THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY

A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS

VOL. VI. --DECEMBER, 1860. --NO. XXXVIII

THE UNITED STATES AND THE BARBARY STATES. 

Speak of the relations between the United States and the BarbaryRegencies at the beginning of the century, and most of our countrymenwill understand the War with Tripoli. Ask them about that Yankee crusadeagainst the Infidel, and you will find their knowledge of it limited toPreble's attack. On this bright spot in the story the American mind isfixed, regardless of the dish we were made to eat for five-and-twentyyears. There is also current a vague notion, which sometimes takes theshape of an assertion, that we were the first nation who refused to paytribute to the Moorish pirates, and thus, established a now principle inthe maritime law of the Mediterranean. This, also, is a patrioticdelusion. The money question between the President and the Pacha wassimply one of amount. Our chief was willing to pay anything in reason;but Tripolitan prices were too high, and could not be submitted to. 

The burning of the Philadelphia and the bombardment of Tripoli are muchtoo fine a subject for rhetorical pyrotechnics to have escaped lecturersand orators of the Fourth-of-July school. We have all heard, time andagain, how Preble, Decatur, Trippe, and Somers cannonaded, sabred, andblew up these pirates. We have seen, in perorations glowing with pinkfire, the Genius of America, in full naval uniform, sword in hand, standing upon a quarter-deck, his foot upon the neck of a turbaned Turk, while over all waves the flag of Freedom. 

The Moorish sketch is probably different. In it, Brother Jonathan mustappear with his liberty-cap in one hand and a bag of dollars in theother, bowing humbly before a well-whiskered Mussulman, whose shawl isstuck full of poniards and pistols. The smooth-faced unbeliever begsthat his little ships may be permitted to sail up and down this coastunmolested, and promises to give these and other dollars, if hisHighness, the Pacha, will only command his men to keep the peace on thehigh-seas. This picture is not so generally exhibited here; but it isquite as correct as the other, and as true to the period. 

The year after Preble's recall, another New-England man, William Eaton, led an army of nine Americans from Egypt to Derne, the easternmostprovince of Tripoli, --a march of five hundred miles over the Desert. Hetook the capital town by storm, and would have conquered the wholeRegency, if he had been supplied with men and money from our fleet. "Certainly, " says Pascal Paoli Peek, a non-commissioned officer ofmarines, one of the nine, "certainly it was one of the mostextraordinary expeditions ever set on foot. " Whoever reads the storywill be of the same opinion as this marine with the wonderful name. Never was the war carried into Africa with a force so small and withcompleter success. Yet Eaton has not had the luck of fame. He was nearlyforgotten, in spite of a well-written Life by President Felton, inSparks's Collection, until a short time since; when he was placed beforethe public in a somewhat melodramatic attitude, by an article in a NewYork pictorial monthly. It is not easy to explain this neglect. We knowthat our Temple of Fame is a small building as yet, and that it has agreat many inhabitants, --so many, indeed, that worthy heroes may easilybe overlooked by visitors who do not consult the catalogue. But a manwho has added a brilliant page to the _Gesta Dei per Novanglos_ deservesa conspicuous niche. A brief sketch of his doings in Africa will give agood view of the position of the United States in Barbary, in the firstyears of the Republic. 

Sixty years ago, civilized Europe not only tolerated the robbery, themurder, and the carrying into captivity of her own people, but actuallyrecognized this triple atrocity as a privilege inherent to certainpersons of Turkish descent and Mahometan religion inhabiting thenorthern coast of Africa. England or France might have put them down bya word long before; but, as the corsairs chiefly ravaged the defencelesscoasts of Sardinia, Sicily, and Naples, the two great powers had noparticular interest in crushing them. And there was always some jealouscalculation of advantage, some pitiful project of turning them to futureaccount, which prevented decisive action on the part of either nation. Then the wars which followed the French Revolution kept Europe busy athome and gave the Barbary sailors the opportunity of following theircalling for a few years longer with impunity. The English, with largefleets and naval stations in the Mediterranean, had nothing to fear fromthem, and were, probably, not much displeased with the contributionslevied upon the commerce of other nations. Barbary piracy was aprotective tax in favor of British bottoms. French merchantmen kept athome. Spain, Sweden, Denmark, and Holland tried to outbid one anotherfor the favor of the Dey, Bey, and Pacha, and were robbed and enslavedwhenever it suited the interests of their Highnesses. The Portuguesekept out of the Mediterranean, and protected their coast by guarding theStraits of Gibraltar. 

Not long before the French Revolution, a new flag in their waters hadattracted the greedy eyes of the Barbarians. When they learned that itbelonged to a nation thousands of miles away, once a colony of England, but now no longer under her protection, they blessed Allah and theProphet for sending these fish to their nets; and many Americans weremade to taste the delights of the Patriarchal Institution in thedockyards of Algiers. As soon as the Federal Government was fairlyestablished, Washington recommended to Congress to build a fleet for theprotection of citizens in the Mediterranean. But the young nation neededat first all its strength to keep itself upright at home; and theopposition party professed a theory, that it would be safer and cheaperfor the United States to give up ships altogether, and to get otherpeople to carry for them. Consequently the plan of negotiating wasresorted to. Agents were sent to Algiers to ransom the captives and toobtain a treaty by presents and the payment of a fixed tribute. Such atreaty was made in the summer of 1796. In March of the succeeding year, the Dey showed so much ill-temper at the backwardness of our payments, that Joel Barlow, the American Commissioner, thought it necessary tosoothe his Highness by the promise of a frigate to be built and equippedin the United States. Thus, with Christian meekness, we furnished theMussulman with a rod for our own backs. These arrangements cost theUnited States about a million of dollars, all expenses included. 

Having pacified Algiers, Mr. Barlow turned his attention to Tunis. Instead of visiting the Bey in person, he appointed a European merchant, named Famin, residing in Tunis, agent to negotiate a treaty for theUnited States. Of Famin Mr. Barlow knew nothing, but considered hisFrench birth and the recommendation of the French Consul for Algierssufficient proofs of his qualifications. Besides attending to his owntrade, Monsieur Famin was in the habit of doing a little business forthe Bey, and took care to make the treaty conform to the wishes of hispowerful partner. The United States were to pay for the friendship andforbearance of Tunis one hundred and seven thousand dollars in money, jewels, and naval stores. Tunisian cargoes were to be admitted intoAmerican ports on payment of three per cent; the same duty to be leviedat Tunis on American shipments. If the Bey saluted an Americanman-of-war, he was to receive a barrel of powder for every gun fired. And he reserved the right of taking any American ship that might be inhis harbor into his service to carry despatches or a cargo to any portin the Mediterranean. 

When the treaty reached the United States, the Senate refused to ratifyit. President Adams appointed Eaton, formerly a captain in the army, Consul for Tunis, with directions to present objections to the articleson the tariff, salutes, and impressment of vessels. Mr. Cathcart, Consulfor Tripoli, was joined with him in the commission. They sailed in theUnited States brig Sophia, in December, 1798, and convoyed the ship Heroladen with naval stores, an armed brig, and two armed schooners. Thesevessels they delivered to the Dey of Algiers "for arrearages ofstipulation and present dues. " The offerings of his Transatlantictributaries were pleasing to the Dey. He admitted the Consuls to anaudience. After their shoes had been taken en off at the door of thepresence-chamber, they were allowed to advance and kiss his hand. Thisceremony over, the Sophia sailed for Tunis. 

Here the envoys found a more difficult task before them. The Bey hadheard of the ships and cargoes left at Algiers, and asked at once, Wherewere all the good things promised to him by Famin? The Consuls presentedPresident Adam's letter of polite excuses, addressed to the Prince ofTunis, "the well-guarded city, the abode of felicity. " The Bey read it, and repeated his question, --"Why has the Prince of America not sent thehundred and seven thousand dollars?" The Consuls endeavored to explainthe dependence of their Bey on his Grand Council, the Senate, whichaugust body objected to certain stipulations in Famin's treaty. If hisHighness of Tunis would consent to strike out or modify these articles, the Senate would ratify the treaty, and the President would send themoney as soon as possible. But the Bey was not to be talked over; herefused to be led away from the main question, --"Where are the money, the regalia, the naval stores?" He could take but one view of the case:he had been trifled with; the Prince of America was not in earnest. 

Monsieur Famin, who found himself turned out of office by theCommissioners, lost no opportunity of insinuating that American promiseswere insincere, and any expectations built upon them likely toprove delusive. 

After some weeks spent in stormy negotiations, this modification of thearticles was agreed upon. The duty might be three or three hundred percent. , if the Consuls wished it, but it should be reciprocal. The Beyrefused to give up the powder: fifteen barrels of powder, he said, mightget him a prize worth a hundred thousand dollars; but salutes were notto be fired, unless demanded by the Consul on the part of the UnitedStates. The Bey also persisted in his intention of pressing Americanvessels into his service; but he waived this claim in the case ofnational ships, and promised not to take merchantmen, if he couldpossibly do without them. 

Convinced that no better terms could be obtained, Cathcart sailed forTripoli, to encounter fresh troubles, leaving Eaton alone to bear thegreediness and insolence of Tunis. The Bey and his staff were legitimatedescendants of the two daughters of the horse-leech; their daily crywas, "Give! give!" The Bey told Eaton to get him a frigate like the onebuilt for the Algerines. 

"You will find I am as much to be feared as they. Your good faith I donot doubt, " he added, with a sneer, "but your presents have beeninsignificant. "

"But your Highness, only a short time since, received fifty thousanddollars from the United States. "

"Yes, but fifty thousand dollars are nothing, and you have since alteredthe treaty; a new present is necessary; this is the custom. "

"Certainly, " chorused the staff; "and it is also customary to makepresents to the Prime Minister and to the Secretary every time thearticles are changed, and also upon the arrival of a new Consul. "

To carry out this doctrine, the Admiral sent for a gold-headed cane, agold watch, and twelve pieces of cloth. The Prime Minister wanted adouble-barreled gun and a gold chain. The Aga of the Port said he wouldbe satisfied with some thing in the jewelry-line, simple, but rich. Officials of low rank came in person to ask for coffee and sugar. Evenhis Highness condescended to levy small contributions. Hearing thatEaton had a Grecian mirror in his house, he requested that it might besent to decorate the cabin of his yacht. 

As month after month passed, and no tribute-ship arrived, the Bey'sthreats grew louder and more frequent. At last he gave orders to fit outhis cruisers. Eaton sent letters of warning to the Consuls at Leghornand Gibraltar, and prepared to strike his flag. At the last moment theHero sailed into port, laden with naval stores such as never before hadbeen seen in Tunis. The Bey was softened. "It is well, " he said; "thislooks a Lotte more like truth; but the guns, the powder, and the jewelsare not on board. "

A letter from Secretary Pickering instructed Eaton to try to divert theBey's mind from the jewels; but if that were impossible, to order themin England, where they could be bought more cheaply; and to excuse thedelay by saying "that the President felt a confidence, that, on furtherreflection upon all circumstances in relation to the United States, theBey would relinquish this claim, and therefore did not give orders toprovide the present. " As the jewels had been repeatedly promised by theUnited States, this weak attempt to avoid giving them was quiteconsistent with the shabby national position we had taken In theMediterranean. It met with the success it deserved. The Bey was much tooshrewd a fellow, especially in the matter of presents, to be imposedupon by any such Yankee pretences. The jewels were ordered in London, and, as compensation for this new delay, the demand for a frigate wasrenewed. After nearly two years of anxiety, Eaton could write home thatthe prospects of peace were good. 

His despatches had not passed the Straits when the Pacha of Tripoli sentfor Consul Cathcart, and swore by "Allah and the head of his son, " that, unless the President would give him two hundred and fifty thousanddollars for a new treaty, and an annual subsidy of twenty thousand, hewould declare war against the United States. 

These two years of petty humiliations had exasperated Eaton's bold andfiery temper. He found some relief in horse-whipping Monsieur Famin, whohad been unceasing in his quiet annoyances, and in writing to theGovernment at home despatches of a most undiplomatic warmth andearnestness. From the first, he had advised the use of force. "If youwould have a free commerce in those seas, you must defend it. It isuseless to buy a peace. The more you give, the more the Turks will askfor. Tribute is considered an evidence of your weakness; and contemptstimulates cupidity. _Qui se fait brebis, le loup le mange_. What areyou afraid of? The naval strength of the Regencies amounts to nothing. If, instead of sending a sloop with presents to Tunis, you will consignto me a transport with a thousand trusty marines, well officered, underconvoy of a forty-four-gun frigate, I pledge myself to surprise PortoFarina and destroy the Bey's arsenal. As to Tripoli, two frigates andfour gun-boats would bring the Pacha to terms. But if you yield to hisnew demands, you must make provision to pay Tunis double the amount, andAlgiers in proportion. Then, consider how shameful is your position, ifyou submit. 'Tributary to the pitiful sand-bank of Tripoli?' says theworld; and the answer is affirmative, without a blush. Habit reconcilesmankind to everything, even humiliation, and custom veils disgrace. Butwhat would the world say, if Rhode Island should arm two oldmerchantmen, put an Irish renegade into one and a Methodist preacher inanother, and send them to demand a tribute of the Grand Seignior? Theidea is ridiculous; but it is exactly as consistent as that Tripolishould say to the American nation, --'Give me tribute, or tremble underthe chastisement of my navy!'"

This was sharp language for a Consul to hold to a Secretary of State;but it was as meekly borne as the other indignities which camefrom Barbary. 

An occurrence in Algiers completes the picture of "Americans in theMediterranean" in the year 1800. In October, the United States shipWashington, Captain Bainbridge, lay in that port, about to sail forhome. The Dey sent for Consul O'Brien, and laid this alternative beforehim: either the Washington should take the Algerine Ambassador toConstantinople, or he, the Dey, would no longer hold to his friendshipwith the United States. O'Brien expostulated warmly, but in vain. Hethought it his duty to submit. The Ambassador, his suite, amounting totwo hundred persons, their luggage and stores, horses, sheep, and hornedcattle, and their presents to the Sultan, of lions, tigers, andantelopes, were sent on board. The Algerine flag was hoisted at themain, saluted with seven guns, and the United States ship Washingtonweighed anchor for Constantinople. 

Eaton's rage boiled over when he heard of this freak of the Dey. Hewrote to O'Brien, --"I frankly own, I would have lost the peace, and beenmyself impaled, rather than have yielded this concession. Will nothingrouse my country?"[1]

When the news reached America, Mr. Jefferson was President. He was notroused. He regretted the affair; but hoped that time, and a more correctestimate of interest, would produce justice in the Dey's mind; and heseemed to believe that the majesty of pure reason, more potent than themusic of Orpheus, "Dictas ob hoc lenire tigres, rabidosque leones, "

would soften piratical Turks. Mr. Madison's despatch to O'Brien on thesubject is written in this spirit. "The sending to Constantinople thenational ship-of-war, the George Washington, by force, under theAlgerine flag, and for such a purpose, has deeply affected thesensibility, not only of the President, but of the people of the UnitedStates. Whatever temporary effects it may have had favorable to ourinterest, the indignity is of so serious a nature, _that it is notimpossible that it may be deemed necessary, on a fit occasion, to revivethe question. _ Viewing it in this light, the President wishes thatnothing may be said or done by you that may unnecessarily preclude thecompetent authority from animadverting on that transaction in any waythat a vindication of the national honor may be thought to prescribe. "

Times have changed since then, and our national spirit with them. TheSecretary's Quaker-like protest offers a ludicrous contrast to thewolf-to-lamb swagger of our modern diplomacy. What faithful Democrat of1801 would have believed that the day would come of the Kostza affair, of the African right-of-search quarrel, the Greytown bombardment, andthe seizure of Miramon's steamers?

It is clear that our President and people were in no danger of being ledinto acts of undue violence by "deeply affected sensibility" or the"vindication of the national honor, " when a violent blow aimed by thePacha of Tripoli at their Mediterranean trade roused them to a show ofself-defence. Early in May he declared war against the United States, although Consul Cathcart offered him ten thousand dollars to leave theAmerican flag-staff up for a short time longer. Even then, if Mr. Jefferson could have consulted no one but himself, not a ship would havesailed from these shores. But the merchants were too powerful for him;they insisted upon protection in the Mediterranean. A squadron of threefrigates and a sloop under Commodore Dale was fitted out and despatchedto Gibraltar; and the nations of the earth were duly notified by ourdiplomatic agents of our intentions, that they might not be alarmed bythis armada. 

