, for be verily believed the strange woman was a tenant of the other world. As she 
came in, his first thought suggested a safety in springing to pass her, gain the door, and make his es- 
cape ; but a spell rested on him, and he was not able to move. He tried to speak, but his tongue 
was silent, for it moved not. His eyes almost starting from their sockets — the hair bristling like the 
quills of the porcupine — imaged fear. He was more an object of fright than the woman. It is pro- 
bable that much of the latter's inhuman appearance was caused by her astonishment at his own 
rueful countenance. 

The Comito, having sent this woman to release the Herali, was somewhat astonished upon find- 
ing she did not immediately return. So, after wailing some half hour or more, she took the only 
remaining lamp, and went herself to ascertain the cause of the delay. She found them on their 
feet, wildly glaring on each other. The Herali*s mouth was half open, the tongue hanging between 
his lips, swollen and dry. 

** The man and woman are certainly daft I" spoke the Comito, as she gave the Herali a tap on 
the shoulder with a switch she had in her hand. The charm was broken. 

" Ha !'* cried the Herali, "the Comito !" and seizing at the same time her wrists, she uttered a 
fearful scream, and let fall the lamp. The haggish woman, being utterly confounded, quickly left 
he room, and in going out, she pushed the dooi to, which caught the concealed spring, and fasten- 
ed them both in the dungeon. 

" Sec what you have done !" spoke the Comito to the Herali, aftei discoveiing that the door was 
iastened. « We are lost for ever !" 

" Howl" asked the Herali. 

* That woman is my enemy, and she will leiave us here to perish !" 

<< Indeed ! then I am avenged ahready." 



THEODORIC. 271 

« Tou do not wiflh me to perish here, do yoa V* asked, somewhat pathetically, the Comito, of (he 
Herali, and in accents so sweetly mournful that he half regpretted that he had spoken the words. 

" Have I not cause to wish — yea, desire your death V* 

" No, it cannot be ! Youi impiisonment was the result of a freak of love — a strange fancy that 
took entire possession of my mind, sio that I could not divest myself of it, after many painful emo- 
tions to do so. It was to secure you solely for my own pleasure. Finding it impossible to live 
without you, I thought, by confining you in prison, I would secuie yoa entirely to myself. The 
duration of your imprisonment was much longer than I wished or <»lculated on when I left yoa 
here. I thought to have kept you from youi dearest only a few short hours, but the uneipected re- 
turn of Ecebolus prevented my releasing you earlier. In fact, he did not leave me until about a half 
hour ago ; so soon as he was gone, I sent a messenger to direct your footsteps to your dearest Co- 
mito, who has taken a fancy to you, in spite of her assumed coldness. Cannot you forgive this lit- 
tle freak of humor in one that loves you more than she ever loved before 1 Come, I know yoa 
will — ^will you not V* 

^ Would that I could tnist thy words ! Woman's words are ever fairest, when they are deeelv- 
ing," replied the Herali. 

** Here, feel this throbbing breast, warmed by woman's best emotions, and then ask yourself if 
such throbbings have ever deceived 1" spoke the Comito, as she laid his hand on her soft bre«rt> 
covered only by her loose robe of gauze silk. 

*' I believe you !" cried the Herali ; for that soft touch had electrified his feelings. ** But beware 
of any future intenuption : it may prove fatal." 

" Come, then, follow me ; we'll leave this place. I ha^e a due to the secret spring." 

They groped their way through the darkness to the shut door, which the Comito managed i» 
open, after fumbUng with her hand around it for some minutes. As they arrived at the Comito's 
chamber, they saw the woman that had deseited them in the dungeon pass through the door that 
entered into the audience chamber of the Verina. 

** There she goes," cried the Herali, as he grasped at his bosom for the dagger ; but it was gone. 
The Comito had taken it secretly from hi? bosom. ** Ha ! the dagger gone — lost! What does 
this mean — am I betrayed t Answer me, Comito— have you the dagger V* 

<* Your dagger ! I've seen it not; you must have dropped it in the dungeon," spoke the Comito 
with much apparent surprise. 

At this moment, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and turning rotmd he beheld in utter as* 
tonishment, a man with a raised dagger pointing to his iKMom. 

** Ha !" ejaculated the Herali, *< God's death to the murderer !" as the weapon gleamed in the 
light of the lamp, and descended with true aim at his breast. But by a sudden movement, as quick 
as thought, to one side, he saved himself; and the dagger in its descent only passed through the 
empty air. The Herali grappled with the individual, and with an almost supernatural strength 
wrested the dagger from his band. . 

« Base assassin ! what is it that I have done to merit a murdeier's stroke ?" asked the Herali, as 
he still retained his hold on the other's collar. 

** 'Twas the Comito that uiged me to it !" he replied. 

" You lie — villain, you lie !" vociferated the enraged Comito. 

« What is your name and calling 1" asked the Herau. 

<< Ecebolus! and" 

" Enough !" replied the Herali, as he raised the dagger high above his head, and plunged it into 
his dastard bosom. , 

Ailer the deed was done, and the red blood, as it issued from the mortal wound, was sprinkling 
the carpet, the Comito, with an apparent natural calmness, spoke to the Herali thus : " Come, take 
the lifeless caitiff's body and throw it into the Bosphorus from the gallery which I will show you. 
Come, take it up, and I will assist you." 

The Herali took the body up as commanded, and disposed of it as directed. He threw it over 
the balustrades into the deep stream. The pale moon shone from her high firmament on the trou- 
bled waters, and the wild roundelay of the boatman was the requiem of Ecebolus, as he sank be- 
neath the angry waves. 

" What do you think of the faith of woman now V asked the Comito, with unruffled brow, as 
she sat down in the moonlit gallery. 

« It is a phantom disappearing at pleasure," rq>lied the Herali. " But do you not regret the mur- 
der of Ecebolus 1" 

" No ! why should I ? Has he not lied in his throat, when he said I urged him to kill yoa f 
Would that you had choked him, and made him swallow that lie ! 'Twas jealousy, believe it was, 
that made him threaten thy life ! He said I whispered your name last night, in my sleep ; bat of 
this I know nothing. I am glad he is out of the way, for I had grown heartily tired of him and his 
saspicions." 

** Will yoa not grow tked of me, too 1" asked the Herali. 

« Not while yoa xefdse to laka eegnisanoe of niy edioBs. Bewere of any ■orviiUaiiM m m^ 



17 



2T2 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

conduct, and all things will go well. Provoke me, and you will find a woman every way diapoied 
and qualified to resent the pruvocaiion, even to the death. Don't you recollect the woman that camo 
to release you while in the dungeon?" 

■** I never saw her before." 

«* It is Abigail, the Jewess." 

<* Ha !" spoke the Herali, in much trepidation ; « and Ahimeleck was her son; and I his murderer I 
She then recognised in mo the murdeier of her son. This then accounts for her frightful appear- 
ance while in the dungeon. But I feai her not." 

« Bewaie of her ; for I lell you she is spiteful, and seeks revenge," cautioned the Comito. 

*' And you are abetting with hei for my destruction !" 

« You wrong me, Narses ; indeed you do !" 

" How came she to have in her hand an unsheathed dagger, if she came to me as a friendly mes- 
senger 1" asked the Herali, with much warmth. 

<' I know not ; but I will find out, and you shall be duly enlightened on that subject" 

" Well — well ! I find that you will govern. Bui you would not be willing for me to love you 
always 7" 

^* Indeed, Narses, I cannot consent to it ; for always is a very long lime ! I should be willing for 
jou to love me a httle while ; but indeed, dearest, not for ever." 

" Again I must submit. 

^* I will become the protectress of your fortunes, and the tutular divinity imaging your happiness.^ 

« Upon what conditions ?" asked the Heiali. 

Upon these conditions, love — that you sulTer me to make thy habitation where the nightingale 
sings, and the fiowers ever bloom. I must make fetters of the moonbeams, to chain thee to my 
side !" 

-<< I agree to it, dear one ; for the terms are light" 

A soft smile was seen to light the Comito's intellectual face. It was in mockery of her own fan- 
ciful conditions. She sat there in the soft moon-lit hour of love, the empress of the Herali's des- 
tiny. The limbs, modelled with a perfection scarcely to be expected in fiesh and blood, were seen 
through the thin gauze silk, beautifully enticing. The breasts, white as a summer's rose bleached 
in the morning's earliest dews, weie parted by a stray curl, which had wandered in mere wanton- 
ness adown her bosom. Again the Herali was beside himself; for eyes could not look on such, 
beauty without being ravislied. The Comito, discovering the inflammable nature of his passions, got 
np, and asked him to fetch a losc from the farther end of the balcony, which she had left theie in 
the morning. The Herali proceeded to obey her commands, but had not gone more than a half- 
dozen paces before he stepped on a trap-door, and was precipitated into the waters below. As he 
swam around the palace walls to gain a landing on one of the streets, she cried out to him in this 
wise : " A good bribe to Neptune will secure you a comfortable birth in his watery dominions 1" 
The Herali said not a word in answer. 

She left the balcony, and took her way through the long galleries and corridors of the palace, 
lighted by a hundred lamps. She looked occasionally at her beautiful person as she passed the 
highly polished steel mirrors that hung along the diflercnt passages. She could not be otherwise 
than pleased with her own looks ; for she was certainly a thing that one could love fondly. As she 
entered her chamber, Abigail, the Jewess, was sitting on the sofa, playing with the dagger. 

<' Ecebolus is slain, and Abimeleck lies in his bloody grave unavenged !" rather soUloquised the 
Comito, as she threw herself on the sofa, than addressed her words to the Jewess. 

" Ecebolus slain ?" asked the Jewess. 

** *Tis true — and by the Herali," answered the Comito. 

** May God's cuisc wither his right arm, and death come without repentance!" 

" As your prayer is uttered, Abigail, you had better retire to bed !" commanded the Comito. 

li I go— not to sleep, but to meditate revenge !" replied the Jewess, as she stalked into an adjoin- 
ing chamber. 

The Comito, the most beautiful woman of her day, had been in bed some two hours when she 
was awoke by some confused noise in the streets. She listened, and the wild cry of fire reached 
her ears. She screams, but no friendly one is near to give consolation. The discordant voice of 
the Jewess, Abigail, as she cries fire ! fire ! fire ! is heard above the wild uproar without What 
does the silent midnight reveal ? 'J^he satiated lover turns away with loathing from the object that 
has fed the fiame of his passion. The assassin, for his victim, is stealthily stalking in the house's 
shadow of the moon, and the by-alleys and waste places of the city. The hypocrite is uttering a 
prayer to an incensed deity, and hopes by mere trickery to bribe the Omnipotent's wrath. The man 
of pleasure is fleeing the revel that has wrinkled his brow. The blushing maiden in her first crime 
is weeping for the shame that will soon be shameless. The poet that has lived in a world of flow- 
ein, has lived to see the fruits of his divine imaginings — those sweet emotions of the alembic brain-^ 
neglected. His fondest calculations vanish awhile ; but hope whispers of green fields of to-morrow, 
and he is young again. To-morrow comes, and the thread that linked him to a better home is 
broken. The scheme of to-morrow is half finished by to-day's disappointment The clouds of yes* 



THEODORIC. 273 

terday were endured with a right good will, by the lure of the hope that gave promise of a sunshine 
on to-morrow. Vain anticipation ! Man lives a fugitive from his own virtues, and diee the slave 
of his own passions ! 

To be awaked from a deep sleep by the cry of fire, is painful even to the stoutest bosom. The 
Comito rushed from her room into the long corridor that divided the palace into two great divisions. 
There she met the Jewess, Abigail, almost bereft of her senses. 

** The God of Abraham protect us !" cried the Jewess. " The doors are all fastened that lead to 
the city, and we must perish ! Shield us, thou God of Judah, as thou didst thy servant, Moeeiy 
in the bulrushes !" 

The smoke had descended in thick volumes from the blazing roof, and ^ey were almost floffi)- 
cated. 

" To the balcony, Abigail ; that is the only chance of escape ! Come— what ails the woman V* 
hurriedly cried the Comito, as the Jewess folded her arms, and took a seat. 

** It is useless to go— we must perish !" 

** No such thing. Come, follow me, and I promise a speedy deliverance from this burning place.'' 

They gained the balcony, the fire following in the rear with rapid strides.^ The moon shone fit- 
Kdly down through the cuiling smoke, and a solemn stillness was resting on'^he sleepless waters of 
the Bosphorus. As she looked ovei the quiet waters, and heard no sounds of oars, nor saw no shal- 
lop, the Comito*s heart sunk within; she gave one loud and piercing scream — then again all was 
still but the rudo waters lashing the palace walls. 

" Ha ! she dies !" muttered the Herali to himself, as the wild scream was wafted by the night 
breeze to his ears. « Would that she loved me ; then all would be well. But she has scorned 
thrice my vows, and she must die.'' 

** Save the Comito, Narses," commanded the Verina, as she rushed out of the palace walls into 
the street. 

'* She shall be saved," replied the Herali, as he passed by the Verina, on his way round the east- 
ern wing of the palace. 

■** Zeno, save the Comito, and secure the gratitude of your mistress," asked the Verina of her ge- 
neral. 

** Who do you speak to?" asked the quandom Tiascalisseus. 

*< To you — begone, instanter, and save the Comito, or deep and lasting shame awaits you !" spoke 
the Verina, as she scowled furiously on her general. 

" Thanks to the fates," cried the Herali, as the roof fell in, '* all hopes are now cut ofif of her 
rescue!" 

As the Comito stood listlessly musing on her approaching end, she heard from the waters below 
a soft voice crying, " Comito ! Comito !" She looked down, and lo ! a boat greeted her eyes. 

«* Will you save me 1" asked, most piteously, the Comito, of the person in the boat 

** Jump into the water and my life upon it," answered the boatman. 

** What, this horrid distance 1 it almost makes me dizzy to look down on the fearful distance ! 
But as it is my only chance of being saved, I must risk it — here I come," spoke the Comito as she 
leaped into the Bosphorus, and was picked up by a new lover. 