In June of this year a fire broke out in the palace at Tunis, and fiftythousand stand of arms were destroyed. The Bey sent for Eaton; he hadapportioned his loss among his friends, and it fell to the United Statesto furnish ten thousand stand without delay. 

"It is only the other day, " said Eaton, "that you asked for eightytwenty-four pounders. At this rate, when are our payments to havean end?"

"Never, " was the answer. "The claims we make are such as we receive fromall friendly nations, every two or three years; and you, like otherChristians, will be obliged to conform to it. "

Eaton refused to state the claim to his Government. The Bey said, Verywell, he would write himself; and threatened to turn Eaton out ofthe Regency. 

At this juncture Commodore Dale arrived at Gibraltar. The Bey paid usthe compliment of believing that he had not been sent so far fornothing, and allowed Eaton a few months' respite. 

Now was the time to give the Turks their lesson; but Dale's hands weretied by his orders. Mr. Jefferson's heart was not in violent methods ofdealing with his fellow-men in Barbary. He thought our objects might beaccomplished by a display of force better and more cheaply than byactive measures. A dislike of naval war and of public expenditure[2]made his constitutional conscience, always tender, very sensitive onthis question of a cruise against Tripoli. Fearful lest our youngsailors should go too far, he instructed the Commodore not to overstepthe strict line of defence. Hence, when Sterret, in the Enterprise, captured a Tripolitan schooner, after a brisk engagement, he disarmedand dismantled her, and left her, with the survivors of her crew onboard, to make the best of their way home again. Laymen must have foundit difficult, even in 1801, to discover the principle of this delicatedistinction between killing and taking prisoners; but it was "accordingto orders. " Commodore Dale returned home at the end of the year, havinggathered few African laurels; Commodore Morris came out the next seasonwith a larger fleet, and gathered none at all. 

There is no better established rule, in commencing hostilities, publicor private, than this: If you strike at all, strike with all your might. Half-measures not only irritate, they encourage. When the Bey of Tunisperceived that Dale did little and Morris less, he thought he hadmeasured exactly the strength of the United States navy, and had noreason to feel afraid of it. His wants again became clamorous, and histone menacing. The jewels arrived from England in the Constellation, butdid not mollify him. 

"Now, " said he, "I must have a thirty-six-gun frigate, like the one yousent to the Dey of Algiers. "

Eaton protested that there was no frigate in the treaty, and that wewould fight rather than yield to such extortion. 

The Prime Minister blew a cloud from his pipe. "We find it all puff; wesee how you carry on the war with Tripoli. "

"But are you not ashamed to make this demand, when you have justreceived these valuable jewels?"

"Not at all. We expected the full payment of peace stipulations in ayear. You came out with nothing, and three years have elapsed since yousettled the treaty. We have waited all this time, but you have made usno consideration for this forbearance. Nor have we as yet received anyevidence of the veritable friendship of the Prince of America, notwithstanding the repeated intimations we have given him that such anexpression of his sincerity would be agreeable to us. His Excellency, mymaster, is a man of great forbearance; but he knows what steps to takewith nations who exhaust his patience with illusive expressions offriendship. "

Eaton answered, angrily, that the Bey might write himself to thePresident, if he wanted a frigate. For his part, he would never transmitso outrageous a demand. "Then, " retorted the Bey, "I will send you home, and the letter with you. "

The letter was composed by the dragoman and forwarded to the UnitedStates, but Eaton was allowed to remain. 

Disgusted with the shameful position of our affairs in theMediterranean, Eaton requested Mr. Madison to recall him, unless moreactive operations against the enemy should be resolved upon. "I can nolonger talk of resistance and coercion, " he wrote, "without exciting agrimace of contempt and ridicule ... The operations of our squadron thisseason have done less than the last to aid my efforts. Government may aswell send out Quaker meeting-houses to float about this sea as frigateswith ------ in command ... If further concessions are to be made here, Idesire I may not be the medium through whom they shall be presented. Ourpresents show the Bey our wealth and our weakness and stimulate hisavarice to new demands. "

The display of latent force by the United States fleet, from which ourGovernment had expected so much, increased the insolence of the Bey ofTunis to such a point that Eaton was obliged to withdraw from his post, and a new war seemed inevitable. The Americans had declared Tripoliblockaded; but, as their ships were seldom on the coast, littleattention was paid to them. It happened, however, that a Tunisianvessel, bound for Tripoli, was captured when attempting to enter theharbor, and declared a prize. Shortly after, Commodore Morris anchoredoff Tunis and landed to visit the Consul. The Bey, who held the correctdoctrine on the subject of paper blockades, pronounced the seizureillegal and demanded restitution. During his stay on shore, theCommodore had several interviews with the Bey's commercial agent inrelation to this prize question. The behavior of that official was sooffensive that the Commodore determined to go on board his ship withoutmaking the usual farewell visit at Court. As he was stepping into hisboat from the mole, he was arrested by the commercial agent for a debtof twenty-two thousand dollars, borrowed by Eaton to assist HametCaramanli in his expedition against Tripoli. Eaton remonstratedindignantly. He alone was responsible for the debt; he had givenabundant security, and was willing to pay handsomely for furtherforbearance. In vain; the agent would take nothing but the money. Eatonhurried to the palace to ask the Bey if this arrest was by his order. The Bey declined to answer or to interfere. There was no help for it;the Commodore was caught. To obtain permission to embark, he was obligedto get the money from the French Consul-General, and to promiserestitution of the captured vessel and cargo. As soon as he was atliberty, the Commodore, accompanied by Eaton, went to the palace toprotest against this breach of national hospitality and insult to theflag. Eaton's remarks were so distasteful to the Bey that he ordered himagain to quit his court, --this time peremptorily, --adding, that theUnited States must send him a Consul "with a disposition more congenialto Barbary interests. "

Eaton arrived in Boston on the 5th of May, 1803. The same season Preblesailed into the Mediterranean, with the Constitution, "a bunch of pineboards, " as she was then called in derision, poorly fitted out, andhalf-manned; and with three other vessels in no better condition. Buthere, at last, was a captain whom no cautious or hesitating instructionscould prevent from doing the work set before him to the best of hisability. Sword in hand, he maintained the principle of "Death beforetribute, " so often and so unmeaningly toasted at home; and it was nothis fault, if he did not establish it. At all events, he restored thecredit of our flag in the Mediterranean. 

When the news reached home of the burning of the Philadelphia, of theattack of the fireships, and of the bombardment of Tripoli, the blood ofthe nation was up. Arch-democratic scruples as to the expediency, economy, or constitutionality of public armed ships were thenceforthutterly disregarded. Since then, it has never been a question whetherthe United States should have a navy or not. To Preble fairly belongsthe credit of establishing it upon a permanent footing, and of headingthe roll of daring and skilful officers the memory of whose gallantrypervades the service and renders it more effective than its shipsand its guns. 

The Administration yielded to the popular feeling, and attempted toclaim for themselves the credit of these feats of arms, which they hadneither expected nor desired. A new fleet was fitted out, comprising ourwhole navy except five ships. Here again the cloven foot became visible. Preble, who had proved himself a captain of whom any nation might beproud, was superseded by Commodore Barron, on a question of seniorityetiquette, which might have been easily settled, had the Government sowished it. 

Eaton had spent a year at home, urging upon the authorities, wheneverthe settlement of his accounts took him to Washington, more effectivemeasures against Tripoli, --and particularly an alliance with HametCaramanli, the Ex-Pacha, who had been driven from his throne by hisbrother Jusuf, a much more able man. In spite of his bitter flings attheir do-nothing policy, the Administration sent him out in the fleet, commissioned as General Agent for the Barbary Regencies, with theunderstanding that he was to join Hamet and assist him in an attack uponDerne. His instructions were vague and verbal; he had not even a letterto our proposed ally. Eaton was aware of his precarious position; butthe hazardous adventure suited his enterprising spirit, and hedetermined to proceed in it. "If successful, for the public, --ifunsuccessful, for myself, " he wrote to a friend, quoting from hisclassical reminiscences; "but any personal risk, " he added, with arhetorical flourish, "is better than the humiliation of treating with awretched pirate for the ransom of men who are the rightful heirsof freedom. "

He sailed in the John Adams, in June, 1804. The President, Congress, Essex, and Constellation were in company. On the 5th of September thefleet anchored at Malta. In a few weeks the plan of the expedition wassettled, and the necessary arrangements made, with the consent and underthe supervision of Barron. Eaton then went on board the United Statesbrig Argus, Captain Isaac Hull, detached specially on this service bythe Commodore, and sailed for Alexandria, to hunt up Hamet and toreplace him upon a throne. 

On the 8th of December, Eaton and his little party, Lieutenant Blake, Midshipmen Mann and Danielson, of the navy, and Lieutenant O'Bannon ofthe marines, arrived in Cairo. Here they learned that Hamet had takenservice with the rebel Mamlouk Beys and was in command of an Arab forcein Upper Egypt. A letter from Preble to Sir Alexander Ball insured theAmericans the hearty good wishes of the English. They were lodged in theEnglish house, and passed for United States naval officers on apleasure-trip. In this character they were presented to the Viceroy byDr. Mendrici, his physician, who had known Eaton intimately in Tunis, and was much interested in this enterprise. The recommendation of theDoctor obtained a private audience for Eaton. He laid his plans franklybefore his Highness, who listened favorably, assured him of hisapproval, and ordered couriers to be sent to Hamet, bearing a letter ofamnesty and permission to depart from Egypt. 

The messengers returned with an answer. The Ex-Pacha was unwilling totrust himself within the grasp of the Viceroy; he preferred a meeting ata place near Lake Fayoum, (Maeris, ) on the borders of the Desert, aboutone hundred and ninety miles from the coast. Regardless of the danger oftravelling in this region of robbery and civil war, Eaton set off atonce, accompanied by Blake, Mann, and a small escort. After a ride ofseventy miles, they fell in with a detachment of Turkish cavalry, whoarrested them for English spies. This accident they owed to the zeal ofthe French Consul, M. Drouette, who, having heard that they were on goodterms with the English, thought it the duty of a French official tothrow obstacles in their way. Luckily the Turkish commandant proved tobe a reasonable man. He listened to their story and sent off a courierto bring Hamet to them. The Pacha soon arrived. He expressed an entirewillingness to be reinstated upon his throne by the Americans, and to dowhat he could for himself with his followers and friendly Arab tribes inthe province of Derne. In case of success, he offered brilliantadvantages to the United States. A convention was drawn up in thissense, signed by him as legitimate Pacha of Tripoli, and by Eaton, asagent for the United States. 

The original plan was to proceed to Derne in the Argus; but the TurkishGovernor of Alexandria refused to permit so large a force to embark atthat port; and Hamet himself showed a strong disinclination to venturewithin the walls of the enemy. The only course left was to march overthe Desert. Eaton adopted it with his usual vigor. The Pacha and his menwere directed to encamp at the English cut, between Aboukir Bay and LakeMareotis. Provisions were bought, men enlisted, camels hired, and a fewArabs collected together by large promises and small gifts. The party, complete, consisted of the Americans already mentioned, Farquhar, anEnglishman, Pascal Paoli Peck, whose name we take pleasure in writingagain, with six men of his corps, twenty-five artillery-men of allnations, principally Levanters, and thirty-eight Greeks. The followersof the Pacha, hired Arabs, camel-drivers, servants, and vagabonds, madeup their number to about four hundred. 

On the 8th of March, 1805, Eaton advanced into the Desert westward, towards the famous land of Cyrene, like Aryandes the Persian, and Amrou, general of the Caliph Omar. The little army marched along slowly, "onsands and shores and desert wildernesses, " past ruins of hugebuildings, --relics of three civilizations that had died out, --mostlymere stones to Eaton, whose mind was too preoccupied by his wildenterprise to speculate much on what others had done there before him. Want of water, scarcity of provisions, the lazy dilatoriness of theArabs, who had never heard of the American axiom, "Time is money, " gavehim enough to think of. But worse than these were the daily outbreaks ofthe ill-feeling which always exists between Mussulman and Christian. TheArabs would not believe that Christians could be true friends toMussulmans. They were not satisfied with Eaton's explanations of thesimilarity between the doctrines of Islam and of American, but triedagain and again to make him repeat the soul-saving formula, "_AllahAllah Mohammed ben Allah_", and thus at once prove his sincerity andescape hell. The Pacha himself, an irresolute, weak man, could not quiteunderstand why these infidels should have come from beyond the seas toplace him upon a throne. A suspicion lurked in his heart that their realobject was to deliver him to his brother as the price of a peace, andany occurrence out of the daily routine of the march brought thisunpleasant fancy uppermost in his thoughts. On one point the Mahometanmind of every class dwelt alway, --"How could Allah permit these dogs, who followed the religion of the Devil, to possess such admirableriches?" The Arabs tried hard to obtain a share of them. They yelpedabout the Americans for money, food, arms, and powder. Even the brassbuttons of the infidels excited their cupidity. 

Eaton's patience, remarkable in a man of his irascible temper, manypromises, and a few threats, kept the Crescent and the Cross moving ontogether in comparative peace until the 8th of April. On that day andoutbreak of ill-temper occurred so violent that the two parties nearlycame to blows. Turks were drawn up on one side, headed byHamet, --Americans on the other, with the Greeks and Levanters. Swordswere brandished and muskets pointed, and much abuse discharged. Nothingbut the good sense of one of the Pacha's officers and Eaton's cooldetermination prevented the expedition from destroying itself onthe spot. 

Peace was at last restored, and kept until the 15th, when the armyreached the Gulf of Bomba. In this bay, known to the ancients as theGulf of Plataea, it is said that the Greeks landed who founded thecolony of Cyrene. Eaton had written to Captain Hull to meet him herewith the Argus, and, relying upon her stores, had made this the place offulfilment of many promises. Unfortunately, no Argus was to be seen. Seaand shore were as silent and deserted as when Battus the Dorian firstsaw the port from his penteconters, six hundred years or more beforeChrist. A violent tumult arose. The Arabs reproached the Americansbitterly for the imposture, and declared their intention of desertingthe cause immediately. Luckily, before these wild allies had departed, asail appeared upon the horizon; they were persuaded to wait a short timelonger. It was the Argus. Hull had seen the smoke of their fires andstood in. He anchored before dark; provisions were sent on shore; andplenty in the camp restored quiet and discipline. 

On the 23d they resumed their march, and on the 25th, at two in theafternoon, encamped upon a hill overlooking the town of Derne. Deserterscame in with the information that two-thirds of the inhabitants were infavor of Hamet; but that Hassan Bey, the Governor, with eight hundredfighting-men, was determined to defend the place; Jusuf had sent fifteenhundred men to his assistance, who were within three days' march. Hamet's Arabs seized upon this opportunity to be alarmed. It becamenecessary to promise the chiefs two thousand dollars before they wouldconsent to take courage again. 

Eaton reconnoitred the town. He ascertained that a ten-inch howitzer onthe terrace of the Governor's house was all he had to fear in the way ofartillery. There were eight nine-pounders mounted on a bastion lookingseaward, but useless against a land-attack. Breastworks had been thrownup, and the walls of houses loopholed for musketry. 

The next day, Eaton summoned Hassan to surrender the place to hislegitimate sovereign, and offered to secure him his present position incase of immediate submission.. The flag was sent back with the answer, "My head or yours!" and the Bey followed up this Oriental message byoffering six thousand dollars for Eaton's head, and double the sum, ifhe were brought in alive. 

At six o'clock on the morning of the 27th, the Argus, Nautilus, andHornet stood in, and, anchoring within a hundred yards of the battery, silenced it in three-quarters of an hour. At the same time the town wasattacked on one side by Hamet, and on the other by the Americans. A hotfire of musketry was kept up by the garrison. The Greek artillery-menshot away the rammer of their only field-piece, after a few discharges, rendering the gun useless. Finding that a number of his small party werefalling, Eaton ordered a charge, and led it. Dashing through a volley ofbullets, the Christians took the battery in flank, carried it, plantedthe American flag, and turned the guns upon the town. Hamet soon cut hisway to the Bey's palace, and drove him to sanctuary to escape beingtaken prisoner. After a lively engagement of two hours and a half, theallies had complete possession of the town. Fourteen of the Christianshad been killed or wounded, three of them American marines. Eatonhimself received a musket-ball in his wrist. 

The Ex-Pacha had scarcely established himself in his new conquest beforeJusuf's army appeared upon the hills near the town. Hassan Bey succeededin escaping from sanctuary, and took the command. After severalfruitless attempts to buy over the rebel Arabs, the Bey, on the 13th ofMay, made a sudden attack upon the quarter of the town held by Hamet'sforces, and drove all before him as far as the Governor's house; but afew volleys from the nine-pounders sent him and his troops back at fullspeed. Hamet's cavalry pursued, and cut down a great many of them. Thissevere lesson made the Bey cautious. Henceforward he kept his men in thehills, and contented himself with occasional skirmishing-parties. 

After this affair numerous Arabs of rank came over, and things lookedwell for the cause of the legitimate Pacha. Eaton already fanciedhimself marching into Tripoli under the American flag, and releasingwith his own hands the crew of the Philadelphia. He wrote to Barron ofhis success, and asked for supplies of provisions, money, and men. A fewmore dollars, a detachment of marines, and the fight was won. His answerwas a letter from the Commodore, informing him, "that the reigning Pachaof Tripoli has lately made overtures of peace, which the Consul-General, Colonel Lear, has determined to meet, viewing the present momentpropitious to such a step. " With the letter came another from Lear, ordering Eaton to evacuate Derne. Eaton sent back an indignantremonstrance, and continued to hold the town. But on the 11th of Junethe Constellation came in, bringing the news of the conclusion of peace, and of the release of the captives, upon payment of sixty thousanddollars. Colonel Lear wrote, that, by an article of the treaty, Hamet'swife and children would be restored to him, on condition of his leavingthe Regency. No other provision was made for him. 

When the Ex-Pacha (Ex for the third time) heard that thenceforth hemust depend upon his own resources, he requested that he might be takenoff in the Constellation, as his life would not be safe when hisadherents discovered that his American friends had betrayed him, Eatontook every precaution to keep the embarkation a secret, and succeeded ingetting all his men safely on board the frigate. He then, the last ofthe party, stepped into a small boat, and had just time to save hisdistance, when the shore was crowded with the shrieking Arabs. Findingthe Christians out of their reach, they fell upon their tents andhorses, and swept away everything of value. 

It was a rapid change of scene. Six hours before, the little Americanparty held Derne triumphantly against all comers from Jusuf's dominions, and Hamet had prospects of a kingdom. Now he was a beggar, on his way toMalta, to subsist there for a time on a small allowance from the UnitedStates. Even his wife and children were not to be restored to him; for, in a secret stipulation with the Pacha, Lear had waived for four yearsthe execution of that article of the treaty. The poor fellow had beentaken up as a convenience, and was dropped when no longer wanted. But hewas only an African Turk, and, although not black, was probably darkenough in complexion to weaken his claims upon the good feeling and thegood faith of the United States. 

Eaton arrived at home in November of the same year, [3] disgusted withthe officers, civil and naval, who had cut short his successfulcampaign, and had disregarded, as of no importance, the engagements hehad contracted with his Turkish ally. His report to the Secretary of theNavy expressed in the most direct language his opinion of the treaty andhis contempt for the reasons assigned by Lear and Barron for theirsudden action. The enthusiastic welcome he received from his countrymenencouraged his dissatisfaction. The American people decreed him atriumph after their fashion, --public dinners, addresses ofcongratulation, the title of Hero of Derne. He had shown just thequalities mankind admire, --boldness, tenacity, and dashing courage. Fewcould be found who did not regret that Preble had not been there to helphim onward to Tripoli and to a peace without payments. And as Eaton wasnot the man to carry on a war, even of words, without throwing his wholesoul into the conflict, he proclaimed to all hearers that the Governmentwas guilty of duplicity and meanness, and that Lear was a compound ofenvy, treachery, and ignorance. 

But this violence of language recoiled upon himself, --

 "And so much injured more his side, The stronger arguments he applied. "

The Administration steadily upheld Lear; and good Democrats, who sawevery measure refracted through the dense medium of party-spirit, ofcourse defended their leaders, and took fire at Eaton's overbearingmanner and insulting intolerance of their opinions. Thus, although thegeneral sentiment of the country was strongly in his favor, atWashington he made many enemies. A resolution was introduced into theHouse of Representatives to present him with a medal, or with a sword;it was violently opposed by John Randolph and others, postponed fromtime to time, and never passed. Eaton received neither promotion, norpecuniary compensation, nor an empty vote of thanks. He had even greatdelay and difficulty in obtaining the settlement of his accounts[4] andthe repayment of the money advanced by him. 

Disappointment, debt, and hard drinking soon brought Eaton's life to aclose. He died in obscurity in 1811. Among his papers was found a listof officers who composed a Court Martial held in Ohio by General St. Clair in 1793. As time passed, he had noted in the margin of the paperthe fate of each man. All were either "Dead" or "Damned by brandy. " Hisfriends might have completed the melancholy roll by writing under hisname the same epitaph. 

However wrong Eaton may have been in manners and in morals, he seems tohave been right in complaining of the treatment he received from theAdministration. The organs of the Government asserted that Eaton hadexceeded his instructions, and had undertaken projects the end of whichcould not be foreseen, --that the Administration had never authorizedany specific engagement with Hamet, an inefficient person, and not atall the man he was supposed to be, --and that the alliance with him wasmuch too expensive and dangerous to justify its further prosecution. Unfortunately for this view of the case, the dealings of the UnitedStates with Hamet dated back to the beginning of the war with Tripoli. Adiversion in his favor was no new project, but had been considered formore than three years. Eaton and Cathcart had recommended it in 1801, and Government approved of the plan. In 1802, when Jusuf Pacha offeredHamet the Beyship of Benghazi and Derne, to break up these negotiations, the United States Consuls promised him Jusuf's throne, if he wouldrefuse the offer, and threatened, if he accepted it, to treat him as anenemy, and to send a frigate to prevent him from landing at Derne. Later, when the Bey of Tunis showed some inclination to surrender Hametto his brother, the Consuls furnished him with the means of escape toMalta. In 1803, he crossed over to Derne in an English brig, hoping toreceive assistance from the American fleet; but Commodore Morris lefthim to his own resources; he was unable to hold his ground, and fled toEgypt. All this was so well known at home, that members of theOpposition in Congress jokingly accused the Administration ofundertaking to decide constitutional questions for the peopleof Tripoli. 

Before the news of this flight into Egypt reached the United States, Eaton had been instructed by the President to take command of anexpedition on the coast of Barbary in connection with Hamet. It had beendetermined to furnish a few pieces of field-artillery, a thousand standof arms, and forty thousand dollars as a loan to the Pretender. But whenthe President heard of Hamet's reverses, he withheld the supplies, andsent Eaton out as "General Agent for the several Barbary States, "without special instructions. The Secretary of the Navy wrote at thesame time to Commodore Barron:--"With respect to the Ex-Bashaw ofTripoli, we have no objection to your availing yourself of hiscooperation with you against Tripoli, if you shall, upon a full view ofthe subject, after your arrival upon the station, consider hiscooperation expedient. The subject is committed entirely to yourdiscretion. In such an event, you will, it is believed, find Mr. Eatonextremely useful to you. "

After Commodore Barron had reached his station, he did consider the"coöperation" expedient; and ordered Hull in the Argus to Alexandriawith Eaton in search of Hamet, "the legitimate sovereign of thereigning Bashaw of Tripoli. " If Eaton succeeded in finding the Pacha, Hull was to carry him and his suite to Derne, "or such other place asmay be determined the most proper for coöperating with the naval forceunder my command against the common enemy ... You may assure the Bashawof the support of my squadron at Benghazi or Derne, and that I will takethe most effectual measures with the forces under my command forcooperating with him against the usurper his brother, and forreëstablishing him in the Regency of Tripoli. Arrangements to thiseffect with him are confided to the discretion with which Mr. Eaton isvested by the Government. "

It would seem from these extracts that Eaton derived full authority fromBarron to act in this matter, independently of his commission as"General Agent. " We do not perceive that he exceeded a reasonablediscretion in the "arrangements" made with Hamet. After so manydisappointments, the refugee could not be expected to leave acomfortable situation and to risk his head without some definiteagreement as to the future; and the convention made with him by Eatondid not go beyond what Hamet had a right to demand, or the instructionsof the Commodore, --even in Article II. , which was afterward particularlyobjected to by the Government. It ran thus:--

"The Government of the United States shall use their utmost exertions, so far as comports with their own honor and interest, their subsistingtreaties, and the acknowledged law of nations, to reëstablish the saidHamet Bashaw in the possession of his sovereignty of Tripoli against thepretensions of Joseph Bashaw, " etc. 

We should add, that Hamet, to satisfy himself of the truth of Eaton'srepresentations, sent one of his followers to Barron, who confirmed thetreaty; and that the Commodore, when he received Eaton's despatch, announcing his departure from Aboukir, wrote back a warm approval of hisenergy, and notified him that the Argus and the Nautilus would be sentimmediately to Bomba with the necessary stores and seven thousanddollars in money. Barron added, --"You may depend upon the most activeand vigorous support from the squadron, as soon as the season and ourarrangements will permit us to appear in force before theenemy's walls. "

So much for Eaton's authority to pledge the faith of the United States. As to the question of expense: the whole cost of the expedition, up tothe evacuation of Derne, was thirty-nine thousand dollars. Eatonasserted, and we see no reason to doubt his accuracy, that thirtythousand more would have carried the American flag triumphantly intoTripoli. Lear paid sixty thousand for peace. 

Hamet was set on shore at Syracuse with thirty followers. Two hundreddollars a month were allowed him for the support of himself and of them, until particular directions should be received from the United Statesconcerning him. He wrote more than once to the President for relief, resting his claims upon Eaton's convention and the letter of theSecretary of State read to him by Consul Cathcart in 1802. In thisletter, the Secretary declared, that, in case of the failure of thecombined attack upon Derne, it would be proper for our Government "torestore him to the situation from, which he was drawn, or to make someother convenient arrangement that may be more eligible to him. " Hametasked that at least the President would restore to him his wife andfamily, according to the treaty, and send them all back to Egypt. "Icannot suppose, " he wrote, "that the engagements of an American agentwould be disputed by his Government, ... Or that a gentleman has pledgedtowards me the honor of his country on purpose to deceive me. "

Eaton presented these petitions to the President and to the public, andinsisted so warmly upon the harsh treatment his ally had received fromthe United States, that two thousand four hundred dollars were sent tohim in 1806, and again, in 1807, Davis, Consul for Tripoli, was directedto insist upon the release of the wife and children. They were deliveredup by Jusuf in 1807, and taken to Syracuse in an American sloop-of-war. Here ended the relations of the United States with Hamet Caramanli. [5]

Throughout this whole African chapter, the darling economy of theAdministration was a penny-wise policy which resulted in the usualfailure. Already in 1802, Mr. Gallatin reported that two millions and ahalf, in round numbers, had been paid in tribute and presents. Theexpense of fitting out the four squadrons is estimated by Mr. Sabine atthree millions and a half. The tribute extorted after 1802 and the costof keeping the ships in the Mediterranean amount at the lowest estimateto two millions more. Most of this large sum might have been saved bygiving an adequate force and full powers to Commodore Dale, who hadserved under Paul Jones, and knew how to manage such matters. 

Unluckily for their fame, the Administration was equally parsimonious innational spirit and pluck, and did their utmost to protect themselvesagainst the extravagance of such reckless fellows as Preble, Decatur, and Eaton. In the spring of 1803, while Preble was fitting out hissquadron, Mr. Simpson, Consul at Tangier, was instructed to buy thegood-will of the Emperor of Morocco. He disobeyed his instructions, andthe Emperor withdrew his demands when he saw the American ships. Aboutthe same time, the Secretary of State wrote to Consul Cathcart inrelation to Tripoli:--

"It is thought best that you should not be tied down to a refusal ofpresents, whether to be included in the peace, or to be made from timeto time during its continuance, --especially as in the latter case thetitle to the presents will be a motive to its continuance, --to admitthat the Bashaw shall receive in the first instance, including theconsular present, the sum of $20, 000, and at the rate afterwards of$8, 000 or $10, 000 a year ... The presents, whatever the amount orpurpose of them, (except the consular present, which, as usual, mayconsist of jewelry, cloth, etc. , ) must be made in money and not instores, to be biennial rather than annual; _and the arrangement of thepresents is to form no part of the public treaty, if a private promiseand understanding can be substituted. _"

After notifying Cathcart of his appointment to Tunis, the Secretarydirects him to evade the thirty-six-gun frigate, and to offer the Beyten thousand dollars a year for peace, to be arranged in the sameunderhand way. 

Tripoli refused the money; it was not enough. The Bey of Tunis rejectedboth the offer and the Consul. He wrote to Mr. Jefferson that heconsidered some of Cathcart's expressions insulting, and that heinsisted upon the thirty-six-gun frigate. Mr. Jefferson answered on the27th of January, 1804, after he knew of the insult to Morris and of theexpulsion of Eaton. Beginning with watery generalities about "mutualfriendships and the interests arising out of them, " he regretted thatthere should be any misconception of his motives on the part of the Bey. "Such being our regard for you, it is with peculiar concern I learn fromyour letter that Mr. Cathcart, whom I had chosen from a confidence inhis integrity, experience, and good dispositions, has so conductedhimself as to incur your displeasure. In doing this, be assured he hasgone against the letter and spirit of his instructions, which were, thathis deportment should be such as to make known my esteem and respect foryour character both personal and public, and to cultivate yourfriendship by all the attentions and services he could render.... Inselecting another character to take the place of Mr. Cathcart, I shalltake care to fix on one who, I hope, will better fulfil the duties ofrespect and esteem for you, and who, in so doing only, will be thefaithful representative and organ of our earnest desire that the peaceand friendship so happily subsisting between the two countries may befirm and permanent. "

Most people will agree with Eaton, that "the spirit which dictated thisanswer betrays more the inspiration of Carter's Mountain[6] than ofBunker Hill. "

Lear, who was appointed Consul-General in 1803, was authorized by hisinstructions to pay twenty thousand dollars down and ten thousand a yearfor peace, and a sum not to exceed five hundred dollars a manfor ransom. 

When Barron's squadron anchored at Malta, Consul O'Brien came on boardto say that he had offered, by authority, eight thousand dollars a yearto Tunis, instead of the frigate, and one hundred and ten thousand toTripoli for peace and the ransom of the crew of the Philadelphia, andthat both propositions had been rejected. 

Finally, after fitting out this fourth squadron, at an expense of onemillion five hundred and seventy thousand dollars, and with Eaton inpossession of Derne, the Administration paid sixty thousand dollars forpeace and ransom, when Preble, ten months previously, could haveobtained both for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Thus theyspent two millions to save ninety thousand, and left the principle oftribute precisely where it was before. 

What makes this business still more remarkable is, that theAdministration knew from the reports of our consuls and from theexperience of our captains that the force of the pirates wasinsignificant, and that they were wretched sailors and poor shots. Sterret took a Tripolitan cruiser of fourteen guns after an engagementof thirty minutes; he killed or wounded fifty of her crew, and did notlose a man, nor suffer any material damage in his hull or rigging. Therewas no one killed on the American side when Decatur burned thePhiladelphia. The Constitution was under the fire of the Tripolitanbatteries for two hours without losing a man, and was equally fortunatewhen she ran in a second time and lay within musket-shot of the mole, exposed to the fire of the enemy for three-quarters of an hour. TheseTripolitan batteries mounted one hundred and fifteen guns. Three yearslater, Captain Ichabod Sheffield, of the schooner Mary Ann, furnished inperson an example of the superiority of the Yankee over the Turk. ConsulLear had just given forty-eight thousand dollars to the Dey of Algiers, in full payment of tribute "up to date. " Nevertheless, the Mary Ann, ofand from New York to Leghorn, was seized in the Straits of Gibraltar byan Algerine corsair. A prize-crew of nine Turks was sent on board; thecaptain, two men, and a boy left in her to do the work; she was orderedto Algiers; and the pirate sailed away. Having no instructions fromWashington, Sheffield and his men determined to strike a blow forliberty, and fixed upon their plan. Algiers was in sight, when Sheffieldhurled the "grains" overboard, and cried that he had struck a fish. FourTurks, who were on deck, ran to the side to look over. Instantly theAmericans threw three of them into the sea. The others, hearing thenoise, hurried upon deck. In a hand-to-hand fight which followed twomore were killed with handspikes, and the remaining four wereoverpowered and sent adrift in a small boat. Sheffield made his way, rejoicing, to Naples. When the Dey heard how his subjects had beenhandled, he threatened to put Lear in irons and to declare war. It costthe United States sixteen thousand dollars to appease his wrath. 