'* Will you receive into your boat a daughter of Israel," asked Abigail the Jewess, as the boat 
was leaving the palace. 

** A Jewess did you say 1" 

<' One of the persecuted of the eartb !" answered the Jewess. 

** No ! stay and bum, for thy accursed race should be destroyed !" spoke the boatman, as he 
lapidly paddled the boat into the wide stream. 

The fire was making sad work with the palace. When the roof fell in, one of the blackened and 
half consumed rafters became detached from the main body and fell into the balcony. A strongs 
current of air blowing at the same time from the Bosphorus, conveyed the sparks into the corridor, 
which, speedily catching the light tapestry, enveloped the whole side of the palace in flames. 

" I will trust in Israel's God," cried the Jewess Abigail as she paced slowly, with measured step, 
the whole length of the balcony, " and he will be my de " but at that moment she stepped on 

the trap-door into the Bosphorus, and was received into the arms of the Herali. 

• • • • • • 

Five years had gone by since the burning of the palace — still the Comito had eluded the search 
of the Herali. New schemes and other pursuits had almost obliterated her likeness from his 
memory. There were times when old recollections would revive on his memory the likeness of that 
beautiful thing, and he would quit the gay haunts of his pleasure, and awhile indulge in the mourn- 
ful solitude of thought. The thought of the Comito was the painful reminiscence of a by-gone day. 
The Verina had died when scheming other revolts, and by the mutation of fortune, another emperor 
was swaying the sceptre over the Christian East. The vast futurity was opening still to the ambi- 
fious Herali the schemes that the past had abandoned. He still retained his power and indoence 
in the city, and his faction had secured the favor of the new emperor. The palace had been rebuilt 
vnth. additional labor and coet, and superior splendor, and the Emperor Justinian was holdmg there 



274 



burton's gentleman's 



MAGAZINE. 



loB nightly revelfl. The Herali had refused to visit again the palace that would remind him lo £»• 
dbly of the supeiior attractions of the Comito. Meeting one evening in the streets the Emperoc 
Justinian, he was so pressed to visit the palace that night, that ho could not forego the visit. H« 
went The night — a lovelier peihaps had never been — was lit up by the sol'tesi beams of ibe high 
xiioon. They sat in the new balcony, watching the leturning shallops of the fishermen. 
' « Do you recollect the trick the Comito played on you some years ago V* asked Justinian. 

** Remember it? — yea, that I do, and now regret almost nightly tho termination of things on that 
awful night," replied tho Herali. 

** Would you forgive the Comito," asked the emperor, " if she was still alive 1" 

** Most iieely — but the wish is vain, for she found a watery grave. I hoard hei scream ia tfaia 
-very balcony — or the one that stood where this is erected, and swam into the stream to save hei«' 
I luid just arrived underneath the balcony, when some person fell into the water. I caught her in 
my arms, thinking that it was the Comito. But who do you think it was?" asked the HeralL 

<< Indeed I have no idea !" 

« It was old Abigail the Jewess," answered the HeralL 

« Where was the Comito ?" asked the emperor. 

" I know not. I only know that she was not in the balcony, for I called and caUed, bat A% 
answered not." 

« And what became of the Jewess ?" 

" I drowned her." 

« Drowned her !" repeated Justinian. 

" I could have saved her, but did not, and she drowned heraelf— if you think it the better paia* 
phrase of her death," replied the Herali. 

'* 1 could have saved her too, Narses, but it was my pleasure to let her die," spoke Joatioian. 

" How ? — were you on the stream that night ?" asked the Herali. 

« Yes." 

" Did you see the Comito ?" 

At that moment a beautiful lady walked from an adjoining room on the platform wheie tha 
emperor and the Herali were sitting, and took a seat beside the emperor. As she sat down Justi* 
nian asked her if she would recollect " Narses of the Herali." 

** Why do you ask that question ? Have I not cause to remember him forever?" 

" This then is the Herali," replied the emperor, pointing at the same time to Narses, who had 
risen from his seat and Was walking rapidly across the floor. 

** And this the Comito," spoke the Herali ; and bowing gracefully to the now illustrious lady, ha 
resumed his scat with as quiet a bosom as the discovery would admit of. 

But tho angry passions of their bosom had long passed away, and time had erased the strong 
impressions of their youth. The Comito, perhaps, clung closer to the emperor's side than was her 
wont; but it was needless, for ambition was now the ruling passion of the Herali's boao&«, and the 
mere mention of old time events had but little power to revive the past emotions. 

« The Comito," spoke the emperor, " is now my lawful and wedded wife — sole Empress of tha 
East," 

** And wilt thou forgive the Herali ?" asked Narses as he bended his knees to tho empren. 

" I will forgive thee heartily and cheerfully if thou wilt promise to engrave, on the tablet of thy 
memory this advice." 

** Name it — I promise to do it," answered the Herali. 

«* It is this : — Never to mistake light beaitedncss for vice ; for many maidens that the world deem 
of easy virtue, aie as spotless as the babe at nurse, while the vicious, by their wiles of hypocrisy, 
have purchased of the world an immaculate virtue. Remember this, and the Empress Theodora 
will be the friend of the Herali. 

Jackson, Tennessee. 



JUNE. 



Now come the rosy June and blue-eyed Hours, 
With song of birds and stir of leases and wings, 
And lun of rills and bubble of bright springs. 
And hourly burst of pretty buds to flowers ; 
With buiz of happy bees in violelrbowers. 
And gushing lay of the loud lark, who sings 
Hi|^ in the nlent sky, and sleeks his wuigs 



In frequent sheddings of the flying ahtmva ;— 
With plunge of struggling sheep in plaaby flood% 
And timid bleat of shorn and shivering lamb^ 
Answered in far-ofi'faintDess by its dam ; 
And cuckoo's call from green depths of all woodsy 
And hum of many soundf, making one Yoioe 
That sweetens the smooth air with a mdodiont 
noise. 



THE PICTURE. 



nt i#BH rsMT, iMi«9 somm of ths wbekit miBimitih nai^vKantA^ 



** Keep a thing seven years and you^ll have a oso for it,'' is a maxim of domestic economy which 
Vied to he reverenced by oar grana-mothers before steam and electro-magnetism came into fashion.. 
The saying is as true now as ever it was, and it is as applicable to matters of intellect and science as 
to the odds and ends which are accumulated by time in the pigeon holes and drawers of an old deakp, 
or a garret lumber room. Keep any item of information, any science, art, or aocompliuhment, for 
•even years, and it is ten to one, in these overturning, panic-breeding, s|)ecttlating, smashing, and 
fidling times, that although you may now be rich and prosperous, you will earn your living by that 
which you have thus preserved, or at any rate, some lucky accident may turn it to profitable use. 

My friend, Jerry Godowny, experienced this. Twenty years ago, when we were at Cambridge 
together, Jerry was a fine spirited youth, almost at the head of his class ; and heir to an independent 
fortune. His acknowledged talents, and the ease with which ho maintained his rank in the class, 
enabled him to direct his attention to a variety of sciences and pursuits, which were not required by 
the college government as a part of his regular course of study ; and truly he used the Ulicrty thus 
afybrded him without stint or hindrance. At one time he joined the Heimetic Club and studied 
chemistry, con amore. Then all his talk, between the pufis of a cigar, was of gases and acids, hy* 
drogen and oxygen, Davy and Gay-Lussac I never could go into his study without breaking my 
ahins over retorts and crucibles ; and on one occasion I was very near saving the president the 
trouble of signing my diploma, by swallowing a murderous half pint of oxalic acid, which waa stand- 
ing in a drinking goblet on his study table, looking as innocent as cold water. 

'* Pray tell me, Jeiry," I used to say to him, ** of what possible advantage can it ever be to you U> 
learn chemistry so thoroughly. I think the smattering which most of us are content with here, is. 
quite enough for a gentleman. It is of no use to sCufffor a professorship, for you see Dr. G. is quita 
a young man and has no thoughts of resigning*' 

*' Bah," he would say. " Hang Dr. G. I study chemistry because I like it Besides it may be 
serviceable some time or other * Keep a thing seven years and yoo will have a use for it,* as my 
gnardian said to me the other day, when I was going to give Ben Skinner my shooting jacket, with, 
the thirteen pockets." 

Just when he had made himself a good practical chemist, he found that he had ** eatisfied the sen- 
timent ;" and in his various attempts to analyse vegetable substances, having had his attention drawn, 
to the subject of botany, he entered upon the study of that science with great enthusiasm, explored 
every swamp and forest in the county of Middlesex, and actually added two hundred new plants to 
those enumerated in Dr. Bigelow's Florula. Before the end of his sophomore year, he had exchanged 
botany for mineralogy ; and when he had collected the best cabinet in the state, except that of the 
University, he dropped mineralogy and entered upon a course of zoology, with the same ardor as ever.. 
Nothing but the most methodical and patient industry would have enabled him to follow out these 
•todies successfully without seriously interfering with their classical and mathematical lessons, which 
were necessary for maintaining his rank in the class — but he did maintain it to the last. 

8ome time in his junior year he became acquainted with the Greenoughs, and as a necessary 
consequence to one of his mercurial temper, he was inoculated with the love of art His horlus 
eiectu, minerals, and butterflies were now thrown aside, and all his conversation was of ** Corregio9 
and staff." His summer afternoons, instead of being spent in a ramble to Sweet Auburn or Fresh 
Pond with a tin box under his arm, were agreeably whiled away in the study of Horatio, to whom 
he sometimes bared his elegant bust or well turned leg, and repaid by his services as a model for the 
delightful lessons on art, which he drew from the conversation of the young sculptor. This agreeable 
occupation was varied by an occasional call upon John Greenough, the brother of Horatio, who oc- 
cupied apartments in a pleasant little cottage in the western part of the town. From this talented 
artist he imbibed no small degree of enthusiasm for painting. He sat for his portrait gave orders for 
sundry pictures, and became quite learned in the history and peculiarities of the old masters. By 
means of his constant intercourse with the Greenoughs, and by visiting every fine collection of pio-^ 
tures in the neighboring city, he had become, before the end of his senior year, quite a connoisseur^ 

<* Of what use," said his guardian, an old gray headed bank director in Boston, ** of what eartbly 
tUM can this eveilastingf picture hunting be to you, Jerry 1" 

"OhV replied my friend, ** it will come in play some time or other, I dare ny. At any rate, it i» 
a source of pleasure now, and the knowledge I acquire will be safely laid up. Keep a thing sevea 
jean, you know, guardy,. and yoa will have s use for it, as yon told me dxmt the sliootiDg jacket,'^ 

Tox. TX^— >iro. TX. M 



276 burton's gentleman's maoazine. 

Four years after he took his degree, Jerry lost his whole fortune, or at least he appeared to have 
lost it, by an extensive fire in Boston, which laid in ashes a dozen stoies, all situated in the aame 
pow. His agent had neglected to insure the buildings a whole week after the policy had expired, and 
dnnag this lime the conflagration had taken place. Fortunately Jerry did not owe a cent. After 
taking a survey of the smoking ruins, and recellecting that he bad not a dollar towards rebuilding 
Ilia atores, he walked into a friend's compting-house, and offered himself for the situation of super- 
cacgo in a ship which was to sail the next week for Malaga. His offer was promptly accepted, and 
in a few days he had taken leave of his friends and was dashing away before a fine breeze on the 
Inoad Atlantic. 

Arrived at Malaga, ho found the Spaniards ** in the midst of a revolution.'' The Constitution had 
just been proclaimed ; and turning and overturning was the order of the day. Fortunately the dia- 
ddered state of politics did not interfere with the success of bis voyage. Alibis affairs went on proe- 
pcrously, and he was aheady counting upon a few hundred doUais, fairly earned, as the reward of 
^ toils. 

One evening, when the ship was just ready to sail, there came on board a half-tipsy Spanish 
sailor, with a picture under his arm, which he offered to sell. Jerry glanced at it, and by the dim 
light of his cabin lamp, he could only make out that it was an old painting of the Madonna, very 
vreU coated with smoke and dust 

^ Where did you obtain this V said he, to the sailor. 

<*It came out of the monastery which was broken up and riddled last week," was the reply. 

^ Then, I suppose, the long and short of the matter is, that you stoic it." 

** By no means, Senor. The people, it is true, made some reprisals on the priests, who have been 
§at many centuries plundering them. This picture was taken from the monastery by the proper 
officers of the state, and sold at auction. I bought it for a dollar. You may have it for five. What 
say you to the baiguin?'' 

"** Done,'' replied Jerry ; and the sailor took his money and departed, remarking quietly that he was 
muy eonienio with his five hundred per cent, piofit. 

While Jerry's mania for art had lasted, he had learnt how to clean old pictures in the most perfect 
manner. Indeed, he never did things by halves ; and when laughed at by his classmates for the 

ns-taking assiduity with which he applied himself to the acquisition of this accomplishment, he 
only replied by quoting the old saw of bis guardian, which was now to receive its application. 
On his passage home he cleaned the picture, and when this interesting process wgs completed he be- 
came fully convinced that the Madonna must have been painted by some great master. 

His next voyage was to Jjondon, and the picture remained hung up in his cabin. Unfortunately 
.the ship was wrecked on the coast of England, and the officers and ciew were barely able to save 
their lives and their lightest valuables, by taking to the boats. Jeriy had learnt to love his picture ; 
and when they refused to let him take his portable desk, on account of its bulk and weight, he hastily 
mazed the Madonna, saying " Surely you will not object to my taking this.*' The sailors laughed at 
liis odd fancy, and permitted him to convey it on board the boat. 

How it escaped luin in such a scene I could never clearly learn ; but one thing is certain, viz : — 
that Jerry, well assured of its value, held on to it until he reached London. A few sovereigns, a 
letter from his friend, Horatio, to a great London artist, and the picture, constituted the sum total of 
liis personal estate when he reached the metropolis. 