The cruise of the Americans against Tripoli differed little, except inthe inferiority of their force, from numerous attacks made by Europeannations upon the Regencies. Venice, England, France, had repeatedlychastised the pirates in times past. In 1799, the Portuguese, with oneseventy-four-gun ship, took two Tripolitan cruisers, and forced thePacha to pay them eleven thousand dollars. In 1801, not long before ourexpedition, the French Admiral Gaunthomme over-hauled two Tunisiancorsairs in chase of some Neapolitan vessels. He threw all their gunsoverboard, and bade them beware how they provoked the wrath of the FirstConsul by plundering his allies. But all of them left, as we did, theprinciple of piracy or payments as they found it. At last this evil wastreated in a manner more creditable to civilization. In 1812, theAlgerines captured an American vessel, and made slaves of the crew. After the peace with England, in 1815, Decatur, in the Guerrière, sailedinto the Mediterranean, and captured off Cape de Gat, in twenty-fiveminutes, an Algerine frigate of forty-six guns and four hundred men. Onboard the Guerrière, four were wounded, and no one killed. Two dayslater, off Cape Palos, he took a brig of twenty-two guns and one hundredand eighty men. He then sailed into the harbor of Algiers with hisprizes, and offered peace, which was accepted. The Dey released theAmerican prisoners, relinquished all claims to tribute in future, andpromised never again to enslave an American. Decatur, on our part, surrendered his prizes, and agreed to consular presents, --a mitigatedform of tribute, similar in principle, but, at least, with another name. From Algiers he went to Tunis, and demanded satisfaction of that Regencyfor having permitted a British man-of-war to retake in their port twoprizes to Americans in the late war with England. The Bey submitted, andpaid forty-six thousand dollars. He next appeared before Tripoli, wherehe compelled the Pacha to pay twenty-six thousand dollars, and tosurrender ten captives, as an indemnity for some breaches ofinternational law. In fifty-four days he brought all Barbary tosubmission. It is true, that, the next spring, the Dey of Algiersdeclared this treaty null, and fell back upon the time-honored system ofannual tribute. But it was too late. Before it became necessary forDecatur to pay him another visit, Lord Exmouth avenged the massacre ofthe Neapolitan fishermen at Bona by completely destroying the fleet andforts of Algiers, in a bombardment of seven hours. Christian prisonersof every nation were liberated in all the Regencies, and theslave-system, as applied to white men, finally abolished. 

Preble, Eaton, and Decatur are our three distinguished African officers. As Barron's squadron did not fire a shot into Tripoli, indeed nevershowed itself before that port, to Eaton alone belongs the credit ofbringing the Pacha to terms which the American Commissioner was willingto accept. The attack upon Derne was the feat of arms of the fourthyear, and finished the war. 

Ours is not a new reading of the earlier relations of the United Stateswith the Barbary powers. The story can be found in the Collection ofState Papers, and more easily in the excellent little books of Messrs. Sabine and Felton. But a "popular version" despises documents. Underthe pressure of melodrama, history will drift into Napoleon's "fableagreed upon"; and if it be true, as Emerson says, that "no anchor, nocable, no fence, avail to keep a fact a fact, " it is not at all likelythat a paper in a monthly magazine will do it. 

 * * * * *

SUNSHINE. 

I have always worked in the carpet-factories. My father and motherworked there before me and my sisters, as long as they lived. My sistersdied first;--the one, I think, out of deep sorrow; the other fromtoo much joy. 

My older sister worked hard, knew nothing else but work, never thoughtof anything else, nor found any joy in work, scarcely in the earningsthat came from it. Perhaps she pined for want of more air, shut up inthe rooms all day, not caring to find it in walking or in the fields, oreven in books. Household-work awaited her daily after the factory-work, and a dark, strange religion oppressed and did not sustain her, Sundays. So we scarcely wondered when she died. It seemed, indeed, as if she haddied long ago, --as if the life had silently passed away from her, leaving behind a working body that was glad at last to find a rest ithad never known before. 

My other sister was far different. Very much younger, not even a shadowof the death that had gone before weighed heavily upon her. Everybodyloved her, and her warm, flashing spirit that came out in her sunnysmile. She died in a season of joy, in the first flush of summer. Shedied, as the June flowers died, after their happy summer-day of life. 

At last I was left alone, to plod the same way, every night andmorning, --out with the sunrise from the skirts of the town, over thebridge across the stream that fell into our great river which has workedfor us so long, to the tall, grim factory-building where my work awaitedme, and home again at night. I lived on in the house we all of us hadlived in. At first it was alone in the wood. But the town crept out tomeet it, and soon but little woodland was left around it. "GloomyRobert" they called me, as I walked back and forth upon the same track, seldom lifting my head to greet friend or stranger. Though I walked overwell-known ground, my thoughts were wandering in strange romances. Myevening-readings furnished the land I lived in, --seldom this Westernhome, but the East, from Homer's time to the days of Haroun Alraschid. Iwas so faithful at my work that my responsibilities were each yearincreased; and though my brain lived in dreams, I had sufficient use ofit for my little needs each day. I never forgot to answer the wants ofthe greedy machines while I was within sound of them; but away from themI forgot all external sight and sound. I can remember in my boyhood onceI was waked from my reveries. I was walking beneath a high stone-wall, with my eyes and head bent down as usual, when I was roused by a showerof rose-buds that fell over my shoulders and folded arms. I heardlaughter, and looked up to see a childish face with sunny, golden curlstumbling over it; and a surprised voice cried out, "Gloomy Robert islooking up!" The picture of the face hung in my memory long after, withthe sound of the happy voice, as though it came out of another world. But it remained only a picture, and I never asked myself whether thatsunny face ever made any home happy, nor did I ever listen for thatvoice again from behind the high stone-wall. 

Many years of my life passed away. There were changes in the factories. The machines grew more like human beings, and we men could act more likemachines. There were fewer of us needed; but I still held my place, andmy steadiness gave me a position. 

One day, in the end of May, I was walking early in the morning towardsthe factories, as usual, when suddenly there fell across my path aglowing beam of sunshine that lighted up the grass before me. I stoppedto see how the green blades danced in its light, how the sunshine felldown the sloping, bank across the stream below. Whirring insects seemedto be suddenly born in its beam. The stream flowed more gayly, theflowers on its brim were richer in color. A voice startled me. It wasonly that of one of my fellow-workmen, as he shouted, "Look at GloomyRobert!--there's a sunbeam in his way, and he stumbles over it!" It wasreally so. I had stumbled over a beam of sunlight. I had never observedthe sunshine before. Now, what life it gave, as it gleamed under thetrees! I kept on my way, but the thought of it followed me all up theweary stairs into the high room where the great machines were standingsilently. Suddenly, after my work began, through a high narrow windowpoured a strip of sunshine. It fell across the colored threads whichwere weaving diligently their work. This day the work was of anunusually artistic nature. We have our own artists in the mills, artistswho must work under severe limitations. Within a certain space theirfancy revels, and then its lines are suddenly cut short. Nature scattersher flowers as she pleases over the field, does not measure her groupsto see that they stand symmetrically, nor count her several daisies thatthey may be sure to repeat themselves in regular order. But our artistmust fit his stems to certain angles so that their lines may becontinuous, constantly repeating themselves, the same group recurring, yet in a hidden monotony. 

My pattern of to-day had always pleased me, for we had woven many yardsof it before, --the machines and I. There were rich green leaves andflowers, gay flowers that shone in light and hid themselves in shade, and I had always admired their grace and coloring. To-day they hadseemed to me cold and dusky. All my ideas that I had gained fromconventional carpet-flowers, which, woven almost beneath my hand, hadseemed to rival Nature's, all these ideas had been suddenly swept away. My eyes had opened upon real flowers waving in real sunshine; and myhead grew heavy at the sound of the clanking machine weaving out yardsof unsunned flowers. If only that sunshine, I thought, would light upthese green leaves, put a glow on these brilliant flowers, instead ofthis poor coloring which tries to look like sunshine, we might rivalNature. But the moment I was so thinking, the rays of sunlight I havespoken of fell on the gay threads. They seemed, before my eyes, to seizeupon the poor yellow fibres which were trying to imitate their own glow, and, winding themselves round them, I saw the shuttle gather these raysof sunlight into the meshes of its work. I was to stand there till noon. So, long before I left, the gleam of sunshine had left the narrow windowand was hidden from the rest of the long room by the gray stone-walls ofanother building which rose up outside. But as long as they lingeredover the machine that I was watching, I saw, as though human fingerswere placing them there, rays of sunlight woven in among the greenleaves and brilliant flowers. 

After that gleam had gone, my work grew dark and dreary, and, for thefirst time, my walls seemed to me like prison-walls. I longed for theend of my day's work, and rejoiced that the sun had not yet set when Iwas free again. I was free to go out across the meadows, up the hills, to catch the last rays of sunset. Then coming home, I stooped to pickthe flowers which grew by the wayside in the waning light. 

All that June which followed, I passed my leisure hours and leisure daysin the open air, in the woods. I chased the sunshine from the fields inunder the deep trees, where it only flickered through the leaves. Ihunted for flowers, too, beginning with the gay ones which shone withcolor. I wondered how it was they could drink in so much of the sun'sglow. Then I fell to studying all the science of color and all thetheories which are woven about it. I plunged into books of chemistry, to try to find out how it was that certain flowers should choose certaincolors out from the full beam of light. After the long days, I sat lateinto the night, studying all that books could tell me. I collectedprisms, and tried, in scattering the rays, to learn the properties ofeach several pencil of light. I grew very wise and learned, but nevercame nearer the secret I was searching for, --why it was that the Violet, lying so near the Dandelion, should choose and find such a differentdress to wear. It was not the rarer flowers that I brought home, atfirst. My hands were filled with Dandelions and Buttercups. TheSaint-John's-Wort delighted me, and even the gaudy Sunflower. I trainedthe vines which had been drooping round our old house, --the graytime-worn house; the "natural-colored house, " the neighbors called it. Ithought of the blind boy who fancied the sound of the trumpet must bescarlet, as I trained up the brilliant scarlet trumpet-flower which mysister had planted long ago. 

So the summer passed away. My companions and neighbors did not wondermuch, that, after studying so many books, I should begin to studyflowers and botany. And November came. My occupation was not yet takenaway, for Golden-Rod and the Asters gleamed along the dusty roadside, and still underneath the Maples there lay a sunny glow from the yellowleaves not yet withered beneath them. 

One day I received a summons from our overseer, Mr. Clarkson, to visithim in the evening. I went, a little disturbed, lest he might have somecomplaint to make of the engrossing nature of my present occupations. This I was almost led to believe, from the way in which he began tospeak to me. His perorations, to be sure, were apt to be far wide of hissubject; and this time, as usual, I could allow him two or threeminutes' talk before it became necessary for me to give him myattention. 

At last it came out. I was wanted to go up to Boston about a marvellouspiece of carpet which had appeared from our mills. It had lain in thewarehouse some time, had at last been taken to Boston, and a largeportion of it had been sold, the pattern being a favorite one. Butsuddenly there had been a change. In opening one of the rolls andspreading it broadly in the show-room of Messrs. Gobelin's warehouse, ithad appeared the most wonderful carpet that ever was known. A realsunlight gleamed over the leaves and flowers, seeming to flicker anddance among them as on a broad meadow. It shed a radiance which paledthe light that struggled down between the brick walls through the highwindows. It had been subject of such wonder that Messrs. Gobelin hadbeen obliged to ask a high price of admission for the many that flockedto see it. They had eagerly examined the other rolls of carpeting, inthe hope of finding a repetition of the wonder, and were inclined at onetime to believe that this magical effect was owing to a new method oflighting their apartments. But it was only in this beautiful pattern andthrough a certain portion of it that this wonderful appearance wasshown. Some weeks ago they had sent to our agent to ask if he knew theorigin of this wonderful tapestry. He had consulted with the designer ofthe pattern, who had first claimed the discovery of the combination ofcolors by which such an effect was produced, but he could not accountfor its not appearing throughout the whole work. My master had thenexamined some of the workmen, and learned, in the midst of hisinquiries, what had been my late occupations and studies. 

"If, " he continued, "I had been inclined to apply any of my discoveriesto the work which I superintended, he was willing, and his partners werewilling, to forgive any interference of that sort, of mine, in affairswhich were strictly their own, as long as the discoveries seemed of soastonishing a nature. "

I am not able to give all our conversation. I could only say to myemployer, that this was no act of mine, though I felt very sure thatthe sunshine which astonished them in Messrs. Gobelin's carpet-store wasthe very sunbeam that shone through the window of the factory on the27th of May, that summer. When he asked me what chemical preparationcould insure a repetition of the same wonderful effect, I could onlysay, that, if sunlight were let in upon all the machines, through allthe windows of the establishment, a similar effect might be produced. Hestared at me. Our large and substantial mill was overshadowed by thehigh stone-walls of the rival company. It had taken a large amount ofcapital to raise our own walls; it would take a still larger to induceour neighbors to remove theirs. So we parted, --my employer evidentlythinking that I was keeping something behind, waiting to make my profiton a discovery so interesting to him. He called me back to tell me, that, after working so long under his employ, he hoped I should never beinduced by higher wages or other proffers to leave for any rivalestablishment. 

I was not left long in quiet. I received a summons to Boston. Mr. Stuart, the millionnaire, had bought the wonderful carpet at an immenseprice. He had visited our agent himself, had invited the designer todinner, and now would not be satisfied until I had made him a visitin Boston. 

I went to his house. I passed up through broad stairways, and overcarpets such as I had never trod nor woven. I should have liked tolinger and satisfy my eyes with looking at the walls decorated withpaintings, and at the statuary, which seemed to beckon to me like movingfigures. But I passed on to the room where Mr. Stuart and his friendsawaited me. Here the first thing that struck me was the glowing carpetacross which I must tread. It was lying in an oval saloon, which hadbeen built, they told me, for the carpet itself. The light was admittedonly from the ceiling, which was so decorated that no clear sunlightcould penetrate it; but down below the sunbeams lay flickering in themeadow of leaves, and shed a warm glow over the whole room. 

But my eyes directly took in many things besides the flowery groundbeneath me. At one end of the room stood a colossal bust of Juno, smiling grandly and imperturbably, as if she were looking out from thegreat far-away past. I think this would have held my looks and myattention completely, but that Mr. Stuart must introduce me to hisfriends. So I turned my glance away; but it was drawn directly towards apicture which hung before me, --a face that drove away all recollectionof the colossal goddess. The golden hair was parted over a broad brow;from the gentle, dreamy eyes there came a soft, penetrating glance, anda vagueness as of fancy rested over the whole face. I scarcely heard aword that was spoken to me as I looked upon this new charm, and I couldhardly find answers for the questions that surrounded me. 

But I was again roused from my dreamy wonderment by a real form thatfloated in and sent away all visions of imagination. "My daughter, " saidMr. Stuart, and I looked up into the same dreamy eyes which had beenwinning me in the picture. But these looked far beyond me, over me, perhaps, or through me, --I could scarcely say which, --and the mouthbelow them bent into a welcoming smile. While she greeted the otherguests, I had an opportunity to watch the stately grace of Mr. Stuart'sdaughter, who played the part of hostess as one long accustomed to it. 

"A queen!" I had exclaimed to myself, as she entered the room, "and myJuno!"

The gentlemen to whom I had been introduced had been summoned earlier, as in a learned committee, discussing the properties of the newdiscovery. After the entrance of the ladies, I was requested to leadMiss Stuart to dinner, and sat by her side through the clanging ofdishes and a similar clangor of the table-talk of tongues. 

"Speaking of light, " said the Professor, turning to me, "why cannot youbring, by your unknown chemical ways, some real sunlight into our rooms, in preference to this metallic gas-light?"

I turned to the windows, before which the servant had just drawn theheavy, curtains still closer, to shut out the gleams of a glowing sunsetwhich had ventured to penetrate between its folds. 

"I see your answer, " said Miss Stuart. "You wonder, as I do, why alittle piece of artificial sunlight should astonish us so much more thanthe cheap sunlight of every day which the children play in onthe Common. "

"I think your method, Mr. Desmond, " said the Chemist, "must be somepower you have found of concentrating all the rays of a pencil of light, disposing in some way of their heating power. I should like to know ifthis is a fluid agent or some solid substance. "

"I should like to see, " interrupted another gentleman, "the anvil whereMr. Desmond forges his beams. Could not we get up a party, Miss Stuart, an evening-party, to see a little bit of sunlight struck out, --on amoonshiny night, too?"