^< N'importe," said Jerry, when the captain quizzed him about his last incumbrance, ** N'importe, 
keep a thing seven years and you will have a use for it." 

The first thing he did after presenting his letter to the artist was to show him the Madonna. He 
was enraptured. It was a real gem of art — an unquestionable Raphael. Jeny's long kept connois- 
aenrship had not misled him. The artist, like many other artists that I know, had sooL So instead 
«f taking advantage of^Jeiry's penniless condition, to cheapen the picture for himself, he set abuut 
xnaking a grand breeze among the connoisseurs and artists of the metropolis, with a view of raising 
some money for him by selling it. He invited all his noble patrons to his studio to admire it ; wrote 
about the grand discovery of" the hitlierto unknown production of the divine Raphael" in the ma* 
gazincs and newspapers ; and finally consigned it to Christie, to form the grand attiaction in a coming 
Sale of paintings. 

The sensation was prodigious. All the amateurs with long purses were at the auction; and when 
the Madonna, cunningly reserved till the last, was set up the competition was altogether unprec^ented. 
Two thouswd pounds was the first bid, three thousand the next. The artists themselves held their 
Ineath with amazement, at the eagerness of their titled competitors, by which they were soon dis- 
tanced ; and at the end of fifteen minutes' hard bidding it was knocked down to a noble duke, at ten 
thousand pounds. 

•* There, now," said Jerry, « I did not make myself a connoisseur for nothing. Keep an item of 
jknowladge seven years and youUl have a use for it." 

So Jeny'g ttores were rebuilt; and he now, when he is tired of looking at the pictures in his fine 
««nery of the American painters, occasionally amuses himself with botanical rambles and chemical 
^xperimenti 



FIRST LOVE 



A SKETCH. 



BT GSOBGX B. OBAHAM, XB(l>» BDITOB OF THE CASKET XAGAEIVE, PHILA. 



Thebe iB notiiing like first love ! The warm and generous gush of the heart's young af&ctioui- 
It b never forgotten, but haunts the soul like a dream of music, through all after life. It clings t^ 
the heart amid the wreck of all our earliest, brightest hopes, and reposes in the sanctuary unsullied 
amid corruption. We look back to it as to an existence enjoyed under the influence of an enchanter'v 
wand ; there appears to have been so little of earth's dull reality mingled with those hoars. Evea 
the villain hardened in crime, whose rank offences smell to heaven, weeps over his life of shame, ar 
he thinks of the hour when his soul was spotless, and his heart adored a fair being, who filled both 
waking thoughts and dreams. It was the sunlight of her existence, but the shadows have piiwniT 
over it, and all else is dark and desolate. 

I can still remember Isabella Wilmer. She was so gentle, so confiding, so beautiful, and to my 
youthful fancy, so near perfection. Her bright eyes ! I can see them sparkle yet, and her silver voice 
rings out upon my car, in cadence like angel's music ; it was so touching, and tender and sweet 

I had taken a drive down to the city of New York, with my college chum and a cousin of hers, 
when I first saw her. It was the season of vacation, and Harry Morton and I had determined to 
spend it in a jovial manner. So we had dropped down from ** Old Yale" to his father's seat on the 
Hudson, which was but a pleasant drive from the city, resolving to leave all our dullness as well as 
our books behind us, and to enjoy life as we should during the period of relaxation. Harry had spoken 
repeatedly of his cousin, and had always been enthusiastic in his praise of her beauty, but he wm 
80 reckless in his nature that I had no very high regard for the sincerity of all his fine professionsr 
in relation to Miss Wilmer. Yet I had too high an opinion of his taste not to expect to find a beau- 
tiful girl. We had sauntered away the afternoon in the city, and about eight o'clock in the evening, 
he proposed that we should wait upon her. He was determined to surprise, by the suddenneos of 
his visit, as he had not written to her, he affirmed, for more than six weeks, and he ** wished to see 
what effect it would have upon her." 

" And now, egad, Ned," said he, <* if you take it into that villanous head of yours to fall in love 
with my little peach-blossom, I'll slit your throat for you as soon as we get back to college." 

" Don't be jealous, Harry, I pray you ! I have no very high opinion of your taste, you well know, 
nor do I expect to hear of your divinity after I have once seen her. Don't curb me, therefore, I pray 
you, until I show a disposition to fall in love. I've known many a man change his mind in a fort- 
night as to the virtue, beauty or amiability of his lady-love, and as you have not seen this same 
cousin of yours for nearly six months, you'll find her, I warrant ye, a great, homely raw-boned girl, 
and in no respect the little fairy, with whose praise you have fairly sickened me." 

** Reserve your gall, Ned — reserve your gall. I'll have none of your bitterness ; Fm all honey now, 
and if I don't show yon as sweet a little angel as ever stole out of heaven, write me down as aas, as 
yonr favorite has it What ! do you think I'd fall in love with such an ugly lump of mortality as 
would suit t/our fancy 1 Not a whit of it, Ned ! — not a whit of it I take it that I am somewhat 
of a connoiseur in such matters !" 

^ Hold ! Harry, hold ! no more of it, < as ye love me,' I've heard her beauty praised often enon^ ; 
let us see some of it, man, and then for youi eulogiums." 

** Patience ! Ned, patience ! Cherish that prince of virtues. It has made a man of inany a dull 
fellow, while your fine young gentleman has ruined himself for ever, by popping the question to a 
pretty girl, before she had time to scan his proportions. Above all things, I hate your hasty man. 
But here is the house ! Remember my caution. No attempts to steal away the heart of the littW 
lamb, if you set any store by your wind-pipe." 

We were conducted by the servant into finely furnished parlors, of one of the handsomest houMia. 
ID Broadway. Every thing in the rooms wore an air of neatness as well as of luxury, and there had 
been such a manifestation of taste in the selection, but more particularly in the arrangement of every 
thing around us, that I could not but help exclaiming — 

u Egad, Harry, here are some evidences of taste on the part of the girl, I'll admit, whatever I majr 
deny in you." 

Isabella and her mother entered the room at that instant, and put a stop to all obeeivationf. Tb* 
old lady walked with a steady and matronly dignity towards us, but neither Hany nor myself peid 
much attention that way. If my expectations had been raised by Harry's description of his oousin'a 
beauty, they were more than realised in the brilliant vision of female loveliness that stood before m. 

Hany had risen to reodve her, and there wae a fluah of pride upon hia dieflki and a fin ia hiflt 



278 BURTON^s gentleman's magazine. 

eye, as his gaze met her*8. She had taken a step into the room when her eye fell upon my com- 
panion, and she stood ti«mbling like a startled fawn, as the blood shot up over her snowy and pal- 
pitating bosom, even to her very brow. I had never seen such perfection of beauty. Her auburn 
eiirfs were suffered to hang loosely over her shoulders ; her full, blue laughing eye was as liquid as 
water, and as the long lashes fell dreamily over ihem, a single tear started from its concealment and 
glistening a moment, fell, as those lustrous orbs opened again upon my companion. A sudden pale- 
ness instantly overspread her countenance, and her fine forehead, which, like her exquisitely chissel- 
ed chin, a sculptor might have envied, became as white as marble, and save a soft, rosy tinge on her 
peach-Uke cheek, and the slight lines of blue which marked the stealing veins, all color had fled. 
Nor did it return. It was the calm repose of her countenance, and I wondered* as I saw a being so 
apparently ethereal, advance towards us. She extended her lily hand to Harry, and save a alight 
flush, which was for an instant perceptible upon her features as ho pressed it warmly, and a smiW 
which flitted a moment around her lips and disclosed her pearly teeth, as sho returned his graluifr> 
tions, her countenance retained its composure. I thought she appeared melancholy. 

She could not have been more than sixteen, and her form was as faultless as her face. Ralbar 
above the middle height, with a figure light and graceful, though in proportion rounded and full, sho 
waa all in appearance that might delight the eye, or win the adoration of the heart; and as I regard* 
•d her in wonder, I could appreciate all that Harry had said in relation to her. 

« Isabella,*' said he, af^cr the ceremony of introduction and the usual congratulations and inquiries 
had been gone through with, ** you look paler, much paler than when last I saw you." And there 
was a huskiness in his voice which betokened a depth of feeling for her welfare, with which from hia 
wild and teckless disposition I could scarcely have credited him. 

*^ Why, yes," replied her mother, as sho perceived the tremor and agitation of the fair girU " Isabella 
liaa had a slight cold, which has clung to her longer than usual, and the necessary care has kept her 
within doors, but we intend now that the weather is growing pleasanter, to tide out frequently, and 
in a few weeks we shall, perhaps, leave for the country. A little exercise will bring back her roses.'^ 

« Oh, I hope so," said Harry, giving vray to his natural humor ; <* bring her up the Hudson, and 
ril warrant a cure. An occasional climbing of the rocks — a dash among the mountain scenery of 
a dewy morn, and a little rusticating generally, will make her as brown as a native, and as hearty 
and wild as a young deer. Bring her up duiing vocation, and V\\ match myself and my friend £d, 
here, against any for gallantry. You i^all not want for good company and pastime. Ah, aunt, 
I see how it is — the city beaux have been playing the mischief. A little ruralisbg will drive then 
all out of her head." 

« Silence, cousin ! or we shall all think you have gone out of yours." 

« Not I, e;;ad ! I know the value of having one's wits about him. A fellow without them, may 

find himself robbed of his best treasure, wiifiout being (he wiser, as an Irishman would say. I 

always keep an eye to windward — look out for squalls, even in a calm." 

• ••••• 

A few weeks found Misd Wilmer with us at the residence of her uncle, upon the Hudson. The 
eold which her mother had termed slight, and which evidently had been a dangerous matter, gia- 
dually gave way under the influence of mounttin scenery, the bracing country air, and Harry's 
presence. In truth, Harry showed so much solicitude ioi her welfare, that to him perhaps belongs 
the credit of having effected the cure. I made this discoveiy in the course of my observations, that 
the rosea on her cheek assumed a deeper hue, and her spirits regained their wonted gaiety, when- 
ever she was left alone by his side. Sho listened with more attention to his directions, and showed 
a more implicit obedience to his wishes, than to those of any other. Their rambles together became 
more frequent, and as the vacation grew near its end, became prolonged, insomuch, that some spoke 
of the night air, and the dew, as injurious. Notwithstanding, she grew better rapidly, and when 
we left for College, the exercise she had taken, had made sad inroads upon the projects of that fdl 
destroyer— consumption. 

There were not wanting evil tongues, however, to attribute the disease to a mere love sickneaa ; 
and one of the old servants of the family was heard to declaim in this wise, with great energy and 
flnnness, in his opmion : 

** Nothing but master Harry telling her he loved her, cured her ! I know it. It's a sovereign 
eure for the consumption. Don't tell me about exercise and mountain acenery — it's all moonshine. 
Fve grown gray in batchelorship, and I tell you, one and all, that love is a grand specific for all 
pulmonary diseases. See a young lady, fretting and pining away, her complexion becoming sallow, 
and herself becoming thin, and I'll warrant you it's all for love of some rascally cousin, who has 
baen whispering sentimental nonsense into her ear, without coining out like a man, and offering 
her his hand and heart I go in for slaughtering all male cousins ! If I had a daughtei, Fd ooix^ 
hide the first cousin of bar's, who came pawing around her like a cat, and eut&ing up his nonaenae 
with his college jokca and liia violin. It'a rank muidar ! It*a treaaon, and any aoamp who ie 
goiity of it, should be hanied upon the next tree." 

T., 4,..4k -A^-^^^,^,^^ ^y^^^^ aailiwrMti nf thn nlfl min^lbngTin tn hr nf his npininn lajnr TUs 
iqpi riffnwi, an dQtb^ aoaMed toitp ^a fcitfur into the nqrstegy rf tha tftir> Tlia rati tnuk 



THE MUSICAL DOCTOR. ^79 

•oflered to develop itself, however, about eighteen months after, when I had the honor of dasdof 
at HaiTy*s wedding. But whether the beauty of the girl dazzled me, so as to pat me half in latt 
with her myself, that confounded college vacation has knocked all thoughts of matrimony out of 
my bead. Whetber i grew somewhat vexed at the way the cure was performed, and have settled 
down into a firm belief of the deception of the sex, or whether one loses his perception of tha 
beautiful, as the heart grows older, is a mystery ; but my opinion ie rafudly atrangthening, that 
there is nothing in life after all like mbst loyjc ! G • 



THE MUSICAL DOCTOR: 

OR) 

THE CHROMATIC PRESCRIPTION. 



TBAirSLATKO VBOM THK VBKSTCH, BT BBNJAMIX MATTHIAti BSOf BDITOB OV TBB BATUB9AT 

GHBOBICLKi PHILA. 



tScene.— Office, of Dr. Orfila— the Doctor is seated between a table fUn oT medieines and a counter covered ^iVh 




^ell ! I have at length finished the eircolar annoancing the formttion^ under my presidency, 6f 
-a Society for the Improvement of Popohir Singing— the Orphmi Satiety t etc. The title b good ; 
the Orfiiaon would have been better, but there is no dishonor in yielding to Orpheus. Sometimee 
I think that to unite the two terms would be a happy alliance— for example, it might be well to call 
the Association the ** Orpheus and Orfilqfn** but perhaps in so dohig, the ignorant vulgar would 
consider me vain. 

But now I must attend to the prescription for the catarrh of my friend, the aged peer. 

(^Writee.) 

Liquorice, 1 oa. 

Extract of Comichon, 6 dr. 

Stay — I have forgotten my musical composition, that I left yesterday, with the iMtbar onfiaiAe^* 
iSing,.) 

« Listen, my love, I sigh, 
Listen, etc 

Tra, b, la, h, la, la. Tra, li, la, fe." 

The bar b good. (Sings,) 

•« Listen, my lo-^MJ-o-ove, I si-i-i-i-igli.'' 

Tes, that's it My « love" is a minim, and I will place a patue over ^'aigh/* (He writes en 
JUs music paper,) Bj the way, I must not forget to pat some of Reynauld's Lozenges in the 
peer's prescription — it is well to encourage worthy contemporaries. (He writes while singing 
Tiro, de, la, la, la.) 

Mustard, 2 dr. 

Reynaald's Lozenges, morning and evening. 

Decidedly I think that a bar of tiiplet crotchets would improve " my love.** ( Writes fa, mi, fa, 
4oly la,) 

Heavens I what have I done ! I have vmtten my last notes on the prescription. 

Liquorice, 1 oz. 

Extract oif Comichon, 6 dr. 
Fa, mi, fa, sol, la. 



380 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

Am I distracted 1 I shoald not be astonished to find that I have written the prescription on the 
music. Good ^acious, jes! 

Listen, my love, I sigh, 
Listen, etc. 

Tra, la, la, la, la, la. Tra, la, la, la. 
Mustard, 2 dr. 

Reynauld's Lozenges morning and evening. 

What a woful mistake ! ( The servant introduces a visiter.) 

Visiter. — Sir, I come to consult you. 

Doctor. — As a physician, or as President of the Orpheus. 

YisiTXB. — As a physician. I cannot sleep. 

Doctor. — What a pity ! (^Sings.) 

♦* While ail around us sleep," etc. 

Visiter. — Can you tell me why this is so 1 

Doctor. — Ceitainly — the case is simple. It is because sleep avoids you. 

Visiter. — And the remedy 1 

Doctor. — We shall see. {Sings.) 

" The sweet sleep of innocence," etc. 

[The visiter then details to Dr. Orfila the precise symptoms of his affliction.] 

Doctor. — Well — I understand your case fully. Make yourself easy ; I will administer a violent 
remedy, which will give you some temporary uneasiness, but will assuredly make you sleep. Re* 
torn here to-morrow for the prescription. 

[The first visiter goes out, and at the same moment another enters.] 

Visiter. — Sir, I have come to consult you. 

Doctor. — Do you need my advice as a physician or as President of the Orpheus V 

Visiter. — As a Doctor of Music Hear me, sir. I am one of Bobiuo's singers, and within Ihe 
last eight days have bad the misfortune to lose three of my best notes. Moreover, I find it impos* 
sible to sing — my voice is gone, and I am not myself, even in a single bar. 

Doctor. — The devil ! That's unfortunate. ( Writes very quickly.) 

Emetic, 2 gr. 

Jalap, 30 gr. 

Visiter. — They tell me you are President of a machine for ameliorating Popular Singing. I am 
popular — I sing — and my voice has need of amelioration. What do you think ? Can you give 
me any advice? 

Doctor. — Be not uneasy — I understand your case. Call on me to-moirow, and I will tell you 
in writing, what you must do. 

[On the following morning the two visiters returned together, and the Doctor, in a fit of musical 
abfltiaction, reversed their prescriptions, giving to the first what he intended for the second, and 
to the second what he intended for the first.] 

First Visiter. — (Looking at his prescription, reads) — " Sing slowly from the couplet of 
*« The Parisienne" the air of »' Soldier of the Tri-Colored Flag" giving to each note its full sound 
and beating the time regularly. Repeat this exercise eight successive hours every day." 

The deuce ! He is light in calling this a violent remedy. It is truly a singular way to make 
me sleep. This prescription must be on the Homoeopathic principle ! 

Seconh Visiter. — Let me read my prescription. — (Reads) — "Take the following purgative 
mixture, diluted in a glass of water : — Emetic, Jalap, etc." 

Truly, this is a droll recipe to enable a man to recover his voice. Perhaps it is the famous syrup 
of the Italian Charlatan, which gave to Duprez his deep notes ! 

[The first visiter sung " Soldier of the Tri-Colored Flag" for six hours, and then fell asleepu 
ince that time he sleeps regulaily, and the exercise of singing has given him a voice that he care- 
fully cultivates. 

The second visiter took the medicine, and was violently purged. From that day he is enabled to- 
snng as usual, but the virtue of the presciiption is a mystery he is utterly unable to solve.] 



THE MAIL ROBBER. 



A TALE. 



T WILLIAM S. BURTON, P H I L A S A . 



At the close of one of those long and gloomy evenings which are peculiar to the end of the En- 
glish autamn, the sun was setting red and fiery, and seemed struggling for a resting-place amid the 
dark and heavy masses of clouds which rose from the horizon with strange and wonderful rapiditj. 
The sea breeze howled dismally as it dashed against the rugged face of a tail clifT, whose rocky emi- 
nence frowned oi^ the waters of an humble bay ; while the waves broke angrily on the narrow stiip 
of beach beneath, with a loud continous loar. The spray of the surf danced in the wind ; and tim 
gulls, as they wheeled to their craggy resting-places, screamed out their hideous notes as if they 
joyed in the presages of the coming storm. The fishermen's barks were high and dry upon tha 
beach — net a sail was to be seen upon the troubled sea, although an experiencect eye might have de» 
tected a small lugger hull-down in the offing, but standing to and fro under easy sail, evidently 
watching her opportunity to run in at the proper state of the tide, or waiting for a commonicaiioa 
from the shore. 

The shades of night closed rapidly around. A blue light was suddenly ignited in one of the re* 
cesses of the cliff, and burnt steadily for a few seconds, when it was as suddenly quenched. Tho 
lugger was immediately put about, her fore and mainsail taken in, and under a small jib and mnen 
she made direct for shore. A loud whistle from above, blown in short and sudden jerks, roused tifo 
inmate of the cleft, who dashed from his hiding-place in the rock, and jumped, pistol in hand, upoo 
the beach. Some few yards before him he discerned a figure, closely wrapped in a boat-cloak, glidioip 
rapidly away. 

'' What's the time of night, boy V* said the smuggler, evidently expecting the password in retom* 

The stranger kept on without reply. 

" Sculker ahoy ! — heave to, or I fire!" said the former speaker, cocking his pistol. 

*' Johnson, is that.you1" replied the stranger, turning back and walking towards the smuggler. 

" What, Mr. Etherington ? Well, I am glad you knew my voice and answered my hail — for had 
you kept on, I should have fiied ; and with the blood of a friend upon my hands, I could not havo 
expected to run the bosky little Susan's cargo safe and snug, although every thing does promise ao 
fair." ! 

<* Why, it was but last week that you succeeded in landing a valuable cargo free from intcrruptioD. 
Is she so soon ofifthe coast again 1" 

** God bless the little Susan !" said Johnson ; '* it's the name of the girl I love best, and the name 
of the craft that is making me a rich and happy man." 

^* Aye," said Etherington, with a groan, <* you say well — rich and happy ! The cursed gold has 
resolved itself into the essence of oui existence. The draught of bliss can be imbibed but frani • 
golden vase; while the metallic taint infects the quality of each ingredient, and spoils tho taste's pef- 
ception." 

" Why, lawyer, what's the matter 1 Your lips are white and thin, your eyes roll, and your cheeks 
are pale and haggard. I have half an hour to spare — come with me to Robin's Nook ; I have a firo 
there and a keg of brandy — you seem as if you wanted warming inside aa well as ouL** 

Mr. Etherington was a lawyer of some little eminence in the adjoining town, and had been of 
material service to Johnson in conducting his defence when prosecuted for smuggling. The penal* 
ties sought to be recovered were ruinous in amount, with the certainty of imprisonment, if found 
guilty, until the whole was paid. On another occasion, an af&ir of life and death, tho presmnpCm 
evidence against Johnson, for th» murder of a missing revenue officer, was so strong that eveij body 
anticipated the certainty of his swinging against the walls of the new county jail ; but EtberingtonlB 
tact and ingenuity, aided by a powerful use of the aurum potabilCf robb«5 tho executioner of his 
fees. The smuggler's gratitude knew no bounds ; and many an anker of Hollands or Cogniac, a roll 
of fine lace or silk, or a small leaden box of tea for the old lady, evinced that the lawyer's services 
were not forgotten. 

After a short conversation, wherein Etherington related the circumstances which brought the darfc- 
ness over his brow, the smuggler continued — 

** And so old Norris will not let you splice Miss Ellen unlefts you can post the pony ipr 6ts 
thousand pounds ? He promises to put down the same sum, eh, and leave you the lump of his 
money when he drops off. Nothing can he fairer than that, to be sure ; but then, if you have not 
the five thousand, and don't know where to get it neither, why I may say that you are jammed baid 
ap." 



282 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

"And Ellen, too, is ridiculous enough to second hci father in this absurd and impossible scheme. 
When I told her I had not the money, she said that we were both young, and could wait till I had 
■earned it." 

" Good advice, lawyer ; go to work, earn the money, and then claim the girl." 

« Earn the money !" said Etherington, with a short, bitter laugh ; " a lawyer in an obscure countrj 
town earns any ihing but money. 1 am over head and cars in debt, and weie I to increase my in- 
come to three times the amount I now receive, it were insufficient to do more than defray the ex- 
penses which the conventional forms of society compel me to incur." 

" Did you try the girl on the other tack, and say any thing about running away 1" 

" She positively refused to Ibten to the proposal, and said that her father did not deserve such in- 
^atitude." 

*< If young ladies do not know their own good, they ought to be taught it Get her out for a day's 
sail — 1*11 have the lugger at band, and once aboard the Susan, you may soap your fingers at the 
•world." 

" No, no ; I dare noL She would despise me, Johnson — and I cannot face her frown. What to 
do I know not ; my brain is on the whirl. I would part with life sooner than lose her, yet see no 
means of complying with the stipulation." 

*< If that is the case^ — how much did you say, lawyer 1 — five thousand pounds ! 'Tis t stiff hftol, 
iHit I suppose I mu8t lend it to you." 

"Johnson ! do not play with me. Lend me the money, did you say 1" 

** Even so. I owe you a good turn oi two, lawyer ; and if the sons of the free trade axe hot in 
their revenge, they are not cold in the service of a friend. But if you are inclined to earn the money, 
we can employ you as well on this side of the herring pond as the other. An agency in our line is 
lespectable and profitable. But there's my mate's signal — the Susan has her long boat oolr— >we 
must have the tubs on our shoulders and over the hills in half an hour. Not that we go far to-ojght; 
iot I shall lodge my cargo in the old stone barn belongii^ to Stillwell." 

** What, the exciseman!" 

«< To be sure ; the nearer the church, you know. Meet me to-morrow night at ten o'clock, at th^ 
road-post on the Downs. Come alone, and I will let you have the cash." 

<* Thanks, Johnson, many tharULs. How can I ever repay you?" 

** Oh, that is easy enough. By the way, you may as well take old Stillwell out for a ride in the 
morning ; and if you can get him up to the Gcor^ to dinner, ai¥l keep him there till eight or nine 
•o'clock, it will be twenty pounds off your debt — thirty, if you send him homo drunk." 

** I cannot do it, Johnson ; it is the act of a scoundrel." 

** Indeed, Master Lawyer ! Well, if you are so nicely a^ueamish, I must keep my money, and old 
INorris will keep the girl. Good night." 

" Stay ! I will do as you desire," said Etherington, dashing his hand across his blow, and giiiMi- 
ing his teeth so as scarcely to allow the words to escape. 

** Your hand to that. Master Lawyer. To-monow night at ten ; away, and if any of oar people 
4ak you the tirne of night, tell them 'tis * moonshine,' and they will let you pass." 

Etherington struck off landward through a defile In the elifif, and as he walked rapidly towards las 
home, a bitter sense of the degradation he had plunged himself into by consenting to become the 
umi^gler's tool, keen^ irritated his tortured mind. Etherington was young, enthusiastic — of a frank 
4|nd generous disposition, but he had a wild and proud heart. In his boyhood he was deprived of a 
iather's protecting care ; an caily display of talent had snatched him from penury and neglect, and 
growing to manhood without a friendly hand to guide or counsel, his passions all uncurbed, desires 
imchecked-*>his pride encouraged by a too fond mother — his vanity gratified by the idle praises of 
the young and thoughtless, he had allowed the unho^ fice of this world's love to wither up the seeds 
of promise, which, had he rightly cultivatod the quick and honest impulses of his better nature, would 
luve bom ripe ami golden fruit 

Ho had formed an acquaintance with Ellen Norris at a regatta ball, the annual gala of the place. 
0he was a fine, handsome gul, rather above the usual height, dfi^ hei iotelligent smile and sparkling 
«iyes imparted considerable animation to features of beautiful regularity. Her father was a retized 
4Qerchant, and devotedly attached to his daughter, whose happiness formed his only wish. He did 
not quite approve of the connexion she had formed, but as he could bring nothing against Etherin^ 
Aon but the wiUness of youth, the father felt that he could not suUy the brightness of the sunshine 
in which his daughter lived by peremptorily breaking off the match. Wedlock might steady the 
habits of the chosen one. He had, therefore, as Etherington related in the smuggler's nook, imposed 
.severe terms upon the young and needy lawyer, hoping that in endeavoring to fulfil them a desirable 
delay would be created — desirable, as it would develop the resources and stability of his son4n-law, 
«r create something like a reasonable excoso for breaking off the match. 

la the morning, William Etherington called upon Mr. Nonis, and informed the old gentlemaa 
that upon looking into his afiairs he had found them better than he expected, and should bo bappf 
iQ fulfil the required arrangement With Ellen his task was somewhat more difficult*»his ytAmaoor 
mX tact had prevented him from committing himself when he received the father's ultimatum, bat in 



THE MAIL BOBBER. 283 

the interview with hit beloved, decpoir had drawn from him the acknowledgment that he was unable 
to rt&ise a tenth part of the sum lequireJ. But we are easily induced to believe what wc wish to be 
true ; and Ellen Norris was perfectly saUsfied that a lich and friendly client had advanced her dear 
William the five thousand pounds ; and <i few warm speeches induced her to promise that, for tlie 
present, she would keep the fact of the loan concealed from her father. 