"In my lectures on chemistry, " began Mr. Jasper. He was interrupted byMr. Stuart. 

"You will have to write your lectures over again. Mr. Desmond hasintroduced such new ideas upon chemistry that he will give you a chancefor a new course. "

"You forget, " said the Chemist, "that the laws of science are the sameand immutable. My lectures, having once been written, are written. Ionly see that Mr. Desmond has developed theories which I have myselflaid down. As our friend the Artist will tell us, sunlight is sunlight, wherever you find it, whether you catch it on a carpet or on alady's face. "

"But I am quite ashamed, " said Miss Stuart, "that we ladies so seldomhave the sunlight on our faces. I think we might agree to Mr. Green'sproposal to go out somewhere and see where the sunbeams really are made. We shut them out with our curtains, and turn night into amake-believe day. "

"But the sun is so trying!" put in Miss Lester. "Just think how muchmore becoming candle-light is! There is not one of my dresses whichwould stand a broad sunbeam. "

"I see, " said Mr. Stuart, "that, when Mr. Desmond has perfected hisstudies, we shall be able to roof over the whole of Boston with ourwoven sunlight by day and gas-light by night, quite independent of fogsand uncertain east-winds. "

So much of the dinner-conversation dwelt upon what was supposed to beinteresting to me, and a part of my profession. It was laggingly done;for presently the talk fell into an easier flow, --a wonder about Mrs. This, and speculation concerning Mr. That. Mr. Blank had gone to Europewith half his family, and some of them knew why he had taken the fourelder children, and others wondered why he had left the rest behind. Iwas talked into a sort of spasmodic interest about a certain Maria, whowas at the ball the night before, but could not be at the dinner to-day. In an effort to show me why she would be especially charming to me, herpersonal appearance, the style of her conversation and dress, her mannerof life, all were pulled to pieces, and discussed, dissected, andclassified, in the same way as I would handle one of the Composite. 

Miss Stuart spoke but little. She fluttered gayly over the livelierconversation, but seemed glad to fall back into a sort of weariedrepose, where she appeared to be living in a higher atmosphere than therest of us. This air of repose the others seemed to be trying to reach, when they got no farther than dulness; and some of the gentlemen, Ithought, made too great efforts in their attempts to appear bored. Especially one of them exerted himself greatly to gape so often in theface of a lady with whom he was striving to keep up an appearance ofconversation, that the exertion itself must have wearied him. 

After the ladies had left, the Chemist seated himself by me, that hemight, as he openly said, get out of me the secret of my sunshine. Themore I disowned the sunshine, the more he felt sure that I possessedsome secret clue to it. I need not say, that, in all my talk with thesegentlemen, I had constantly tried to show that I could claim noinfluence in setting the sun's rays among the green carpeted leaves. 

I was urged to stay many days in Boston, was treated kindly, and invitedhere and there. I grew to feel almost at home at Mr. Stuart's. He waspleased to wonder at the education which I had given myself, as hecalled it. I sat many long mornings in Miss Stuart's drawing-room, andshe had the power of making me talk of many things which had always beenhidden even from myself. It was hardly a sympathy with me which seemedto unlock my inner thoughts; it was as though she had already lookedthrough them, and that I must needs bring them out for her use. Thatsame glance which I have already spoken of, which seemed to pass overand through me, invited me to say in words what I felt she was beginningto read with her eyes. We went together, the day before I was to leavetown, to the Gallery of Paintings. 

As we watched a fine landscape by Kensett, a stream of sunshine rested amoment on the canvas, giving motion and color, as it were, to thepictured sunlight. 

Miss Stuart turned to me. 

"Why will you not imprison sunlight in that way, Mr. Desmond? That wouldbe artistic. "

"You forget, " I said, "if I could put the real sunlight into such apicture, it would no longer be mine; I should be a borrower, not acreator of light; I should be no more of an artist than I am now. "

"You will always refuse to acknowledge it, " she said; "but you can neverpersuade me that you have not the power to create a sunbeam. Animprisoned sunbeam! The idea is absurd. "

"It is because the idea is so absurd, " I said, "that, if I felt thepower were mine to imprison sunbeams, I should hardly care to repeat theeffort. The sunshine rests upon the grass, freely we say, but in truthunder some law that prevents its penetrating farther. A sunbeam existingin the absence of the sun is, of course, an absurdity. Yet they arethere, the sunbeams of last spring, in your oval room, as I saw them oneday in May. "

"Which convinces me, " said Miss Stuart, "that you are an artist. That isnot real sunshine. You have created it. You are born for an artist-life. Do not go back to your drudgery. "

"Daily work, " I answered, "must become mechanical work, if we perform itin a servile way. A lawyer is perhaps inspired, when he is engaged in acause on which he thinks his reputation hangs; but, day by day, when hegoes down to the work that brings him his daily bread, he is quite aslikely to call it his drudgery as I my daily toil. "

She left her seat and walked with me towards a painting which hung notfar from us. It represented sunset upon the water. "The tender-curvinglines of creamy spray" were gathering up the beach; the light wasglistening across the waves; and shadows and light almost seemed to moveover the canvas. 

"There, " said Miss Stuart, "is what I call work that is worthy. I knowthere was inspiration in every touch of the brush. I know there washappy life in the life that inspired that painting. It is worth while tolive and to show that one has been living in that way. "

"But I think, " said I, "that the artist even of that picture laid asidehis brush heavily, when he sighed to himself that he must call itfinished. I believe that in all the days that it lay upon his easel hewent to it many times with weariness, because there was monotony in thework, --because the work that he had laid out for himself in his fancywas far above what he could execute with his fingers. The days ofdrudgery hung heavily on the days of inspiration; and it was only whenhe carried his heart into the most monotonous part of his work that hefound any inspiration in it, that he could feel he had accomplishedanything. " We turned suddenly away into a room where we had not beenbefore. I could not notice the pictures that covered the walls for thesake of one to which Miss Stuart led the way. After looking upon that, there could be no thought of finding out any other. It possessed thewhole room. The inspiration which uplifted the eyes fell over the wholepainting. We looked at it silently, and it was not till we had left thebuilding that Miss Stuart said, --

"We have seen there something which takes away all thought of artist orstyle of painting or work. I have never been able to ask myself what isthe color of the eyes of that Madonna, or of her flowing hair, or thetone of the drapery. I see only an expression that inspires the wholefigure, gives motion to the hands, life to the eyes, thought to thelips, and soul to the whole being. "

"The whole inspiration, the whole work, " I said, "is far above us. It isquite above me. No, I am not an artist; my fingers do not tingle for thebrush. This is an inspiration I cannot reach; it floats above me. Itmoves and touches me, but shows me my own powerlessness. "

I left Boston. I went back to winter, to my old home, to my every-day'swork. My work was not monotonous; or if one tone did often recur in it, I built upon it, out of my heart and life, full chords of music. Thevision of Margaret Stuart came before my eyes in the midst of allmechanical labor, in all the hours of leisure, in all the dreams ofnight. My life, indeed, grew more varied than ever; for I found myselfmore at ease with those around me, finding more happiness than I hadever found before in my intercourse with others. I found more of myselfin them, more sympathy in their joy or sorrow, myself more of an equalwith those around me. 

The winter months passed quickly away. Mr. Clarkson frequently showedhis disappointment because the mills no longer produced the wonder oflast year. For me, it had almost passed out of my thoughts. It seemedbut a part of the baser fabric of that vision where Margaret Stuartreigned supreme. I saw no way to help him; but more and more, daily, rejoiced in the outer sunshine of the world, in the fresh, glowingspring, in the flowers of May. So I was surprised again, when, near theclose of May, after a week of stormy weather, the sunlight broke throughthe window where it had shone the year before. It hung a moment on thethreads of work, --then, seeming to spurn them, fell upon the ground. 

We were weaving, alas! a strange "arabesque pattern, " as it was called, with no special form, --so it seemed to my eyes, --bringing in gorgeouscolors, but set in no shape which Nature ever produced, either above theearth or in metals or crystals hid far beneath. How I reproached myself, on Mr. Clarkson's account, that I had not interceded, just for this oneday of sunshine, for some pattern that Nature might be willing toacknowledge! But the hour was past, I knew it certainly, when the nextday the sun was clouded, and for many days we did not see itsface again. 

So the time passed away. Another summer came along, and another glowingautumn, and that winter I did not go to Boston. Mr. Clarkson let me fallback again into my commonplace existence. I was no longer more than oneof the common workmen. Perhaps, indeed, he looked upon, me with afeeling of disappointment, as though a suddenly discovered diamond hadturned to charcoal in his hands. Sometimes he consulted me upon chemicalmatters, finding I knew what the books held, but evidently feeling alittle disturbed that I never brought out any hidden knowledge. 

This second winter seemed more lonely to me. The star that had shoneupon me seemed farther away than ever. I could see it still. It washopelessly distant. My Juno! For a little while I could imagine she wasthinking of me, that my little name might be associated in her memorywith what we had talked of, what we had seen together, with some of thehigh things which I knew must never leave her thoughts. But thisglimmering memory of me I knew must have faded away as her life went on, varied as it was with change of faces, sounds of music, and whirl ofexcitement. Then, too, I never heard her name mentioned. She was out ofmy circle, as far away from my sphere as the heroines of those oldromances that I had read so long ago; but more life-like, more warm, more sunny was her influence still. It uplifted my work, and crowned myleisure with joy. I blessed the happy sunshine of that 27th of May, which in a strange way had been the clue that led to my knowledgeof her. 

The longest winter-months melt away at last into spring, and so didthese. May came with her promises and blights of promise. Recalling, this time, how sunshine would come with the latter end of May throughthe dark walls, I begged of Mr. Clarkson that a favorite pattern of minemight be put upon the looms. Its design was imagined by one of mycompanions in my later walks. He was an artist of the mills, and hadbeen trying to bring within the rigid lines that were required some ofthe grace and freedom of Nature. He had scattered here some water-liliesamong broad green leaves. My admiration for Nature, alas! had grown onlyafter severe cultivation among the strange forms which we carpet-makersindulge in with a sort of mimicry of Nature. So I cannot be a fair judgeof this, even as a work of art. I see sometimes tapestries in a meadowstudded with buttercups, and I fancy patterns for carpets when I see aleaf casting its shadow upon a stone. So I may be forgiven for sayingthat these water-lilies were dear to me as seeming like Nature, as theywere lying upon their green leaves. 

Mr. Clarkson granted my request, and for a few days, this pattern waswoven by the machine. These trial-days I was excited from my usualcalmness. The first day the sunshine did not reach the narrow window. The second day we had heavy storm and rain. But the third day, not farfrom the expected hour, the sunshine burst through the little space. Itfell upon my golden threads; it seemed directly to embrace themjoyously, to encircle them closely. The sunlight seemed to incorporateitself with the woolly fibre, to conceal itself among the work where theshuttle chose to hide it. I fancied a sort of laughing joy, a clatterand dash in the machinery itself, as though there were a happy time, where was usually only a monotonous whirl. I could scarcely containmyself till noon. 

When I left my room, I found, on inquiry, that Mr. Clarkson was not inthe building, and was to be away all day. I went out into the air for afree breath, and looked up into the glowing sky, yet was glad to go backagain to my machines, which I fancied would greet me with an unwontedjoy. But, as I passed towards the stairway, I glanced into one of thelower rooms, where some of the clerks were writing. I fancied Mr. Clarkson might be there. There were women employed in this room, andsuddenly one who was writing at a desk attracted my attention. I did notsee her face; but the impression that her figure gave me haunted me as Ipassed on. Some one passing me saw my disturbed look. 

"What have you seen? a ghost?" he asked. 

"Who is writing in that room? Can you tell me?" I said. 

"You know them all, " was his answer, "except the new-comer, Miss Stuart. Have not you heard the talk of her history, --how the father has failedand died and all that, and how the daughter is glad enough to get workunder Mr. Clarkson's patronage?"

The bell was ringing that called me, and I could not listen to more. Mybrain was whirling uncertainly, and I doubted if I ought to believe myears. I went back to my work more dazed and bewildered than ever in myyouthful days. I forgot the wonder of the morning. It was quiteoutshone by the wonder of the afternoon. I longed for my hour ofrelease. I longed for a time for thought, --to learn whether what hadbeen told me could be true. When the time came, I hastened down-stairs;but I found the door of the office closed. Its occupants had all gone. Ihastened through the village, turned back again, and on the bridge overthe little stream met Margaret Stuart. She was the same. It made nodifference what were her surroundings, she was the same; there was thesame wonderful glance, the same smile of repose. It made no differencewhere or how I met her, she ruled me still. She greeted me with the sameair and manner as in her old home when I saw her first. 

She told me afterwards of the changes and misfortunes of the past year, of her desire for independence, and how she found she was little able touphold it herself. 

"Some of my friends, " she said, "were very anxious I should teachsinging, --I had such a delicious voice, which had been so wellcultivated. I could sing Italian opera-songs and the like. But I found Icould only sing the songs that pleased me, and it was doubtful whetherthey would happen to suit the taste or the voice of those I should tryto teach. For, I must confess it, I have never cultivated my voiceexcept for my own pleasure, and never for the sake of the art. I did tryto teach music a little while, and, oh, it was hopeless! I rememberedsome of our old talks about drudgery, and thought it had been a happything for me, if I had ever learned how to drudge over anything. What Imean is, I have never learned how to go through a monotonous duty, howto give it an inspiration which would make it possible or endurable. Itwould have been easier to summon up all my struggling for the sake ofone great act of duty. I did not know how to scatter it over work dayafter day the same. Worse than all, in spite of all my education, I didnot know enough of music to teach it. "

She went on, not merely this evening, but afterwards, to tell me of thedifferent efforts she had made to earn a living for herself with thehelp of kind friends. 

"At last, " she said, "I bethought me of my handwriting, of the 'elegant'notes which used to receive such praise; and when I met Mr. Clarkson oneday in Boston, I asked him what price he would pay me for it. I willtell you that he was very kind, very thoughtful for me. He fancied thework he had to offer would be distasteful to me; but he has made it asagreeable, as easy to be performed, as can be done. My aunt was willingto come here with me. She has just enough to live upon herself, and weare likely to live comfortably together here. So I am trying that sortof work you praised so much when you were with me; and I shall be glad, if you can go on and show me what inspiration can bring into it. "

So day after day I saw her, and evening after evening we renewed the oldtalks. The summer passed on, and the early morning found her daily ather work, every day pursuing an unaccustomed labor. Her spirit seemedmore happy and joyous than ever. She seemed far more at home than in themidst of crowded streets and gay, brilliant rooms. Her expression wasmore earnest and spiritual than ever, --her life, I thought, gayerand happier. 

So I thought till one evening, when we had walked far away down thelittle stream that led out of the town. We stopped to look into itswaters, while she leaned against the trunk of a tree overshadowed it. Wewatched the light and shade that nickered below, the shadow of theclover-leaves, of the long reeds that hung almost across the stream. Thequiet was enhanced by the busy motion below, the bustle of little animallife, the skimming of the water-insects, the tender rustling of theleaves, and the gentle murmuring of the stream itself. Then I looked ather, from the golden hair upon her head down to its shadow in the brookbelow. I saw her hands folded over each other, and, suddenly, theylooked to me very thin and white and very weary. I looked at her again, and her whole posture was one of languor and weariness, --the languor ofthe body, not a weariness of the soul. There was a happy smile on thelips, and a gleam of happiness from under the half-closed eyes. But, oh, so tired and faint did the slender body look that I almost feared to seethe happier spirit leave it, as though it were incumbered by somethingwhich could not follow it. 

"Margaret!" I exclaimed. "You are wearing yourself away. You were nevermade for such labor. You cannot learn this sort of toil. You are of thesunshine, to play above the dusty earth, to gladden the dreary places. Look at my hands, that are large for work, --at my heavy shoulders, fitted to bear the yoke. Let me work for us both, and you shall still bethe inspiration of my work, and the sunshine that makes it gold. Thework we talked of is drudgery for you; you cannot bear it. "

I think she would not agree to what I said about her work. She "hadbegan to learn how to find life in every-day work, just as she saw a newsun rise every day. " But she did agree that we would work together, without asking where our sunshine came from, or our inspiration. 

So it was settled. And her work was around and within the old"natural-colored" house, whose walls by this time were half-embowered invines. There was gay sunshine without and within. And the lichen wasyellow that grew on the deeply sloping roof, and we liked to planthollyhocks and sunflowers by the side of the quaint old building, whilescarlet honeysuckles and trumpet-flowers and gay convolvuli gladdenedthe front porch. 

There was but one question that was left to be disputed between us. Margaret still believed I was an artist, all-undeveloped. 

"Those sunbeams"--

"I had nothing to do with them. They married golden threads that seemedkindred to them. "

"It is not true. Sunbeams cannot exist without the sun. Your magneticpower, perhaps, attracted the true sunbeam, and you recreated others. "

She fancies, if I would only devote myself to Art, I might become anAmerican Murillo, and put a Madonna upon canvas. 

But before we carried the new sunshine into the old house, I had beensummoned again by Mr. Clarkson. Another wonderful piece of carpeting hadgone out from the works, discovered by our agent before it had left ourwarehouse. It was the Water-Lily pattern, --lilies sitting among greenleaves with sunshine playing in and out and among them. So dazzling itseemed, that it shed a light all round the darkened walls of thewarehouse. It was priceless, he thought, a perfect unique. Better, almost, that never such a pattern should appear again. It ought toremain the only one in the world. 

And it did so remain. The rival establishment built a new chimney totheir mill, which shut out completely all sunshine or hope of sunshinefrom our narrow windows. This was accomplished before the next May, andI showed Mr. Clarkson how utterly impossible it was for the mostdetermined sunbeam ever to mingle itself with our most inviting fabrics. Mr. Clarkson pondered a long time. We might build our establishment astory higher; we might attempt to move it. But here were solid changes, and the hopes were uncertain. Affairs were going on well, and thereputation of the mills was at its height. And the carpets of sunshinewere never repeated. 

 * * * * *

THE TWO TONGUES. 

Whoever would read a profound political pamphlet under the guise of abrilliant novel may find it in "Sibyl, or The Two Nations. " The gayoverture of "The Eve of the Derby, " at a London club, with which thecurtain rises, contrasts with the evening amusements of the _prolétaire_in the gin-palaces of Manchester in a more than operatic effectiveness, and yet falls rather below than rises above the sober truth of presenthistory. And we are often tempted to bind up the novel of the dashingParliamenteer with our copy of "Ivanhoe, " that we may thus have, side byside, from the pens of the Right Honorable Benjamin Disraeli and SirWalter Scott, the beginning and the end of these eight hundred years ofstruggle between Norman rule and Saxon endurance. For let races andfamilies change as they will, there have ever been in England twonations; and the old debate of Wamba and Gurth in the forest-glade byRotherwood is illustrated by the unconscious satires of last week's"Punch. " In Chartism, Reform-Bills, and Strikes, in the etiquette whichguards the Hesperides of West-End society, in the rigid training whichstops many an adventurer midway in his career, are written the oldcharacters of the forest-laws of Rufus and the Charter of John. Racesand families change, but the distinction endures, is stamped upon allthings pertaining to both. 

We in America, who boast our descent from this matrimony of Norman andSaxon, claim also that we have blent the features of the two into onehomogeneous people. In this country, where the old has become new, andthe new is continually losing its raw lustre before the glitter of somefresher splendor, the traces of the contest are all but obliterated. Only our language has come to us with the brand of the fatherland uponit. In our mother-tongue prevails the same principle of dualism, thesame conflict of elements, which not all the lethean baptism of theAtlantic could wash out. The two nations of England survive in the twotongues of America. 

We beg the reluctant reader not to prematurely pooh-pooh as a "miserablemouse" this conclusion, thinking that we are only serving up again thatold story of Wamba and Gurth with an added _sauce-piquante_ from DeanTrench. We admit that we allude to that original composition of Englishpast and present from a Latin and a Teutonic stock. But that is to usnot an ultimate, but a primal fact. It is the premise from which wepropose to trace out the principle now living and working in our presentspeech. We commence our history with that strife of the tongues whichhad at the outset also their battle of Hastings, their field of Sanilac. There began the feud which to-day continues to divide our language, though the descendants of the primitive stocks are inextricably mingled. 

For it is as in "Sibyl. " That novel showed us the peer's descendants atthe workman's forge, while the manufacturer's grandchildren were wearingthe ermine and the strawberry-leaves. There is the constant passing toand fro across the one border-line which never changes. Dandy Mick andDevilsdust save a little money and become "respectable. " We can followout their history after Mr. Disraeli leaves them. They marry Harriet andCaroline, and contrive to educate a sharp boy or two, who will rise tobecome superintendents in the mills and to speculate in cotton-spinning. They in turn send into trade, with far greater advantages, their sons. The new generation, still educating, and, faithful to the originalimpulse, putting forth its fresh and aspiring tendrils, gets one boyinto the church, another at the bar, and keeps a third at the great_Rouge-et-Noir_ table of commerce. Some one of their stakes has a run ofluck. Either it is my Lord Eldon who sits on the wool-sack, or the youngcurate bids his Oxford laurels against a head-mastership of a publicschool and covers his baldness with a mitre, or Jones Lloyd steps fromhis back parlor into the carriage which is to take Lord Overstone to theHouse of Peers. From the day when young Osborne, the bold London'prentice, leaped into the Thames to fish up thence his master'sdaughter, and brought back, not only the little lady, but the ducalcoronet of Leeds in prospective, to that when Thomas Newcome the elderwalked up to the same London that he might earn the "bloody hand" forSir Brian and Sir Barnes, English life has been full of such gallantachievements. 

So it has been with the words these speak. The phrases of the nobleCanon Chaucer have fallen to the lips of peasants and grooms, while manya pert Cockney saying has elbowed its sturdy way into her Majesty's HighCourt of Parliament. Yet still there are two tongues flowing through ourdaily talk and writing, like the Missouri and Mississippi, with distinctand contrasted currents. 

And this appears the more strikingly in this country, where otherdistinctions are lost. We have an aristocracy of language, whosephrases, like the West-End men of "Sibyl, " are effeminate, extravagant, conventional, and prematurely worn-out. These words represent ideaswhich are theirs only by courtesy and conservatism, like the law-termsof the courts, or the "cant" of certain religious books. We have also aplebeian tongue, whose words are racy, vigorous, and healthy, but whichmen look askance at, when met in polite usage, in solemn literature, andin sermons. Norman and Saxon are their relative positions, as in the oldtime when "Ox" was for the serf who drove a-field the living animal, and"Beef" for the baron who ate him; but their lineage is counter-crossedby a hundred, nay, a thousand vicissitudes. 

With this aristocracy of speech we are all familiar. We do not mean withthe speech of our aristocracy, which is quite another thing, but thatwhich is held appropriate for "great occasions, " for public parade, andfor pen, ink, and types. It is cherished where all aristocraciesflourish best, --in the "rural districts. " There is a style and a classof words and phrases belonging to country newspapers, and to the cityweeklies which have the largest bucolic circulation, which you detect inthe Congressional eloquence of the honorable member for the FifteenthDistrict, Mass. , and in the Common-School Reports of Boston Corner, --astyle and words that remind us of the country gentry whose titles dateback to the Plantagenets. They look so strangely beside the brisk, dapper curtnesses in which metropolitan journals transact their dailysquabbles! We never write one of them out without an involuntaryaddition of quotation-marks, as a New-Yorker puts to his introduction ofhis verdant cousin the supplementary, "From the Jerseys. " Theiretymological Herald's Office is kept by schoolmasters, and especiallyschoolma'ams, or, in the true heraldic tongue, "Preceptresses ofEducational Seminaries. " You may find them in Mr. Hobbs, Jr. 's, celebrated tale of "The Bun-Baker of Cos-Cob, " or in Bowline's thrillingnovelette of "Beauty and Booty, or The Black Buccaneer of the Bermudas. "They glitter in the train of "Napoleon and his Marshals, " and look downupon us from the heights of "The Sacred Mountains. "

Occasionally you will find them degraded from their high estate andfallen among the riff-raff of slang. They become "seedy" words, strippedof their old meaning, mere _chevaliers d'industrie_, yet with somethingof the air noble about them which distinguishes them from the born"cad. " The word "convey" once suffered such eclipse, (we are glad to sayit has come up again, ) and consorted, unless Falstaff be mistaken, withsuch low blackguards as "nim" and "cog" and "prig" and similar"flash" terms. 

But we do not propose to linger among the "upper-ten" of thedictionaries. The wont of such is to follow the law of hereditaryaristocracies: the old blood gets thin, there is no sparkle to the_sangre azul_, the language dies out in poverty. The strong, new, popular word forces its way up, is heard at the bar, gets quoted in thepulpit, slips into the outer ring of good society. King Irving or KingEmerson lays his pen across its shoulder and it rises up ennobled, tillfinally it is accepted of the "Atlantic Monthly, " and itscourt-presentation is complete. 

We have thus indicated the nature of the great contest in languagebetween the conventional and the idiomatic. Idioms are just what theirname implies. They are the commonalty of language, --private, proletarianwords, who do the work, "_dum alteri tulerunt honores_. " They come to usfrom all handiworks and callings, where you will always find them attheir posts. Sharp, energetic, incisive, they do the hard labor ofspeech, --that of carrying heavy loads of thought and shaping new ideas. 

We think them vulgar at first, and savoring of the shop; but they areuseful and handy, and we cannot do without them. They rivet, they forge, they coin, they "fire up, " "brake up, " "switch off, " "prospect, " "shin"for us when we are "short, " "post up" our books, and finally ourselves, "strike a lead, " "follow a trail, " "stand up to the rack, " "dicker, ""swap, " and "peddle. " They are "whole teams" beside the "one-horse"vapidities which fail to bear our burdens. The Norman cannot keep downthe Saxon. The Saxon finds his Wat Tyler or Jack Cade. Now "Mose" bringshis Bowery Boys into our parlor, or Cromwell Judd recruits his Ironsidesfrom the hamlets of the Kennebec. 

We declare for the prolétaires. We vote the working-words ticket. Wehave to plead the cause of American idioms. Some of them have, as wesaid, good blood in them and can trace their lineage and standing to theEnglish Bible and Book of Common Prayer; others are "new men, " bornunder hedge-rows and left as foundlings at furnace-doors. And before wego farther, we have a brief story to tell in illustration of thetwo tongues. 

A case of assault and battery was tried in a Western court. Theplaintiff's counsel informed the jury in his opening, that he was"prepared to prove that the defendant, a steamboat-captain, menaced hisclient, an English traveller, and put him in bodily fear, commanding himto vacate the avenue of the steamboat with his baggage, or he wouldprecipitate him into the river. " The evidence showed that the captaincalled out, --"Stranger, ef you don't tote your plunder off thatgang-plank, I'll spill you in the drink. "

We submit that for terseness and vigor the practitioner at the bar ofthe Ohio had the better of the learned counsel who appeared at the barof justice, albeit his client was in a Cockney mystification atthe address. 

The illustration will serve our turn. It points to a class of phraseswhich are indigenous to various localities of the land, in which thenative thought finds appropriate, bold, and picturesque utterance. Andthese in time become incorporate into the universal tongue. Of them isthe large family of political phrases. These are coined in moments ofintense excitement, struck out at white heat, or, to follow our leadingmetaphor, like the speakers who use them, come upon the stump in theirshirt-sleeves. Every campaign gives us a new horde. Some die out atonce; others felicitously tickle the public ear and ring far and wide. They "speak for Buncombe, " are Barn-Burners, Old Hunkers, Hard Shells, Soft Shells, Log-Rollers, Pipe-Layers, Woolly Heads, Silver Grays, Locofocos, Fire-Eaters, Adamantines, Free Soilers, Freedom Shriekers, Border Ruffians. They spring from a bon-mot or a retort. The log-cabinand hard-cider watchwords were born of a taunt, like the "Gueux" of theNetherlands. The once famous phrase, Gerrymandering, some of our readersmay remember. Governor Elbridge Gerry contrived, by a curiousarrangement of districts in Massachusetts, to transfer the balance ofpower to his own party. One of his opponents, poring over the map of theCommonwealth, was struck by the odd look of the geographical lineswhich thus were drawn, curving in and out among the towns and counties. "It looks, " said he, "like a Salamander. " "Looks like a _Gerry_-mander!"ejaculated another; and the term stuck long and closely. 

Now and then you have the aristocratic and democratic sides of an ideain use at the same time. Those who style themselves "Gentlemen of thePress" are known to the rest of mankind as "Dead Heads, "--being, forpaying purposes, literally, _capita mortua_. 

So, too, our colleges are provided, over and above the various deadlanguages of their classic curriculum, with the two tongues. The oneserves the young gentlemen, especially in their Sophomoric maturity, with appropriate expressions for their literary exercises and publicflights. The other is for their common talk, tells who "flunked" and was"deaded, " who "fished" with the tutor, who "cut" prayers, and who was"digging" at home. Each college, from imperial Harvard and lordly Yaleto the freshest Western "Institution, " whose three professors fondlycultivate the same number of aspiring Alumni, has its particular dialectwith its quadrennial changes. The just budded Freshmen of the class of'64 could hardly without help decipher "The Rebelliad, " which in theConsulship of Plancus Kirkland was the epic of the day. The good oldgentlemen who come up to eat Commencement dinners and to sing withquavery voices the annual psalm thereafter, are bewildered in the mazesof the college-speech of their grandsons. Whence come these phrases fewcan tell. Like witty Dr. S------'s "quotation, " which never wasanything else, they started in life as sayings, springing full-grown, like Pallas Athene, from the laboring brain of some Olympic Sophister. Here in the quiet of our study in the country, we wonder if the boyscontinue as in our day to "create a shout, " instead of "making a call, "upon their lady acquaintances, --if they still use "ponies, "--if they"group, " and get, as we did, "parietals" and "publics" for the same. 

The police courts contribute their quota. Baggage-smashing, dog-smudging, ring-dropping, watch-stuffing, the patent-safe men, theconfidence men, garroters, shysters, policy-dealers, mock-auction PeterFunks, bogus-ticket swindlers, are all terms which have more or lessoutgrown the bounds of their Alsatia of Thieves' Latin and are knownof men. 

Even the pulpit, with its staid decorums, has its idioms, which itcannot quite keep to itself. We hear in the religious world of"professors, " and "monthly concerts, " (which mean praying, and notpsalmody, ) of "sensation-preaching, " (which takes the place of the"painful" preaching of old times, ) of "platform-speakers, " of"revival-preachers, " of "broad pulpits, " and "Churches of the Future, "of the "Eclipse of Faith" and the "Suspense of Faith, " of "liberal"Christians, (with no reference to the contribution-plates, ) of"subjective" and "objective" sermons, "Spurgeonisms, " and "businessmen'smeetings. " And we can never think without a smile of that gifted genius, whoever he was, who described a certain public exercise as _"the mosteloquent prayer ever addressed to a Boston audience. "_ He surely createda new and striking idiom. 

The boys do, as Young America should, their share. And the sayings ofstreet urchins endure with singular tenacity. Like their sports, whichfollow laws of their own, uninfluenced by meteorological considerations, tending to the sedentary games of marbles in the cold, chilly spring, and bursting into base-and foot-ball in the midsummer solstice, stricttradition hands down from boy to boy the well-worn talk. There are still"busters, " as in our young days, and the ardent youth upon floatingcakes of ice "run bendolas" or "kittly-benders, " or simply "benders. " Indifferent latitudes the phrase varies, --one-half of it going to PlymouthColony, and the other abiding in Massachusetts Bay. And this tendency todismember a word is curiously shown in that savory fish which theIndian christened "scup-paug. " Eastward he swims as "scup, " while at theManhattan end of the Sound he is fried as "porgie. " And apropos of him, let us note a curious instance of the tenacity of associated ideas. Thestreet boys of our day and early home were wont to term the _hetairai_of the public walks "scup. " The young Athenians applied to the classiccourtesans the epithet of [Greek: saperdion], the name of a small fishvery abundant in the Black Sea. Here now is a bit of slang which mayfairly be warranted to keep fresh in any climate. 