Bidding farewell to the warm-hearted and confiding girl, whose consent he had obtained to an im- 
mediate union, Etherington rode over to the cottage of the exciseman, and under pretence of ooik- 
suiting him upon a point in a lawsuit of old standing, proposed a quiet dinner at the Crown, a rustie 
tavern about four miles o£ Here the old man was plied with strong drink, till his incoherent gabble 
end vacant srare pioclaimcd his unfitness for the prosecution of his duty. Etherington, accustomed 
to the powers of wine, could not help noticing that the liquors were more than usually potent, and 
although not considered a hard or steady drinker, £elt considerably excited when he arose from the 
table. When he ealled for the bill, the landlord, a haid-featured, wiry-haired man, entered the room. 

** Tims,*' said Etherington, " my old friend, Mr. Slillwell, is not in a fit state to keep his saddle; 
can you put him to bed here, and let his family know that he is safel" 

** We will book him safe enough ; and as to the bill, lord love you, we know what the time of 
night is," said the landlord, putting his finger to his noae. ** I was told last night that you were 
coming over. We never charges nothing to one anoUier when about the general business. Master 
Johnson will see me righted — so good night, lawyer Etherington, and I am glad to see such a 
gen'man as you busy youiself in the free trade.'' 

Surprised and mortified, Etherington dug his spurs into the side of his horse, and galloped furioue- 
ly down the narrow road. The free trade, then, had its agents every where. He was known to them 
as one of their gang. He had linked himself, like a Rtllcy-slave, to the same chain with the oot* 
casts of society, the scum, the refuse of the world. Was he in future to breathe but in their atrno- 
•phere of deceit, of guilt — to walk their path, to serve their purposes, and hold his life but in further- 
ence of their vile behests 1 His proud heart swelled indignantly at the idea, but he could not now 
break off the link — his lovely Ellen would be the sacrifice if he refused to receive the money from 
the smuggler, but, once married, he would move heaven and earth to repay it, and become again ^ the 
ioniettered and the fiee." 

The landlord moved the drunken exciseman into the hay-loft ; and as it was not to the interest of 
the gang to let it be known where the ofiicer was to be found, the aged wife and trembling daughter! 
of the poor old man passed a wretched, sleepless night, racked with fears for his safety — for his lile. 
IStillwell was an honest, active officer, and his &mily knew that the smugglers had threatened ven* 
geance, snd wanted but an opportunity to execute it 

Etherington galloped to the place of rendezvous. It was at the junction of some narrow lanes and 
-oouatry ways, upon the open Downs. The turnpike road wound up a short, precipitous hill, the 
brow of which was skirted with a small patch of fir plantation, the only shelter for many milei 
around. Scarcely a pistol-shot from the little wood, the four arms of a huge road-post pointed their 
several ways ; this post had formerly been the gallows-tree of a notorious offender, who paid on this 
spot the forfeit of his life for iho many highway robberies he had been concerned it Afler hanging 
in chains for some months, the fastenings yielded to the action of the weather, and the iron-bound 
skeleton lay rotting in the summer's aun. A poor girl who had been betrayed by the rufiian, and 
abandoned to a life of shame, with her own hands scooped out a shallow hole beneath the gibbet, and 
the grass flourlihed and the wild flowers bloomed over this mass of crime and foul corruption— over 
the mouldering remains of him she had most cause to hate, but whose memory, despite its infamy, 
despite her wrongs, she did not cease to cherish with all the energy of woman's love. The direction- 
boards were afterwards affixed to the squared timbers of the post, and it stood conspicuously on the 
hill's brow, shunned by the peasantry, and sought only by the stranger for intelligence of the locality. 

Etherington rode (or some few minutes about the vicinity of the cross-roada, but foond not the man 
he so anxiously expected. Jumping from his horse, he covered the hot and panting sides of the noUe 
beast with his top-coat, and tied him to the post by the bridle^ muttering at the tardiness of the 
smuggler, and almost fearing that he had been duped. At that moment Johnson stood befoce him. 

« Well, Lawyer, here you are, as I expected — for he must be a log of a man whom love end i^ponif 
did not move. You have done the ganger's business beautifully ; we started every tub and bale firom 
his premises in the early evening without any interruption. I will take care to have it known in t|^ 
right place, and that will settle old Stillwell. When he is removed from the situation, young Martin 
must come in, and we can do as we like with him." 

** I have, then, been the cause of the old man's ruin ! Johnson, no more of this. If you are about 
to serve me, give me the money, and let me go." 

** The money ! have you not heard the newsl Oh, true ; you have been up at the George all day. 
Brown's bank has stopped payment, and the devil himself could not raise five thousand pounds in all 
the place." 

" Stopped payment!" 

'* There is a pressure in tlie money maket, at London, it seems, and the bank hero has refused ite 
osual discounts. Kumors were afloat and people ran for gold. The house was obliged to dose to-day 

TOL. TI. — xo. VI. m3 



284 burton's gentleman's magazine. 



;• 



half an hour before its asaal time, and it depends upon circiimstances whether it will ever open 

• ft 
again. 

** Rained! mined!" said Ethehngton, as he flung himself on the ground, and buried his face in 
the long dank grass which grew above the felon's grave. 

Thoughts, hot and blasting as the fell simoom, seemed to wither up his very heart How could he 
&ce the disgraceful exposure of the falsehoods he had told to Norris t how could he bear to lose his 
Ellen, when the fond girl had alieady fixed the wedding day, and he had pressed her to his bosom as 
his own ? He had sold himself to shame, had leagued with meanness and deceit, and was he to be 
deprived of the wages of his infamy ? Jumping up from the giound, he exclaimed — 

<* Johnson, I must have money. This bank story, if true, cannot affect you. You do not depoaite 
there your sin-won gold ! Where is the produce of last night's cargo ! I am not to be fooled ; I 
have dishonored myself in your service — you promised me money, and I must have it'' 

^ Do you think I carry it about with me, to be shared among the custom-house sharks, arho would 
lob me of every penny could they for one moment get me in their power. I say that I do bank 
there— not in my own name, to be sure. You know that if once convicted, they would attach every 
ftrthing for the king, and what then would become of my Susan and the little ones." 

<< You have other resources. I must have the money ; get it me and I will pay you back tenfold.' 

« There is, a way to obtain it, but you are so squeamish." 

"To-night!" 

" Ay — now, to-night" 

** Tell me how. I must have it, be the risk what it may." 

** BofUy, This horse of yours will be better out of the way. I will tie him to one of the trees 
yonder. Here, Lawyer, 'tis a cold night — take a pull at this flask while I am gone." 

The smuggler led the horse towards the path of woodland, and in a few moments was lost to sight. 
Etherington swallowed a large portion of the spirit from Johnson's flask — spirit which stick of ganger 
had never dabbled in — when sounds, as of a subdued whispering among the trees, broke upon his 
ear. Before he could well diiect his gaze towards the spot, the stalwart form of the smuggler was 
seen emerging from the shade. 

** Down, Lawyer, here on this fitting spot — let us sit here on the thin crust of earth that covers 
old Farrell's bones, and lean our backs against the fatal wood. Have you the courage to be rich 1 
health is in your grasp ! will you shut your hands and clutch it, or will you let it slip between your 
fingers 1" 

<* What is it you mean ? speak boldly, and fear not me." 

*< I do not fear you. Lawyer; for, if you refuse to join me, and were to speak of what I now shaU 
tell, and by your means this gibbet here were tenanted again, your life weuld not be worth a fort^ 
night's purchase. Go where you like, hide where you may, it would be useless — the free trade has 
long arms, and none can escape their grasp. How much money — ^hush ! is not that the sound of 
wheels in the hollow there! No ! 'tis the wind moaning amongst the branches of the trees. How 
much money had you in Brown's bank 1" 

** All I possessed in the world. Not much, I own, but it was my all." 

« So did they hold all mine. All I have toiled for in the hot sun, and in the freezing blast; aU, for 
which I have risked life and limb— have endured the damp horrors of the lonely cell, the terrors of 
the midnight storm — have lost the respect of my fellow-men, the chance of peace on earth, ^e hopes 
of rest hereafter. Lawyer, this morning I was a rich man. I was about to quit the trade, and in my 
native village, in the bosom of my family, seek for that happiness I so long have sighed for, but have 
never known. This cursed bank has failed, and I am a beggar. Shall I do wrong, then, in snatch- 
mg my own from the swindler's grasp ?" 

« Snatching your own ! what is it you mean V 

« Listen. From intelligence I can depend on, no matter how obtained — the free traders have- 
friends every where— I have learned that a messenger has been despatched to L bank, and has 

letumed with a promise of assistance in a remittance of notes and specie by to-night's maiL The 
cart must pass this way, and soon. Shall we stop it, and pay ourselves fiom the money sent for the 
nae of these bankrupt * robbers 1' " 

« Do not tempt me to the act of a fiend ! your proposal is too horrible to be serious. You cannot 
mean it" 

« But I do, and will go through with it, whether you help me or no." 

«< If the remittance is large we shall all be paid." 

'< Not so ; they have overtraded their stock, and there is scarcely sufficient to liquidate the claims 
of my band . William Etherington, I owe you my libeity — perhaps my life. I should like to see yon 
happy with the old 'squire's black-haired girl. Join me like a man, and claim your share. I can de 
without you ; but is it not better to have eight or ten thousand pounds of your own, than to borrow 
five from a poor and needy friend?" 

Etherington spoke not His eyes, fixed upon the dark, impenetrable gloom, seemed staiting from 
the sockets ; his parched tongue essayed in vain to convey the slightest moisture to his shrivelled 
Jipsy and lus hard, quick breathing sounded in the still night like the ticking of a huge clock. Be 



THB MAIL ROBBER. 285 

remained for some minates convaliiTely elotching at the long gnus, when, leaning towards Johnson, 
BO that his hot breath coarsed over the rough lineaments of the smuggler, he said, in a low, uneaith* 
ly tone — 

^ No-'fio blood?'' 

<• No," said Johnson, *< unless they fire, and then — God help them all at home." 

The smuggler suddenly started. Putting his ear to the ground, and motioning for silence, he 
listened for some moments with gieat attention. Jumping up, he said — 

« 'Tjs coming. 00* with youi coat and vest, and tie a handkerchief about your head. Do not 
hurry. They must walk up the hill, and we shall catch them at the top. When I whistle, run to 
the horse's head, and do not quit it for your life. Should the driver have a companion, we may have 
sharp work. Here is a bludgeon, but, remember, strike not at those in white." 

The pit-pat of a horse's feet broke the silence of the night The smuggler gave Etherington the 
flask, afier using it himself, and suddenly vanished in the gloom. Draining the contents to the last 
drop, Etherington threw the flask away, and proceeded immediately to doff his coat and vest, and tie 
a 'kerchief round his hot and throbbing brow. Scarcely had he finished when the horse rounded the 
top of the hill, slowly dragging aftoi him the small, heavy cart then used for carrying the cross-country 
mail. The driver was cheering the animal in his arduous task, when a low, short whistle was heardy 
and two men jumped from opposite parts of the road, dashing simult%neously to the sides of the 
vehicle. Etherington rushed to his post, and seized the horse's rein just as the driver received a blow 
on the back part of his head, and fell senseless on the horse's back. One of the ruffians seized him 
by the collar, and huiled him into the road, close to Etherington's feet, who, frenzied wirh unnatural 
excitement, struck tho unresisting driver a violent blow with his bludgeon. 

<' Hold hard. Lawyer ; he's quiet enough," said Johnson. ** Look sharp and light the lanterOy 
Bite. Let us get the box and be off" 

Etherington shuddered as he recognised in the man thus addressed, a notorious vilUan who had 
twice broke jail, and for whose apprehension a reward had long been offered. He received his pe- 
culiar cognomen from the fact of having caused the death of a police-ofiicer by the many severe bttes ^ 
he hdd inflicted on the man when arrested by him in the very act of robbery. On the present occasioOy 
he was, like Johnson, efficiently disguised by wearing his shirt outside his other clothes. 

Bite mounted the cart ; a small lantern was lighted, and search made for the expected treasure. 

*< It is not here," said Bite. 

*' I know better. He never deceived me yet. Perhaps it is locked up in one of the mail bags. 
Draw the cart out of the road, tumble the bags overboard, and we will soon overhaul them. Lawyer, 
drag that fellow out of the way." 

Etherington passively did as he was told. Raising the body by the clothes, he was hauling it on 
to the green-sward, when the light of the small lamp fell upon the face, and disclosed a deep gash 
on the side of the head, from whence the blood was flowing profusely — evidently the effects of the 
blow struck by Etherington when the unfortunate driver was on the ground. Etherington let the 
body fall ; large clammy drops of perspiration stood upon his ashy cheek, and he stood gazing on the 
wound as a man entranced. He was roused from this lethargy of horror by the touch of the smug- 
gler, who said, in his usual clear, low tone — 

« Lawyer, have you a penknife with you ? if so, hand it here, for my ship-jack makes but bad 
work of this mail-bag-leather. That's it. Here's the box, and now for business." 

The small cash-box was forced open, and a huge roll of notes given into the hands of Bite ; the 
gold was transferred to the smuggler's pockets, the light was extinguished, the horse fiistened to the 
gibbet*post, and the body of the maimed driver lifted into the cart. 

<*Is he dead 1" whispered Etherington. 

« Not yet," said Bite, with a grin, « but I am afraid that he'll have the headache as long as he 
Uves." 

« Lawyer, we must have your horse. Bite must be in London, and change these notes before the 
hue and cry is given. Then over to France, you know. Bite; get to Cherbourg, and wait the arrival 
of the bosky Sue. Off with you, and don't let the grass grow beneath your feet, unless you wi^4o 
swing on the vacant stick here." 

Bite walked off towards the fir-tree close, and in a few seconds the rapid gallop of a hone wae 
heard proceeding down one of the obscure .cross-roads. 

« Now, then, for a short cut over the Downs, Lawyer ; we have done the job well and may defy 
detection. We have enough here for our purposes till we get our share of Bite's notes. What ia 
the matter with you ? you have not spoken for an hour." 

*< Is he dead ?" said Etherington, fearfully. 

<< Let us hope for the best I wish it had been otherwise. But we must now part — it would be 
dangerous to be seen together." 

Without any division of the booty, or a word in explanation, the smuggler darted across the fields, 
and was soon lost to Etherington's sight. Jaded and heart-smitten, this wretehed young man reached 
his own house, and betook himself U bed — ^but not to sleep. 

The next morning as Etherington was sitting at the breakfost table, gazing with bloodshot eyeif 



286 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

upoki the untasted meal, the principal partner in the hanking-houae was annoanoed. Etheringtoii 
jumped up wildly from his chair, and throwing open the window, evidently meditated escape ; but, 
actuated by second thoughts, a faint smile overspread his ghastly features, and he returned to his 
chair. The gentleman entered the room. 

« Mr. Etherington,'* said he, " I suppose you have heard of our double misfortune— robbery and 
consequent failure. I have called upon you as an active lawyer to solicit youi oo-opeiation with the 
magistrates in attempting every thing in the power of man to discover the scoundrels who last night 
jobbed the mail. I am more interested in this affair than regards the actual loss. Our bank experienced 
a partial pressure, I bad written on for funds, and this morning we could have met every demand 
with instant payment I am now a ruined and disgraced old man. The people will not believe but 
that the robbery was planned by the bankers; and after a long life of honorable industry, my gray 
hairs are tinged with sorrow and with shame. Mr. Etherington, I care not foi my sudden fill from 
affluence, couki I have preserved my honor; but ruin is spread around — hundreds will point at me 
as the robber of the poor ; and I shall descend to the grave with the burning execrations of the mined 
tradesman, the impoverished widow, and the beggared orphan, ringing in my ean." 

The old man leaned his head upon the tabic and wept like a child. Etherington attempted to 
speak, but was frightened at the unearthly tone of his own voice. The banker, ashamed of his weak- 
ness, shortly rose, and left the house, earnestly requesting Etherington to use his utmost endeavors 
to bring the criminals to justice. After swallowing a lurger stimulant than usual in a vain attempt 
to still the first sharp gnawings of the worm that never dies, Etheiington was about to leave the 
bouse, when his aged and infirm parent tottered !nto the room, and with the painful sorrow of ex- 
treme old age, garrulously lamented the ruin which the failure of the bank had brought upon her few 
remaining days, More falsehoods were used to quiet her fears. As he quitted the house, his groom 
Tequcsted to know where he had left his horse. He had lent it to a friend. The man retired with 
an expression of surprise, and Elheiington felt that he was unable to look his servant in the face. 

Crowds were collected in the usually quiet streets of that Uttle town. Agitation and excitement 
flat on every face, and knots of whisperers met at oveiy comer, or before the doors of the principal 
fradesmen, who were all, more or less, sufferers by the bankers' failure. Surmises, doubts, and open 
allegations were freely bandied about, and the expressions of vengeance and despab that broke from 
the various sufferers struck deeply into Ethcrington's heart as he walked through the excited throng. 
He wished to inquire how much they knew, where their suspicions pointed, and, above all, to ascer- 
tain the life or death of the driver — ^but he did not dare to trust himself with speech. 

He found his Ellen in tears. Her father had lost heavily — in fact, all ho possessed, except the 
house he lived in, and a life interest, of little value, in some property in the adjoining country. Mr. 
Norris met Etherington with evident embarrassment; he wished the match to be broken o£f — his 
pride would not allow his daughter to go a beggar to that man's arms, who, when she was rich, had 
been refused consent unless he could command a certain sum. Etherington expostulated ; absolved 
Mr. Norris from his part of his contract, but insisted upon its full performance as connected with his 
immediate marriage. The old gentleman's reserve immediately vanished ; he seized the lawyer by 
the hand, and said that he regarded the loss of the money as nothing compared to the satisfaction of 
having found so honorable and generous a son-in-law. Etherington endeavored to smile, but was 
unable to return the cordial grasp of the man whose ruin he had caused. 

Several days elapsed, but the excitement did not subside. Etherington suffered the worst of tor- 
tures in being compelled to hear the hourly statements of the wretchedness and sufifering which the 
robbery had produced. Many of the small tradesmen declared themselves insolvent, fectories were 
stopped through want of money, and hundreds of workmen were discharged ; panic and desoUtion 
ruled the day. The indignation of the working people assumed so threatening a shape that the 
hankers were compelled to fly the country. Etherington had been busily employed in drawing out 
depositions in evidence, and attending to the surmises of every thick-headed, officious fellow who 
thought he could see further into the aflair than his neighbors. The young man's soul sickened at 
this daily practice of foul hypocrisy. 

Johnson was not forthcoming, nor had the smallest appropriation of the booty been ibrwacded to 
the wretched Etherington, who now felt but too late that his participation in the fetal deed had not 
'Only destroyed his own prospects, but had mined the happiness of all around. 

The servant again inquired after the safety of the horse, a valuable and favorite animal. Ethering- 
ton repeated his former statement, that he had lent him to a friend. The servant asked if he knew 
where this friend had taken the horse, and when was he expected back ; for Bill, the old ostler at 

the Red Lion, had gone to live at K , a town some forty miles across the country, and he had 

sent word by the guard of the stage, that lawyer £therington*s horse had been left there quite 
knocked up and over-worked. An ill-looking fellow rode him into the town, and had gone off by 
the early morning's coach to London. He knew the horse by the star in his forehead. 

Etherington was unable to conceal his confusion. The servant was ordered down stairs ; but the 
•tory spread from mouth to mouth, and at the next meeting of magistrates, Etherington was question- 
ed as to the truth of the report. Lie succeeded lie— he tried to spread probability over the story he 
had coined about selling his horse to a stranger, but it was evidently disbelieved. Mistrust was 



THE MAIL ROBBER. 287 

arooMJ ; tberc was no d«fiaite chajge, but although he contlaued to attend, he was not ag^in re- 
quested to assist in the mail-robbery investigation. 

The marriage day arrived, and Ellen, who had in^^istod upon the performance of the ceremony in 
private, never looked more lovely than in the simple white dress she wore to grace this humble 
lestivaL The fatbec'g broken fortune admitted not of display, and Ethciington, who had ruined a 
whole community to put himself into funds, had scarcely been able to raise the bare expenses of the 
day. Still ho hoped that Johnson would keep his word, and though his soul loathed the crime he 
had committed, and he abhorred the foul train of consequences it had engendered, he could not give 
up his claim to the profits of his guilL 

The sun was gildisig the fading leaves of the grave-yard trees as Elherington Left the village 
cfaiuch, his young bride hanging upon his arm. He had bought her at an awful price ; but when 
he saw her animated countcnencd beaming with delight at their expected happiness, he felt that her 
smiles dissipated somewhat of the gloom of guilt, and his load of crime sat lighter on his heart in the 
presence of his beloved. He made an effort to be cheerful, and had succeeded in Ibicing a laugh at 
one of Mr. Nonis's hearty sallies, when a funeral procession, of the most humble pretension, entered 
the gates of the church yard as the bridal party endeavored to pass out. A young widow followed 
the coffin ; she was weeping piteously, and dragging by the hand a carly-haired bof of tender age, 
whose round and innocent face reflected the sad impression of the place, while he was unable to ap- 
preciate the severity of his loss. EUen^s sympathy was affected at the sight of this poor mourning 
relict, and her orphan boy, and her husband found some little trouble in drying up her tears. 

** It is indeed a dreadful case," said Mr. Notris, « and the heavy difficulty which has fallen on our 
town prevents the possibiUty of doing any thing for her by subscription — although I trust that govern- 
ment will not forget her claims.'' 

" Who is she ? what are her claims'!" said Etherington. 

" Do you not know 1 SShe is the widow of poor Semple, the driver, who was murdered by the 
robbers of the mail.'' 

Etherington did not fall, nor start, nor even change the color in his cheek. The blow stmbk to 
his heart, and was too deeply seated for external sign. He had heard that his victim was severely 
hurt, but it was considered almost certain that he would recover. This sudden weight of marder 
on his soul stilled even the fluiterings of hope ; and he looked upon its development at the portal of 
the church, where he had just pledged his vows to the innocent cause of all his guilt, and in the 
presence of the father whose cautions proposition forced him to the deed of sin, as a warning not to 
be misunderstood — a vivid presentiment of impending ill settled on his mind, and despair entered 
his soul. 

The walk home — the dinner — the dessert — all passed gloomily and sad. Ellen was pained to see 
her husbanti's melancholy ; she had before observed the strange alteration in his manner, and had 
expostulated with him on the subject. Her inquiries were now pressed with more intensity, bat they 
zesolted in the same excuse — a headache of pecuUar violence. 

<* Then the fresh breeze of the evening will blow it away," said Mr. Norris. " Do not sit there 
moping, and insulting your wife by looking as if you were sorry for what you have done ; but jump 
^p, like a joyous bridegroom, as you ought to be ; take half an hour's walk on the sands, and when 
jou come back, join with me in drinking the bride's health. I can find a bottle or two of choice old 
port, and no thanks to the scoundrels who robbed me." 

The remedy was tried, but without effect. The glories of the setting sufi— the quiet splendor of 
the calm, bright sea — the murmuring of the evening breeze — the lively prattle of his young bride, or 
the devoted tenderness of her alarmed inquiries — all alike fell on a seared and scathed heart, occupied 
with but one thought of horror and despair. A young girl passed them, and Ellen, as if suddenly 
lecollecting, stepped back to speak to her, leaving Etherington alone upon the beach. 

** It cannot be concealed," he exclaimed aloud ; " nature, with her thousand tongues, proclaims 
her hatred of the deed. The gentle waves, thai break in murmuring ripples at my feet, seem to re- 
cede in horror at my crime ; the fresh breeze, that fans my burning temples in its play, appears with 
trumpet violence to bellow < murder* in my ear ; the orb of day is setting redly in the west — I cannot 
gaze upon its beauty — its rays seem tinged with blood ?" 

A rough-looking fisherman stepped from behind an adjacent rock, thrust a dirty, ill-folded letter 
into Etherington's hands, and immediately disappeared. The note was from Johnson, and read as 
follows : — 

** I did not dare, for all our sakes, to trust you with money. It would have bred suspicion. Now 
'tis useless. We are both of us moie than suspected. My flask has been found under the gallows, 
with my name upon it in full; and your penknife has been picked up in the grass. The tradesman 
who sold it to you has sworn to iL A warrant is already out for me, and you are to be secured in 
the morning when you attend the court. Bite has been taken in London with all in his possession. 
They do not know this down here, but the morning's post will bring the news. He was seen on 
your horse, which the justices have sent for, and have now in the town. Death is htrty hut life is 
in another land. The Susan will be off the coast at dusk — seize any small boat from the beach- 
pull out beyond the floating light, and then keep it in a direct line with the lights of the town* I 
shall be afloat, and on the look-oat at the proper time of night" 



288 



burton's gentleman's magazine. 



Etherington had scarcely read this damning epistle ere the light and graceful form of his wife 
at his side. 

*< My dear William can do me a favor, and as it is my wedding day request, I am sore he will not 
lefose me. You have some interest with the magistrates. Poor old SUllwell, the exciseman, has 
heen supeiseded for neglect of duty. He has lost all the hard-earned sayings of his long life by the 
failure of the bank, and his family must starve unless you interest yourself in his behalt You will 
try to have him reinstated, will you not 1" 

Etherington answered with an affirmative smile, and kissed the blooming cheek of the fair petitioner^ 
They returned towards home. There was a fire inEtherington*s eye, an elasticity in his tread, that 
surprised and delighted his observant wife. His conversation was cheerful and continuous, and Ellen 
looked upon this outbreak as the re-action of his natural spirits, which had been overstrained by a. 
too rigid obseivance of his professional pursuits. 

Let not the reader imagine this description of Etherington*s conduct to be unnaturaL He had 
lost the withering torture of uncertainty : the dreadful truth was full before him — he felt the neces*- 
sity for instant action, and at once made up his mind to the course he should pursue. 

Leaving his wife at the parlor door, he desired her, with a kiss, to tell her father to prepare tfa» 
wine, while he retired to bis room to make some little anangement for a short journey he had soon 
to perform. The happy girl did not wait to inquire the meaning of his last words ; but, full of de* 
are to acquaint her parents with the joyous change in Etherington's behaviour, bounded into the 
room where they were sitting, and delivered his request. Mr. Norris placed the decanters upon the 
table, and listened to the lively chatter of his darling child, who described, in animated language, the 
rich delights of the conversation with her handsome and sensible husband. She depicted the beauties 
of the evening scene, and the effects which she imagined had been produced by nature's glories oil 
Etherington's sensitive mind. With what eloquence did she paint the past — with what transport 
did she look forward to the future — with what fervor did she thank her Creator for removing the 
cloud which had hung over the mind of him she so devotedly adored. Her parents smiled at her 
enthusiasm, and her aged mother rose from her seat, and clasped her lovely daughter in her arms. 

" Why, mamma, your dress is splashed all over with port wine. How could papa be so careless 1'^ 

*< A drop has just fallen on your shoulder, Ellen. There is another. This is not wine— it comes 
from above." 

All present cast their eyes to the ceiling. A large red stain appeared in the midst of the white 
plaster, through which a dark red liquid was rapidly oozing. Ellen uttered a shriek, and a dreadful 
thought, sudden and searing as the lightning's flash, fell upon her brain. 

'< it is my husband's blood !" 

This hotrible anticipation proved too true. The wretcbed man knew that, to preserve his life, he 
must give up all that rendered life desirable ; and to shun the damning ignominy of the unavoidable 
exposure, with the certainty of meeting a violent and disgraceful death at the hands of the common 
hangman if he should be caught, he retired to his own room, and on the evening of his wedding^ 
day, and on his bridal bed, he closed his short but terrible career of guilt by cutting his throat frooi 
ear to ear. 