But boy-talk is always lively and pointed; not at all precise, but veryprone to prosopopeia; ever breaking out of the bounds of legitimatespeech to invent new terms of its own. Dr. Busby addresses Brown, Jr. , as Brown Secundus, and speaks to him of his "young companions. " Brownhimself talks of "the chaps, " or "the fellows, " who in turn know Brownonly as Tom Thumb. The power of nicknaming is a school-boy gift, whichno discouragement of parents and guardians can crush out, and whichdisplays thoroughly the idiomatic faculty. For a man's name was once_his_, the distinctive mark by which the world got at his identity. Long, Short, White, Black, Greathead, Longshanks, etc. , told what aperson in the eyes of men the owner presented. The hereditary oraristocratic process has killed this entirely. Men no longer make theirnames; even the poor foundlings, like Oliver Twist, are christenedalphabetically by some Bumble the Beadle. But the nickname restores hislost rights, and takes the man at once out of the _ignoble vulgus_ togive him identity. We recognize this gift and are proud of ournicknames, when we can get them to suit us. Only the sharp judgment ofour peers reverses our own heraldry and sticks a surname like a burrupon us. The nickname is the idiom of nomenclature. The sponsorialappellation is generally meaningless, fished piously out of Scripture orprofanely out of plays and novels, or given with an eye to futurelegacies, or for some equally insufficient reason apart from the nameitself. So that the gentleman who named his children One, Two, andThree, was only reducing to its lowest term the prevailing practice. Butthe nickname abides. It has its hold in affection. When the "old boys"come together in Gore Hall at their semi-centennial Commencement, or the"Puds" or "Pores" get together after long absence, it is not to inquirewhat has become of the Rev. Dr. Heavysterne or his Honor Littleton Coke, but it is, "Who knows where Hockey Jones is?" and "Did Dandy Gloverreally die in India?" and "Let us go and call upon Old Sykes" or "OldRoots" or "Old Conic-Sections, "--thus meaning to designateProfessor----, LL. D. , A. A. S. , F. R. S. , etc. A college president who hadno nickname would prove himself, _ipso facto_, unfit for his post. It isonly dreadfully affected people who talk of "Tully"; the sensible allcling to the familiar "Chick-Pea" or Cicero, by which the wart-facedorator was distinguished. For it is not the boys only, but all Americanmen, who love nicknames, the idioms of nomenclature. The first thingwhich is done, after a nominating convention has made its platform andballoted for its candidates, is to discover or invent a nickname: OldHickory, Tippecanoe, The Little Giant, The Little Magician, The Mill-Boyof the Slashes, Honest John, Harry of the West, Black Dan, Old Buck, OldRough and Ready. A "good name" is a tower of strength and many votes. 

And not only with candidates for office, the spots on whose "whitegarments" are eagerly sought for and labelled, but in the names ofplaces and classes the principle prevails, the democratic or Saxontongue gets the advantage. Thus, we have for our states, cities, andships-of-war the title of fondness which drives out the legal title ofceremony. Are we not "Yankees" to the world, though to the diplomatists"citizens of the United States of America"? We have a Union made up uponthe map of Maine, New Hampshire, etc. , to California; we have another inthe newspapers, composed of the Lumber State, the Granite State, theGreen-Mountain State, the Nutmeg State, the Empire State, the KeystoneState, the Blue Hen, the Old Dominion, of Hoosiers, Crackers, Suckers, Badgers, Wolverines, the Palmetto State, and Eldorado. We have theCrescent City, the Quaker City, the Empire City, the Forest City, theMonumental City, the City of Magnificent Distances. We hear of OldIronsides sent to the Mediterranean to relieve the Old Tea-Wagon, ordered home. Everywhere there obtains the Papal principle of taking anew title upon succeeding to any primacy. The Norman imposed his lawsupon England; the courts, the parish-registers, the Acts of Parliamentwere all his; but to this day there are districts of the Saxon Islandwhere the postman and census-taker inquire in vain for Adam Smith andBenjamin Brown, but must perforce seek out Bullhead and Bandyshins. Soindomitable is the Saxon. 

We have not done yet with our national idioms. In the seaboard townsnautical phrases make tarry the talk of the people. "Where be youa-cruising to?" asks one Nantucket matron of her gossip. "Sniver-dinner, I'm going to Egypt; Seth B. Has brought a letter from Turkey-wowner toOld Nancy. " "Dressed-to-death-and-drawers-empty, don't you see we'regoin' to have a squall? You had better take in your stu'n'-sails. " Thegood woman was dressed up, intending, "_as soon as ever_ dinner wasover, " to go, not to the land of the Pharaohs, but to the negro-quarterof the town, with a letter which "Seth B. " (her son, thus identified byhis middle letter) had brought home from Talcahuana. 

For the rural idioms we refer the reader to the late Sylvester Judd's"Margaret" and "Richard Edney, " and to the Jack Downing Letters. 

The town is not behind the country. For, whatever is the current fancy, pugilism, fire-companies, racing, railway-building, or the opera, itsidioms invade the talk. The Almighty Dollar of our worship has moresynonymes than the Roman Pantheon had divinities. We are not"well-informed, " but "posted" or "posted up. " We are not "hospitablyentreated" any more, but "put through. " We do not "meet withmisadventure, " but "see the elephant, " which we often do through theHibernian process of "fighting the tiger. "

Purists deplore this, but it is inevitable; and if one searches beneaththe surface, there is often a curious deposit of meaning, sometimesauriferous enough to repay our use of cradle and rocker. We "pannedout, " the other day, a phrase which gave us great delight, and whichillustrated a fact in New England history worth noting. We were puzzlingover the word "socdollager, " which Bartlett, we think, defines as"Anything very large and striking, "--_Anglicé_, a "whopper, "--"also apeculiar fish-hook. " The word first occurs in print, we believe, in Mr. Cooper's "Home as Found, " applied to a patriarch among the white bass ofOtsego Lake, which could never be captured. We assumed at once thatthere was a latent reason for the term, and all at once it flashed uponus that it was a rough fisherman's random-shot at the word "doxology. "This, in New England congregations, as all know, was wont to be sung, or"j'ined in, " by the whole assembly, and given with particular emphasis, both because its words were familiar to all without book, and because itserved instead of the chanted creed of their Anglican forefathers. Thelast thing, after which nothing could properly follow, the mostimportant and most conspicuous of all, it represented to our YankeeWalton the crowning hope of his life, --the big bass, after taking whichhe might put hook-and-line on the shelf. By a slight transposition, natural enough to untrained organs, "doxology" became "socdollager. "

We are not making a dictionary of Americanisms, but merely wandering alittle way into our native forests. We refer to the prevalent habit ofidiomatic speech as a fact that makes part of our literature. It cannotbe ignored, nor do we see how it is to be avoided. It is well, ofcourse, to retain the sterling classic basis of our speech as wereceived it from abroad, and to this all that is best and purest in ourliterature past and present will tend. But we hold to no Know-Nothingplatform which denies a right of naturalization to the worthy. As Ruskinsays of the river, that it does not make its bed, but finds it, seekingout, with infinite pains, its appointed channel, so thought will seekits expression, guided by its inner laws of association and sympathy. Ifthe mind and heart of a nation become barbarized, no classic culture cankeep its language from corruption. If its ideas are ignoble, it willturn to the ignoble and vulgar side of every word in its tongue, it willaffix the mean sense it desires to utter where it had of old no place. It converts the prince's palace into a stable or an inn; it pulls downthe cathedral and the abbey to use the materials for the roads on whichit tramples. It is good to sanctify language by setting some of itsportions apart for holy uses, --at least, by preserving intact the highreligious association which rests upon it. The same silver may bemoulded to the altar-chalice or the Bacchic goblet; but we touch the onewith reverent and clean hands, while the other is tossed aside in themadness of the revel. Men clamor for a new version of the SacredScriptures, and profess to be shocked at its plain outspokenness, forgetting that to the pure all things are pure, and that to theprurient all things are foul. It was a reverent and a worshipping agethat gave us that treasure, and so long as we have the temper ofreverence and worship we shall not ask to change it. 

And to return once more to our original illustration. We have the twonations also in us, the Norman and the Saxon, the dominant and theaspiring, the patrician and the _prolétaire_. The one rules only byright of rule, the other rises only by right of rising. The power ofconservatism perishes, when there is no longer anything to keep; themight of radicalism overflows into excess, when the proper check istaken away or degraded. So long as the noble is noble and "_noblesseoblige_, " so long as Church and State are true to their guiding andgoverning duties, the elevation of the base is the elevation of thewhole. If the standards of what is truly aristocratic in our languageare standards of nobility of thought, they will endure and draw up tothem, on to the episcopal thrones and into the Upper House of letters, all that is most worthy. Whatever makes the nation's life will make itsspeech. War was once the career of the Norman, and he set the seal ofits language upon poetry. Agriculture was the Saxon's calling, and hemade literature a mirror of the life he led. We in this new land areborn to new heritages, and the terms of our new life must be used totell our story. The Herald's College gives precedence to thePatent-Office, and the shepherd's pipe to the steam-whistle. And sinceall literature which can live stands only upon the national speech, wemust look for our hopes of coming epics and immortal dramas to thelanguage of the land, to its idioms, in which its present soul abidesand breathes, and not to its classicalities, which are the empty shellsupon its barren sea-shore. 

MIDSUMMER AND MAY. 

[Continued. ]

II. 

When Miss Kent, the maternal great-aunt of Mr. Raleigh, devised herproperty, the will might possibly have been set aside as that of amonomaniac, but for the fact that he cared too little about anything togo to law for it, and for the still more important fact that theheirs-at-law were sufficiently numerous to ingulf the whole property andleave no ripple to attest its submerged existence, had he done so; andon deserting it, he was better pleased to enrich the playfellow of hischildhood than a host of unknown and unloved individuals. I cannot saythat he did not more than once regret what he had lost: he was not of aself-denying nature, as we know; on the contrary, luxurious andaccustomed to all those delights of life generally to be procured onlythrough wealth. But, for all that, there had been intervals, ere histhirteen years' exile ended, in which, so far from regret, heexperienced a certain joy at remembrance of this rough and rugged pointof time where he had escaped from the chrysalid state to one of actionand freedom and real life. He had been happy in reaching India beforehis uncle's death, in applying his own clear understanding to theintricate entanglements of the affairs before him, in rescuing hisuncle's commercial good name, and in securing thus for himself afoothold on the ladder of life, although that step had not occurred tohim till thrust there by the pressure of circumstances. For the rest, Iam not sure that Mr. Raleigh did not find his path suiting him wellenough. There was no longer any charm in home; he was forbidden to thinkof it. That strange summer, that had flashed into his life like thegleam of a carnival-torch into quiet rooms, must be forgotten; the formsthat had peopled it, in his determination, should become shadows. Valiant vows! Yet there must have come moments, in that long lapse ofdays and years, when the whole season gathered up its garments and sweptimperiously through his memory: nights, when, under the shadow of theHimmaleh, the old passion rose at spring-tide and flooded his heart anddrowned out forgetfulness, and a longing asserted itself, that, ifchecked as instantly by honor as despair, was none the less insufferableand full of pain, --warm, wide, Southern nights, when all the stars, great and golden, leaned out of heaven to meet him, and all ripeperfumes, wafted by their own principle of motion, floated in the richdusk and laden air about him, and the phantom of snow on topmost heightssought vainly to lend him its calm. Days also must have showered theirfervid sunshine on him, as he journeyed through plains of rice, whereall the broad reaches whitening to harvest filled him with intense andbitterest loneliness. What region of spice did not recall the noons whenthey two had trampled the sweet-fern on wide, high New England pastures, and breathed its intoxicating fragrance? and what forest of the tropics, what palms, what blooms, what gorgeous affluence of color and of growth, equalled the wood on the lake-shores, with its stately hemlocks, itsjoyous birches, its pale-blue, shadow-blanched violets? Nor was thisregret, that had at last become a part of the man's identity, entirely aselfish one. He had no authority whatever for his belief, yet believe hedid, that, firmly and tenderly as he loved, he was loved, and of the twofates his was not the harder. But a man, a man, too, in the stir of theworld, has not the time for brooding over the untoward events of hisdestiny that a woman has; his tender memories are forever jostled bycent. Per cent. ; he meets too many faces to keep the one in constant andunchanging perpetuity sacredly before his thought. And so it happenedthat Mr. Raleigh became at last a silent, keen-eyed man, with the shadowof old and enduring melancholy on his life, but with no certainsorrow there. 

In the course of time his business-connections extended themselves; hewas associated with other men more intent than he upon their aim;although not wealthy, years might make him so; his name commandedrespect. Something of his old indifference lingered about him; it wasseldom that he was in earnest; he drifted with the tide, and, except tomaintain a clear integrity before God and men and his own soul, exertedscarcely an effort. It was not an easy thing for him to break up anymanner of life; and when it became necessary for one of the firm tovisit America, and he as the most suitable was selected, he assented tothe proposition with not a heart-beat. America was as flat a wildernessto him as the Desert of Sahara. On landing in India, he had felt like asemi-conscious sleeper in his dream, the country seemed one ofphantasms: the Lascars swarming in the port, --the merchants wrapped insnowy muslins, who moved like white-robed bronzes faintly animate, --thestrange faces, modes, and manners, --the stranger beasts, immense, andalien to his remembrance; all objects that crossed his vision had seemedlike a series of fantastic shows; he could have imagined them to be thecreations of a heated fancy or the weird deceits of some subtle draughtof magic. But now they had become more his life than the scenes which hehad left; this land with its heats and its languors had slowly andpassively endeared itself to him; these perpetual summers, the balms andblisses of the South, had unconsciously become a need of his nature. Oneday all was ready for his departure; and in the clipper ship Osprey, with a cargo for Day, Knight, and Company, Mr. Raleigh bade farewellto India. 

The Osprey was a swift sailer and handled with consummate skill, so thatI shall not venture to say in how few days she had weathered the Cape, and, ploughing up the Atlantic, had passed the Windward Islands, and offthe latter had encountered one of the severest gales in CaptainTarbell's remembrance, although he was not new to shipwreck. If Mr. Raleigh had found no time for reflection in the busy current of affairs, when, ceasing to stand aside, he had mingled in the turmoil and become apart of the generations of men, he could not fail to find it in thisvoyage, not brief at best, and of which every day's progress must assurehim anew toward what land and what people he was hastening. Moreover, Fate had woven his lot, it seemed, inextricably among those whom hewould shun; for Mr. Laudersdale himself was deeply interested in theOsprey's freight, and it would be incumbent upon him to extend hiscivilities to Mr. Raleigh. But Mr. Raleigh was not one to be cozened bycircumstances more than by men. 

The severity of the gale, which they had met some three days since, hadentirely abated; the ship was laid to while the slight damage sustainedwas undergoing repair, and rocked heavily under the gray sky on thelong, sullen swell and roll of the grayer waters. Mr. Raleigh had justcome upon deck at dawn, where he found every one in unaccountablecommotion. "Ship to leeward in distress, " was all the answer hisinquiries could obtain, while the man on the topmast was making hisobservations. Mr. Raleigh could see nothing, but every now and then theboom of a gun came faintly over the distance. The report having beenmade, it was judged expedient to lower a boat and render her suchassistance as was possible. Mr. Raleigh never could tell how it came topass that he found himself one of the volunteers in thisdangerous service. 

The disabled vessel proved to be a schooner from the West Indies in asinking condition. A few moments sufficed to relieve a portion of herpassengers, sad wretches who for two days had stared death in the face, and they pulled back toward the Osprey. A second and third journeyacross the waste, and the remaining men prepared to lower the last womaninto the boat, when a stout, but extremely pale individual, who could nolonger contain his frenzy of fear, clambered down the chains and droppedin her place. There was no time to be lost, and nothing to do butsubmit; the woman was withdrawn to wait her turn with the captain andcrew, and the laden boat again labored back to the ship. Each trip inthe heavy sea and the blinding rain occupied no less than a couple ofhours, and it was past noon when, uncertain just before if she might yetbe there, they again came within sight of the little schooner, slowlyand less slowly settling to her doom. As they approached her at last, Mr. Raleigh could plainly detect the young woman standing at a littledistance from the anxious group, leaning against the broken mast withcrossed arms, and looking out over the weary stretch with pale, graveface and quiet eyes. At the motion of the captain, she stepped forward, bound the ropes about herself, and was swung over the side to await themotion of the boat, as it slid within reach on the top of the long wave, or receded down its shining, slippery hollow. At length one swell broughtit nearer, Mr. Raleigh's arms snatched the slight form and drew herhalf-fainting into the boat, a cloak was tossed after, and one by onethe remainder followed; they were all safe, and some beggared. The bowsof the schooner already plunged deep down in the gaping gulfs, theypulled bravely away, and were tossed along from billow to billow. 

"You are very uncomfortable, Mademoiselle Le Blanc?" asked the rescuedcaptain at once of the young woman, as she sat beside him in thestern-sheets. 

"_Moi?_" she replied. "_Mais non, Monsieur. _"

Mr. Raleigh wrapped the cloak about her, as she spoke. They wereequidistant from the two vessels, neither of which was to be seen, therain fell fast into the hissing brine, their fate still uncertain. Therewas something strangely captivating and reassuring in this young girl'sequanimity, and he did not cease speculating thereon till they had againreached the Osprey, and she had disappeared below. 