A hole was dug in the centre of the cross-roads, a few yards only from the foot of the gibbet on the 
downs. According to the English law, then in force, the body of the suicide was hurled, like a dog, 
into his rude unhallowed grave. The officials of the jail placed the remains of the ill-fated EtheriBg- 
ton in his narrow house, beneath the midnight sky. Foul jests and imprecations formed the service 
of the dead ; and the earth closed over that once proud, ungovernable heart, without the shedding oT 
one pitying tear — ^without the utterance of one sad regret. 

The horror of the death scene overpowered the senses of the wretched wife ; she never recoTered 
the shock. A few months closed the earthly sufiferings of the widowed bride ; and her bereaved and 
broken-hearted parents did not long survive. 



STANZAS. 



BT CHARLIS WSST T H O X S O X , PUILADELrHIA 



Wheit far away on the deep blue sea, 
Remember the friends you have left behind, 
And let your soul go forth as free 
As the bird that floats on the summer wind — 
To your own greenland let your thoughts return, 
With a feeling devoted, and warm and true. 
And while for their presence your bosom shall bum 
Oh think of the bosoms that bum for you. 



When you watch the planet of eve decline,. 
In beauty and glory when day has set. 
Believe there are eyes that will mark its shine^ 
Believe there are hearts that will never forget ^. 
And while in its bright but departing ray, 
A type of the pleasures of earth yoosee, 
Oh soar to the heaven beyond and pray 
For the fadeless hopes of eternity^ 



M N I A N A. 



orienhDn iiiu,Miutt«it if ehanrE, 
And pkucd with miTelir, omj be mdulittd. 



ANTIQUITY OP WIGS. 



The Ljduni, Cvbou, H«ika, tnd Peniuu, wore wigi, Ttui circuimlanca ippBan not odI; in 
tlM med*]! of intiquit;, bul in Ihe wcond book of (EconomieM of Arittotlt, in his ucoDDt of lbs- 
Candaula. 



BELLS. 

Belli were fiirt Inonght into owibj St. Pauliou*, biabopof Noln, lUno 400 — bmoui for biifHely 
and pofeuDDal labon — in ihe Campania of Rome; hence a beU was called Nola or Cunpagna. 
At fiiit thej were called taints or loc-uint, or toc-nn, in proceai of lime. Bat Pliny lepoiti, Ihal, 
inaDy age* before Mb time, bellg ware in nie, Bad called Tintin-nabiiU ; and Soeloniiu a-jn that 
Augiutaa had one put at the gsteoftha temple of Japiter, to call the ineeting of (he people. 



CORKSCREWS. 
The notion lO pceraleiit Dow-a-da;a aboDl the rapid ilrida of the boman intellect, as eepedallj 
chancleriilic of the age, in the tatious tmnches of kDowledge, paTtieulai]<r in the art of living, 1*^ 
pcdlapa, too haiuly receiTed u tnie, iaaamach ai Ihe aiaeitjoii will surelj admit of ugumenla bodt 
pro and eon, with the ■dmission that ttie onnerifi alu knew a thing or (wo. It u not now, howeTer, 
my desire lo disciua this erudite and proliEc theme, but simplj and giaphicall; to entertain and in- 
itmct unlearned readers with an account of the ptogiess of improvement in a useful appendage to 
their personal comfort and convenience. It neTenheleaa is allowed thai aftci the most profound and 
^ligent researches lam unable poeiuTBl; loaffirmlbat the good folks of old knew much, if any thing 
•t all, about the 'rue method ef drawing a cork, seeing that it appears eiceedioglj pioblenutictl 
whether they had eilhei eorki to draw orglau bottlns tn hold iheir Ijqiiari ! 

The inventor of Iwttks* is unknown, but these were in use for centuries ba- 
lY'^' /^ i^ I fofe corks were thought of, and these again were employed for geuEralions bs- 
Vf/^ '^ ,^i.V fore a convenient method was found for eilracting iham. Ths eihilerating 
contents could iheu only be toiled by what is now technically called " bthead- 
I ing tht boll/e." Mote expert practitioners had many oppoitiinities of ahowing 
their skill in removing the impediment by a dextrous twist of of the fingers, oi 
if that were impracticable lath were called in as iheit natnral at 



Here, however, in many cases it was doubtful whether the cork would /o/Zour 
the teeth, or the leelb remain with the cork, and if an obstinate remnant would 
remain, a not/was ready means of disiodgiiig the stubborn plug, panicle by per* 



When at any time, through an impatience of the nibbling labor, or a despair oi 
accomplishing a clean eitracttOD at all, it wasresolvsd at once lo send Ihe obatacli 
ihe tanmg way ; this was then a valuable instrument. A pair of ikeweis, 01 
forks, inserted " witchwite," 



* Talking of bottles, ne have been informed that a gentleman of our city hu made a scientific 
nomenclature, and arranged bottles into ^na-a, tpuia, etc., he designates his new ici'ence by tbe apt 
Gog:^ gnen AKohgy, from the Greek word fktfiit («*cos) a bottle. 




290 



BURTON'S gentleman's MAGAZINE* 





Would sornctimes accomplish those difficult cases which had hoffied the 
exertions of all the natuials. Twisting the lower extrcmitj^ of the " bare bod- 
kin" into a spiial ibrm, and adding a handle to it, was the thought of a master 
genius ; 



And in this shape mankind for ages were contented to avail themselves of its ser- 
vices, and even at the present time some barbarous, uncouth countries and districts 
may be named where still the extractor is in most general use. In our civilized 
land it must yet be recollected that this was, nay is, a very inefficient machine, 
and the pleasure of beholding the generous beverage beaming dirough a crust of 
many years, was cruelly damped by the experience that in proportion to the pains 
taken in fixing the cork was the mental agony which must be endured during 
nil attempts to remove it. Jovial fellows, who may forget those days in their moment of inspiration, 
may talk indeed of their Phillises, their lantlies, their Delias, their Sacharissas, their Chloes — let 
them henceforth mingle a little gratitude with their admiration, and gloiify a nymph greatei than 
them alL Miss O'Rourke, like her own exquisite potteen punch, was a delightful compound of in- 
gredients, both mental and corporeal, of the most opposite natuie. The friend of Kosciusko, and 
the authoress of the Rhapsody, which afterward lung throughout Great Britain and in this country, 
to the favorite tune (Gramachree) of the patriot Polander — such another hostess was not in England 
wide, and no other of her order ever conferred so great a benefit on bottles suokers as she did, I9 her 
superlative invention of placing a button at the top of the screw-worm. 

Henceforth the decanting process was a mere matter of routine. When in her 
green old age death laid her hand on the invcntiess, a piratical screw-maker 
alsot 00k to himself the credit and profit of the button addendum. Bnt Miss 
O'Rourke shall never be forgotten, even although her masterpice, some few 
years later, was eclipsed, and may yet be superseded by the king's screw. 

Which can receive no addition either to its beauty or convenience, except it 
be probably some little steam appendage to make it self-acting. These axe 
trifling additions to a simple instrument, yet they produced a great revolution in 
its use and value :— ^^qually simple improvements have still produced more won- 
derful effects in machines of more elaborate constiuction — and above all other 
mechanisms which can be named, on the steam engine. 

An ingenious friend, whose knowledge and skill in all the appliances of 
matters and things, is unquestioned, after discussing the various improvementi 
as recorded here, remarked with some surprise, that the most convenient in- 
strument of the whole ybmi'/y of the screws has not been noticed. It is com- 
posed of a strong converse stem of steel, round which a flattened thread of the 
same metal is wound in a spiral form. The bore poduced by this machine is 
not so apt to split the cork as the others, and he says it has other advantages too numerous to specify. 




SQUARING THE CIRCLE. 

Either there are no angles, or there are an infinity ; either supposition makes the qotdraton of the 
circle impracticable— for the proportion of figures cannot be ascertained but by angles. A round 
figure is Uie only one capable of perpetual motion. The heavenly bodies have alone popetual mo- 
tion, because the external cause of their motion is incessant in its operation. *^* 



THE AMATEUR ACTOR. 



BT J08BPH G. FKAL, BS^, BDITOB OV TUB PBBV9T&TAB1AV. 



TlMsodottUB Spoon— called by the waggbh Teorspoon, and sup]x>8ed by his nlmireTs to be bom 
tot a atirring fellow— one who would whirl round until he secured foi himself a large share of the 
•ugar of existence — was discontented with his situation. He yearned to be an cmbellishmcnl— not 
a piodding letter, valuable only in combination, but an ornamental flourish, beautiful and graceful in 
itaelf ; and, with that self-ieiiance peculiar to genius, he thought that the drama c>pened a short cat 
tt the summit of his desires. 

An opportunity soon afforded itaelf. — ^Those Philadelphians, who were neither too old nor too 
joung, when Theodosius Spoon flourished, to take part in the amusements of the town, do not re- 
quire to be told that for the delectation of their aumuier evenings, the city then lejoiced in a Garden 
Theatre, which was distinguished fiom the winter houses by the soft Italian appellation of the 
Tivoli. It was located in Market near Broad street, in those dajs a species of ru< in urbe^ improve- 
ment not having taken its westward movement; and before its brilliancy was forever distinguished, 
the establishment passed through a variety of fortunes, furnishing to the public entertainment as 
▼arious, and giving to the stage many a *^ regular" whoso flist essay was made upon its boards. 

At this period, so interesting to all who study the history of the drama, lived one Ty pus Tympan, 
a printer's devil, who ** cronied" with Spoon, and had been the tiisl t> give the " reaching of his soul" 
im inclination stageward Typus worked in a newspaper oflice, where likewise the bills of the 
Garden Theatre were printed, and par oofuegitencef Typus was a critic, with the ealree of the 
establishment, and an occasional order for a friend. It was thus that Spoon's genius received the 
Premethean spark, and started into life. By the patronising attentions of Typus, he was no longer 
compelled to gaze from aiar at the members of the company, as thny clustered after rehearsal, of a 
MUiny day, in front of tho theatre, and varied their smokings by transitions from the " long nine" 
to the real Habana, according to the condition of the treasury, oi the state of the credit syskiiB. 
Our hero now nodded familiarly to them all, and by dint of soleing, heel-tapping, and other small 
jobs in the leather way, executed during the pedods of ** overwork'* for Mr. Augoatns Julius Win- 
kiaa, was admitted to the personal friendship.iil%Ut illustrious individual. Some idea, of the honor 
thus conferred may be gathered from the fact that Mr. Winkins himself constituted the entire male 
4department of the operatic corps of the house. He grumbled the bass, he warbled the tenox, and, 
when necessary, could squeak the ** counter*' in beautiful perfection. All that troubled this maga- 
j(ine of vocalism was that, although he coold manage a duett easily enough, soliloquizing a choroa 
was rather beyond his capacity, and he was, therefore, often compelled to rely upon the audience at 
the Garden, who, to their credit be it apoken, scarcely needed a hint upon such occasions. On 
<>pera nights, tbey generally volunteered their services to fill out the harmony, and were so abun- 
dantly obliging, that it was difliicult to teach them where to stop. In his private capacity — whan 
be was ex cffiew Winkins — he did the melancholico-Byronic style of man — pictaresque, but *< suf- 
ftring in his innards," — to the great delight of all the young ladies who dwelt in the vicinity of 
the Garden. When he walked forth, it was with bis slender frame inserted in a suit of black rather 
the worse far wear, but still reU&ining a touching expression, softened, but not weakened, by the 
coarse of time. He wore his shirt collars turned down over a kerchief in the ** fountain tie," abiHit 
mhich there is a Tybuin pathos, irresistible to a tender heart ; and with his well oiled and raven 
locks pufied out en miuse on the left side of his head, he declined his beaver over his dexter eye 
until its brim kissed the corresponding ear. A profusion of gilt chain travelled over his waistcoat, 
. and a multitude of rings of a dubious aspect encumbered his Augers. In this inteiesling costume 
did Julius Augostos Winkins, in his leisure moments, play the abstracted, as he leaned gracefully 
against the pump, while obliquely watching the eficct upon the cigar^raaking demoiselles who 
operated over the way, and who regarded Julius as quite a love, decidedly the romantic thing. 

Winkins was gracious to Spoon, partly on the account aforesaid, and because both Spoon and 
Tympan were capital cJaqtieurM, and invariably secured him an encore, when he warbled ** Love 
lias eyes," and tho other rational ditties in vogue at that period. 

Now it happened that business was rather dull at the Garden, and the beneflt season of course 
4xanmenced. The hunting up of novelties was prosecuted with great vigor ; even tho learned pig 
iiad starred at it for once; and as the Winkins night approached, Julius Augustus determined to 
Avail himself of Spoon for that occasion, thinking him likely to draw, if he did not succeed, for in 
those days of primitive simplicity first appearances hsd not ceased to be attractive. The edge not 
being worn off, they were sure to be gratifying, either in one way or the other. 

It was of a warm Sunday afternoon that this important matter was broached. Winkins, Spoon, 
tt)d Tympan sat solacing themselves in a box at the Garden, puffing their cigrars, sipping their 
Hquid refreshment, and occasbnally nippling at three crackers brought in upon a large waiter, 
which formed the substantials of the entcrtainmsnU The discourse ran upon the drama. 

'* Theo, my boy !" said Winkins, putting one leg on the table, and alloi^ing the smoke ta curl 
ttboQthifl nose, as he cast his coat more widely open, and made the accost friendly. 



292 burton's gentleman's magazine* 

r " SpooD, my son !'' said Winkins, being the advance paternal of that social warrior, as he knock- 
ed the ashes from hia cigar with a flirt of his little finger. 

« Spooney, my tight 'un,!" — the assault irresistible, — " how would you like to go it in uncle 
Billy Shakspeare, and tip the natives the last hagony in the tragics V* Wilkins put his other leg 
on the table, assuming an attitude both of superiority and encoura^ment 

** Oh, gammin !" ejaculated Spoon, blushing, smiling, and putting the forefinger of his leflhand 
into his mouth. " Oh, get out !'' continued he, casting down his eyes with the modest humility of 
imtried, yet self-satisfied genius. 

" Not a bit of it — Vm as serious as an empty barn— got the genius — want the chance — my benefit- 
two acts of any thing — cut mugs — up to snuff — down upon 'em — fortune made — that's the go." 

"It's out opinion — we think, Thcodosius," observed TypusTympan, with editorial dignity, ash© 
emphatically drew his cuff across the lower part of his countenance, ** we think, and the way we 
know what's what, because of our situation, is sing'Ier — standing, as we newspaper folks do, on the 
shot tower of society — that now's your time for gittin' astraddle of public opinion, and for ridin* it 
like a boss. Jist such a chance as you've been wantin'. As the French say, all the bew mundy 
come to Winkins's benefit ; and if the old man won't go a puff leaded, why we'll see to havin' it 
sneaked in, spread so thick about genius and all, that it will diaw like a blister — we will, even if we 
get Ucked for it." 

** 'Twon*t do," simpered Spoon, as he blushed brown, while the expression of his countenance 
contradicted his words. " 'Twon't do. How am I to get a dress — s'pose boss ketches roe at itt 
Besides, I'm too stumpy for tragedy, and any how I must wait till I'm cured of my cold." 

" It will do," letumed Winkins, decisively ; " and tragedy's just the thing. There are, sir, varie- 
ties in tragedy — by the new school, it's paititioned off in two grand divisions. High tragedy of the 
most helevated description," (Winkins always haspirafed when desirous of being emphatic,") 
*' high tragedy of the most helevated and hexalted kind should be represented by a gentleman short 
of statue, and low comedy should be sustained by a gentleman tall of statue. In the one case, the 
higher the part, the loweier the hactor, and in the other case, wisey wersy. It makes light and shade 
between the sentiment and the performer, and jogs the attention by the power of contrast The hin- 
teliectual style of playing likewise requires crooked legs." 

"There's another style of tragedy — the physical school. But you're not big enough, or strong 
enough for that. A physical must be able to outmuscle ten black-smiths, and bite the head off a 
poker. He must commence the play hawfully, and keep piling on the hagony till the close, when 
he must keel up in an hexfruciating manner, fiip-fiopping it about the stage as he defuncts, like a 
new caught sturgeon. He should be able to hagonize other people too, by taking the biggest fellow 
in the company by the scuff of the neck, and shaking him at arm's length till all the hair drops from 
his head, and then pitch him across, with a roar loud enough to break the windows. That's the me- 
nagerie method. The physical must always be on the point of bursting his boilei, yet he mustn't 
burst it ; he must stiide and jump as if he would tear his trousers, yet he mustn't tear 'em ; and 
when he grabs any body, he must leave the marks of his paws for a week. It's smashing work, but 
it won't do for you, Spoony ; you're little, black- muzzled, queer in the legs, and have got a cold; 
nature and sleeping with the windows open have done wonders in making you fit for the hintel- 
Icctuals, and you shall tip 'em the sentimental in Hamlet." 

Parts of this speech were not particularly gratifying to Spoon ; but, on the whole, it jumped 
with his desires, and the matter was clinched. Winkins trained him ; taught him when and where 
to come the " hagony ;" when and where to cut " terrific mugs" at the pit ; when and where to 
wait for the applause, and how to chasscz an exit, with two stamps and a spring, and a grace en 
arriere. 

Not long after, the puff appeared as Typus promised. The bills of the " Garden Theatre" an- 
nounced the Winkins benefit, promising, among other novelties, the third act of Hamlet, in whicli 
a young gentleman, his first appearance upon any stage, would sustain the character of the melan- 
choly prince. Kash promise ! fatal anticipation ! 

The evening arrived, and the Garden was crowded. All the boys of the trade in town assembled 
to witness the debut of a brother chip, and many came because others were coming. 

The tedious prattle of those who preceded him being over, Theodosius Spoon appeared. So^ 
lemnly, yet with parched lips and a beating heart did he advance to the footlights, and duck his 
acknowledgments for the applause which greeted him. His abord^ however, did not impress his 
audience favorably. The black attire but ill became his short squab figure, and the *< hintellectuatl 
tragicality of his legs," meandering their brief extent, like a Malay creese, gave him the aspect of 
an Ethiopian Bacchus dismounted from his barrel. Hamlet resembled the briefest kind of sweep, 
or " on erect black tadpole taking snuff." 

With a fidelity to nature never surpassed, Hamlet expressed his dismay by scratching his head, 
and, with his eyes fixed upon his toes, commenced the soliloquy, — another beautiful conception, — 
for the prince is supposed to be speaking to himself, and his toes are as well entitled to be a^ 
dressed as any other portion of his personal identity. This, however, was not appreciated by the 
spectators, who were unable to hear any part of the confidential commonicalion going on between 
Hamlet's eztremitieii 



RBVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 293 

^ Louder, Spooney !" squeaked a juvenile voice, i^ith a villanous twang, from a remote part of 
the Garden. *< Keep a ladling it out strong! Who's afeaid ? — it's only old Ttwoly !" 
** Throw it out !" whispered Winkins, from the wing. <<Go it like a pair of hellowses V 
But still the ^e lips of Theodosius Spoon continued quivering nothings, as he stood gasping a» 
if about to swallow the leader of the fiddlers, and alternately raising his hands like a piece of ma- 
chinery. Ophelia advanced. 
** Lookout, hull frog, there comes your mammy. Please, ma'am, make little sonny say his lesson." 
Bursts of laughter, shouts, and hisses resounded through the Garden. <*Whooror for Spooney!** 
roared his friends, as they endeavored to create a diversion in his favor — *<whooror for Spooney! 
and wait till the skeer is worked off uv him !" 

''How vu'd you like itV exclaimed an indignant Spooney ite to a hissing malcontent; <<how vu'd 
you like it fur to have it druv' into you this 'ere vay? Votkin a man do ven he ain't got no chancel" 
As the hisser did but hiss the more vigorously on accoimt of the remonstrance, and, jumping op, 
did it directly in the teeth of the remonstrant, the friend to Spooney knocked him down, and the 
parquette was soon in an uproar. ''Leave bim up !" cried one— '*Order ! put 'em down, and put 
'em out!" The aristocracy of the boxes gazed complacently upon the giand set-to beneath them, 
the boys whacked away with their clubs at the lamps, and hurled the fragments upon the stage, 
while Ophelia and Hamlet ran away together. 

" Ladies and gentlemen," exclaimed Wilkins, as he rushed upon the stage, dragging aAer him " the 

rose and the expectancy of the fair state," the shrinking Theodosius — " will you hear me for a moment 1" 

" Hurray for Vinkins !" replied a brawny critic, tabing his club in both hands, as he hammered 

it against the front of the boxes ; " Yinkey, sing us the Bay uv Viskey, and make bull-frog dance a 

liomspike to the tune uv it. Hurray! Twig Yinkey 's new hat — make a speech, Yinkey, fur your 

Tite trousers !" 

At length, comparative silence being restored, Mr. Winkins red with wrath, yet suppressing his 
rage, delivered himself as follows — at times adroitly dodging the candle ends, which had beenknock- 
ed from the main chandelier, and were occasionally darted at him and \ns protege, 

"Ladies and gentlemen, permit me (dodge) respectfully to ask one question. Did you {dodge') 
come here to admire the beauties of the drama, {successive dodges to the right and left,) or am I to 
(^dodge, dodge) to understand that you came solely to kick up a bloody row ?" 

The effect of this insinuating query had scarcely time to manifest itself, before Monsieur ie di* 
recteur en ehef, a choleric Frenchman who made a profitable mixture of theatricals, ice cream, and 
4>ther refreshments, suddenly appeared in the flat, forming with natural anger at the results of the 
young gentleman's debut. Advancing rapidly as the "kick" rang upon his ear, he suited the action 
4o the word, and, by a dexterous application of his foot, sent Wilkins, in the attitude of a flying 
Mercury, clear of the orchestra, into the midst of the turbulent crowd in the pit Three rounds of 
cheering followed this achievement, while Theodosius gazed in pallid horror at the active move* 
xnent of his friend. 

"Kick, aha! Is zat de kick, monsieur dam hoomboog'? Messieurs et mesdames, lick him 
good — sump him into fee-penny beets ! Sacre !" added the enraged manager, turning toward Theo- 
closius, '* I sail lick de petit hoomboog ver' good«— sump him bon, nice, moimeme— by me ownsef.'^ 
But the alarmed Theodosius, though no linguist, understood enough of this speech not to tarry 
ion the consequences, and climbing into the boxes, while the angry manager clambered after him, 
he rushed through the crowd, and in. the royal robes of Denmark hurried home. 



REVIEW OP NEW BOOKS. 



The Youth of Shakspeare, By the author ofShakspeare and his Friends, Jliree Volumes. Lea 

and Bktnehard, Philadelphia, 

" Shakspeare and His Friends" was well received among that not very numerous class of readers 
to which the book was addressed, or rather whose approbation the author expected. In fact, the 
"work was more antiquarian than otherwise in character, and had no claims upon the popular attei^ 
tien. Its design is peculiar — the design of embodying the fancied and historical Shakspeare (and 
liis friends) in a connected narrative based as far as possible upon facts, and clothed in a language 
which professed to preserve the outward form as well as inward spirit of the times recorded. This 
was a difficult attempt — but the general opinion is, that it was successful, and we have no wish at 
jnesent to dissent from this opinion. We have heard that the work met with a leady sale ; a matter 
which we find it difficult to believe. Popularity might have been attained, and an obvious discre- 
]NUicy avoided, by relating the story in modern words. 

« The Yonth of Shakspeare" is a kind of preamble to " Shakspeare and His Friends," as the title 
snflkiently indicates. The two works, or rather the two parts of the one work, are precisely in 
4)iieTeiiL 



294 burton's gentleman's magazine. 

The Proud Ladyc: and other Poems. By Spencer Wallace Cone, Wiley md Putnam^ Nao 

York. 

The readers of the " Gentleman's Magazine" are well acquainted with the prodaetiai» and with 
the talents of Mr. Cone, for whose ability we entertain a high icspect. In oor last number, it wUl 
be remembered, we published a beautiful little ballad from his pen, called "The BeUayed " whidi 
hm been much admired wherever read. The «• Proud Ladye," from which the present Tolnme 
takes its title, occupies twenty-two pages, and consists of some seven or eight hundred lines. The 
story is one of chivalry and love, and has a happy termination. The incidents we well conofi^reJ 
end executed, and in many passages the language is of high beauty. Here are iome fines whidt 
will be immediately recognized by all men of taste as belonging to a lofty claas of poetry — embody- 
ing natural thoughts in forcible, simple, and very expressive language, well versified : 

But when clouds in simies move. 



liife hath summer weather. 
And many a wintry blast ; 
And oft they come together, 
Or follow each so fast. 
That when the heart beats highest, 
Most joyously and warm, 
The bitter wind brings nighost 
The tears, and the cold, cold stotm. 



As the storms their trumpets blow. 

The sky is as bright above 

As the clouds are dark below, 

And ere long the conquering sun 

Comes forth in his mail of light. 

And the coward storm-clouds run 

From his shield, and his spear-brams bright. 



And here again is a* passage which breathes the true soul of poetry, and gives evidence of % 
purity of taste as well as a vigor of thought which may lead to high eminence in the end. 



Lay him upon no bier, 

But on his knightly shield ; 
The wanior*s corpse uprear. 

And bear bim from the field. 
Spread o'er his rigid form 

The banner of his pride. 
And let him meet the oonqtwier worm, 

With his good sword by his side. 



To the dark grave we go, 

Beaiing the proud and great. 
Where quick decay will know 

Nor title nor estala. 
Pour forth the solenm strain, 

Wail lor the mighty dead ; 
For d«st hath come to duet again. 

And the warrior's spirit fled. 



The poem of the ** Proud Ladye** has, we are forced to say, many minoft A^d 10016 tery 
defects ; and of these we would say more, did we not regard them rather cs the retnlts of defleimit 
practice, than of false conception or bad taste. It abounds in striking thoughts, original, cBd gelM- 
nUy well expressed. 



High- Ways and By- Ways; or Tales of the Roadside, picked up in the French Proeinees by a 
Walking Gentleman. A new edition, revised and corrected, with an original Introductian ~^~* 
Explanatory Notes by the Author. George Roberts, Boston, 



These talcs are very well known to the public. We doubt if any similar productions hate 
received with a greater share of popular ^vor — popular favor of a certain kind. Bat in 1 
respects they are deficient, very much so, when regarded rather as works of arts, than as the meene 
of ordinary amusement. Mr. G rattan has, we think, a bad habit of loiteiing in the road of litera- 
ture — of dallying and toying with his subjects, as a kitten with a mouse — instead of grasping it 
firmly at once, and eating it up without ado. Ho takes up too much time in the ante-room. He 
has never done with his introductions. Occasionally, one introduction is the mere vestibule to 
another ; so that by the time he arrives at his main incidents, there is nothing more to tell. He 
seems afflicted with that curious, yet common perversity which is often observed in garrulous old 
women — a love of talking, and a perfect ability to talk well, combined with an irrepressible desire of 
tantalizing an audience by ciicumlocution. 

Mr. Grattan is now in Boston, (as our readers all know,) ^hft^ he is highly beky«ed and re-> 
epected by a large circle of friends. We have never had the plk^dte of his personal aoquainlene^ 
and cannot, therefore, speak with decision in regard to •^ le merit, as a likeness, of the miserable^ 
greasy-looking lithograph print which professes to represent him in the frontispiece. We may cej 
positively, however, that if Mr. Grattan this be, then Mr. Grattan is like nobody else in the world ; 
ioi the foct is, that we never yet knew any individual with a wig made of wire, and with the coun- 
tenance of an under-done apple dumpling. As a general rule, no man should put his own face kl 
iUs own book. In looking at the countenance of the author, the reader is never in ctpaci^ te 
keeping his own. 

END OF THE 8IXTH VOLUME. 






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