By degrees the weather lightened; the Osprey was on the wing again, anda week's continuance of this fair wind would bring them into port. Thenext day, toward sunset, as Mr. Raleigh turned about in his regularpacing of the deck, he saw at the opposite extremity of the ship thesame slight figure dangerously perched upon the taffrail, leaning over, now watching the closing water, and now eagerly shading her eyes withher hand to observe the ship which they spoke, as they lay head to thewind, and for a better view of which she had climbed to this position. It was not Mr. Raleigh's custom to interfere; if people chose to drownthemselves, he was not the man to gainsay them; but now, as his walkdrew him toward her, it was the most natural thing in the world to pauseand say, --

"_Il serait fâcheux, Mademoiselle, lorsqu' on a failli faire naufrage, de se noyer_"--and, in want of a word, Mr. Raleigh ignominiouslydescended to his vernacular--"with a lee-lurch. "

The girl, resting on the palm of one hand, and unsupported otherwise, bestowed upon him no reply, and did not turn her head. Mr. Raleighlooked at her a moment, and then continued his walk. Returning, thething happened as he had predicted, and, with a little quick cry, Mademoiselle Le Blanc was hanging by her hands among the ropes. Reachingher with a spring, "_Viens, petite!_" he said, and with an effort placedher on her feet again before an alarm could have been given. 

"_Ah! mais je crus c'en était fait de moi!_" she exclaimed, drawing inher breath like a sob. In an instant, however, surveying Mr. Raleigh, the slight emotion seemed to yield to one of irritation, that she hadbeen rescued by him; for she murmured quickly, in English, headhaughtily thrown back and eyes downcast, --"Monsieur thinks that I owehim much for having saved my life!"

"Mademoiselle best knows its worth, " said he, rather amused, and turningaway. 

The girl was still looking down; now, however, she threw after him aquick glance. 

"_Tenez!_" said she, imperiously, and stepping toward him. "You fancy mevery ungrateful, " she continued, lifting her slender hand, and with theback of it brushing away the floating hair at her temples. "Well, I amnot, and at some time it may be that I prove it. I do not like to owedebts; but, since I must, I will not try to cancel them with thanks. "

Mr. Raleigh bowed, but said nothing. She seemed to think it necessary toefface any unpleasant impression, and, with a little more animation anda smile, added, --"The Captain Tarbell told me your name, Mr. Raleigh, and that you had not been at home for thirteen years. _Ni moi nonplus_, --at least, I suppose it is home where I am going; yet I rememberno other than the island and my"--

And here the girl opened her eyes wide, as if determined that theyshould not fill with tears, and looked out over the blue and sparklingfields around them. There was a piquancy in her accent that made thehearer wish to hear further, and a certain artlessness in her manner notmet with recently by him. He moved forward, keeping her beside him. 

"Then you are not French, " he said. 

"I? Oh, no, --nor Creole. I was born in America; but I have always livedwith mamma on the plantation; _et maintenant, il y a six mois qu'elleest morte!_"

Here she looked away again. Mr. Raleigh's glance followed hers, and, returning, she met it bent kindly and with a certain grave interest uponher. She appeared to feel reassured, somewhat protected by one so muchher elder. 

"I am going now to my father, " she said, "and to my other mother. "

"A second marriage, " thought Mr. Raleigh, "and before the orphan'scrapes are"--Then, fearful lest she should read his thought, headded, --"And how do you speak such perfect English?"

"Oh, my father came to see us every other year, and I have written hometwice a week since I was a little child. Mamma, too, spoke as muchEnglish as French. "

"I have not been in America for a long time, " said Mr. Raleigh, after afew steps. "But I do not doubt that you will find enjoyment there. Itwill be new: womanhood will have little like youth for you; but, inevery event, it is well to add to our experience, you know. "

"What is it like, Sir? But I know! Rows of houses, very counterparts ofrows of houses, and they of rows of houses yet beyond. Just thetoy-villages in boxes, uniform as graves and ugly as bricks"--

"Brick houses are not such ugly things. I remember one, low and wide, possessed of countless gables, covered with vines and shaded withsycamores; it could not have been so picturesque, if built of the marbleof Paros, and gleaming temple-white through masks of verdure. "

"It seems to me that I, too, remember such a one, " said she, dreamily. "_Mais non, je m'y perds_. Yet, for all that, I shall not find the NewYork avenues lined with them. "

"No; the houses there are palaces. "

"I suppose, then, I am to live in a palace, " she answered, with a lighttinkling laugh. "That is fine; but one may miss the verandas, all thewhiteness and coolness. How one must feel the roof!"

"Roofs should be screens, and not prisons, not shells, you think?" saidMr. Raleigh. 

"At home, " she replied, "our houses are, so to say, parasols; in thosecities they must be iron shrouds. _Ainsi soit il!_" she added, andshrugged her shoulders like a little fatalist. 

"You must not take it with such desperation; perhaps you will not beobliged to wear the shroud. "

"Not long, to be sure, at first. We go to freeze in the country, a placewith distant hills of blue ice, my old nurse told me, --old Ursule. Oh, Sir, she was drowned! I saw the very wave that swept her off!"

"That was your servant?"

"Yes. "

"Then, perhaps, I have some good news for you. She was tall and large?"

"_Oui_. "

"Her name was Ursule?"

"_Oui! je dis que oui!_"

Mr. Raleigh laughed at her eagerness. "She is below, then, " hesaid, --"not drowned. There is Reynolds. Mr. Reynolds, will you take thisyoung lady to her servant, Ursule, the woman you rescued?"

And Mademoiselle Le Blanc disappeared under that gentleman's escort. 

The ordinary restraints of social life not obtaining so much on boardship as elsewhere, Mr. Raleigh saw his acquaintance with the pale youngstranger fast ripening into friendliness. It was an agreeable variationfrom the monotonous routine of his voyage, and he felt that it was notunpleasant to her. Indeed, with that childlike simplicity that was herfirst characteristic, she never saw him without seeking him, and everymorning and every evening it became their habit to pace the decktogether. Sunrise and twilight began to be the hours with which heassociated her; and it was strange, that, coming, as she did, out of thefull blaze of tropical suns, she yet seemed a creature that had takenlife from the fresh, cool, dewy hours, and that must fairly dissolvebeneath the sky of noon. She puzzled him, too, and he found singularcontradictions in her: to-night, sweetness itself, --to-morrow, petulantas a spoiled child. She had all a child's curiosity, too; and he amusedhimself by seeing, at one time, with what novelty his adventures struckher, when, at another, he would have fancied she had always held Taj andHimmaleh in her garden. Now and then, excited, perhaps, by emulation andwonder, her natural joyousness broke through the usually sad and quietdemeanor; and she related to him, with dramatic _abandon_, scenes of hergay and innocent island-life, so that he fancied there was not anemotion in her experience hidden from his knowledge, till, all-unaware, he tripped over one reserve and another, that made her, for the moment, as mysterious a being as any of those court-ladies of ancient _régimes_, in whose lives there were strange _lacunae_, and spaces of shadow. And apeculiarity of their intercourse was, that, let her depart in what freakor perversity she pleased, she seemed always to have a certainty offinding him in the same mood in which she had left him, --as some brightwayward vine of Southern forests puts out a tendril to this or thatenticing point, yet, winding back, will find its first supportunchanged. Shut out, as Mr. Raleigh had been, from any but the mostcasual female society, he found a great charm in this familiarity, and, without thinking how lately it had begun or how soon it must cease, heyielded himself to its presence. At one hour she seemed to him animpetuous and capricious thing, for whose better protection the accidentof his companionship was extremely fortunate, --at another hour, a womantoo strangely sweet to part with; and then Mr. Raleigh remembered thatin all his years he had really known but two women, and one of these hadnot spent a week in his memory. 

Mademoiselle Le Blanc came on deck, one evening, and, wrapping a soft, thick mantle round her, looked about for a minute, shaded her eyes fromthe sunset, meantime, with a slender, transparent hand, bowed to one, spoke to another, slipped forward and joined Mr. Raleigh, where heleaned over the ship's side. 

"_Voici ma capote!_" said she, before he was aware of her approach. "_Ciel! qu'il fait frais!_"

"We have changed our skies, " said Mr. Raleigh, looking up. 

"It is not necessary that you should tell me that!" she replied. "Ishiver all the time. I shall become a little iceberg, for the sake offloating down to melt off Martinique!"

"Warm yourself now in the sunset; such a blaze was kindled for thepurpose. "

"Whenever I see a sunset, I find it to be a splendid fact, _unejouissance vraie, Monsieur_, to think that men can paint, --that theseshades, which are spontaneous in the heavens, and fleeting, can berivalled by us and made permanent, --that man is more potent than light. "

"But you are all wrong in your _jouissance_. "

She pouted her lip, and hung over the side in an attitude that it seemedhe had seen a hundred times before. 

"That sunset, with all its breadth and splendor, is contained in everypencil of light. "

She glanced up and laughed. 

"Oh, yes! a part of its possibilities. Which proves?"--

"That color is an attribute of light and an achievement of man. "

 "Cà et là, Toute la journée, Le vent vain va En sa tournée, "

hummed the girl, with a careless dismissal of the subject. 

Mr. Raleigh shut up the note-book in which he had been writing, andrestored it to his pocket. She turned about and broke off her song. 

"There is the moon on the other side, " she said, "floating up like agreat bubble of light. She and the sun are the scales of a balance, Ithink; as one ascends, the other sinks. "

"There is a richness in the atmosphere, when sunset melts into moonrise, that makes one fancy it enveloping the earth like the bloom on a plum. "

"And see how it has powdered the sea! The waters look like the wings ofthe _papillon bleu_. "

"It seems that you love the sea. "

"Oh, certainly. I have thought that we islanders were like those Chinesewho live in great _tanka_-boats on the rivers; only our boat rides atanchor. To climb up on the highest land, and see yourself girt withfields of azure enamelled in sheets of sunshine and fleets of sails, andlifted against the horizon, deep, crystalline, and translucent as agem, --that makes one feel strong in isolation, and produces keen races. Don't you think so?"

"I think that isolation causes either vivid characteristics or idiocy, seldom strong or healthy ones; and I do not value race. "

"Because you came from America!"--with an air of disgust, --"where thereis yet no race, and the population is still too fluctuating for themould of one. "

"I come from India, where, if anywhere, there is race. "

"But, pshaw! that was not what we were talking about. "

"No, Mademoiselle, we were speaking of an element even more fluctuatingthan American population. "

"Of course I love the sea; but if the sea loves me, it is the way a catloves the mouse. "

"It is always putting up a hand to snatch you?"

"I suppose I am sent to Nineveh and persist in shipping for Tarshish. Inever enter a boat without an accident. The Belle Voyageuse metshipwreck, and I on board. That was anticipated, though, by all theworld; for the night before we set sail, --it was a very murk, hot night, --we were all called out to see the likeness of a large merchantmantransfigured in flames upon the sky, --spars and ropes and hull one netand glare of fire. "

"A mirage, probably, from some burning ship at sea. "

"No, I would rather think it supernatural. Oh, it was frightful! Rathersuperb, though, to think of such a spectral craft rising to warn us withghostly flames that the old Belle Voyageuse was riddled with rats!"

"Did it burn blue?" asked Mr. Raleigh. 

"Oh, if you're going to make fun of me, I'll tell you nothing more!"

As she spoke, Capua, who had considered himself, during the many yearsof wandering, both guiding and folding star to his master, came up, withhis eyes rolling fearfully in a lively expansion of countenance, andmuttered a few words in Mr. Raleigh's ear, lifting both hands in comicalconsternation the while. 

"Excuse me a moment, " said Mr. Raleigh, following him, and, meetingCaptain Tarbell at the companion-way, the three descended together. 

Mr. Raleigh was absent some fifteen minutes, at the end of that timerejoining Mademoiselle Le Blanc. 

"I did not mean to make fun of you, " said he, resuming the conversationas if there had been no interruption. "I was watching the foam theOsprey makes in her speed, which certainly burns blue. See the flashingsparks! now that all the red fades from the west, they glow in the moonlike broken amethysts. "

"What did you mean, then?" she asked, pettishly. 

"Oh, I wished to see if the idea of a burning ship was so terrifying. "

"Terrifying? No; I have no fear; I never was afraid. But it must, inreality, be dreadful. I cannot think of anything else so appalling. "

"Not at all timid?"

"Mamma used to say, those that know nothing fear nothing. "

"Eminently your case. Then you cannot imagine a situation in which youwould lose self-possession?"

"Scarcely. Isn't it people of the finest organization, comprehensive, large-souled, that are capable of the extremes either of courage orfear? Now I am limited, so that, without rash daring or pale panic, Ican generally preserve equilibrium. "

"How do you know all this of yourself?" he asked, with an amused air. 

"_Il se présentait des occasions_, " she replied, briefly. 

"So I presumed, " said he. "Ah? They have thrown out the log. See, wemake progress. If this breeze holds!"

"You are impatient, Mr. Raleigh. You have dear friends at home, whom youwish to see, who wish to see you?"

"No, " he replied, with a certain bitterness in his tone. "There is noone to whom I hasten, no one who waits to receive me. "

"No one? But that is terrible! Then why should you wish to hasten? Forme, I would always be willing to loiter along, to postpone homeindefinitely. "

"That is very generous, Mademoiselle. "

"Mr. Raleigh"--

"Well?"

"I wish--please--you must not say Mademoiselle. Nobody will address meso, shortly. Give me my name, --call me Marguerite. _Je vous en prie_. "

And she looked up with a blush deepening the apple-bloom of her cheek. 

"Marguerite? Does it answer for pearl or for daisy with you?"

"Oh, they called me so because I was such a little round white baby. Icouldn't have been very precious, though, or she never would have partedwith me. Yes, I wish we might drift on some lazy current for years. Ihate to shorten the distance. I stand in awe of my father, and I do notremember my mother. "

"Do not remember?"

"She is so perfect, so superb, so different from me! But she ought tolove her own child!"

"Her own child?"

"And then I do not know the customs of this strange land. Shall I beobliged to keep an establishment?"

"Keep an establishment?"

"It is very rude to repeat my words so! You oughtn't! Yes, keep anestablishment!"

"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle. "

"No, it is I who am rude. "

"Not at all, --but mysterious. I am quite in the dark concerning you. "

"Concerning me?"

"Ah, Miss Marguerite, it is my turn now. "

"Oh! It must be----This is your mystery, _n'est ce pas?_ Mamma was mygrandmamma. My own mother was far too young when mamma gave her inmarriage; and, to make amends, mamma adopted me and left me her name andher fortune. So that I am very wealthy. And now shall I keep anestablishment?"

"I should think not, " said Mr. Raleigh, with a smile. 

"Do you know, you constantly reassure me? Home grows less and less abugbear when you speak of it. How strange! It seems as if I had knownyou a year, instead of a week. "

"It would probably take that period of time to make us as wellacquainted under other circumstances. "

"I wish you were going to be with us always. Shall you stay in America, Mr. Raleigh?"

"Only till the fall. But I will leave you at your father's door"----

And then Mr. Raleigh ceased suddenly, as if he had promised animpossibility. 

"How long before we reach New York?" she asked. 

"In about nine hours, " he replied, --adding, in unconscious undertone, "if ever. "

"What was that you said to yourself?" she asked, in a light and gaylyinquisitive voice, as she looked around and over the ship. "Why, howmany there are on deck! It is such a beautiful night, I suppose. Eh, Mr. Raleigh?"

"Are you not tired of your position?" he asked. "Sit down beside mehere. " And he took a seat. 

"No, I would rather stand. Tell me what you said. "

"Sit, then, to please me, Marguerite, and I will tell you what I said. "

She hesitated a moment, standing before him, the hood of her capote, with its rich purple, dropping from the fluttering yellow hair that themoonlight deepened into gold, and the fire-opal clasp rising and fallingwith her breath, like an imprisoned flame. He touched her hand, stillwarm and soft, with his own, which was icy. She withdrew it, turned hereyes, whose fair, faint lustre, the pale forget-me-not blue, wasdarkened by the antagonistic light to an amethystine shadow, inquiringly upon him. 

"There is some danger, " she murmured. 

"Yes. When you are not a mark for general observation, you shall hearit. "

"I would rather hear it standing. "

"I told you the condition. "

"Then I shall go and ask Captain Tarbell. "

"And come sobbing back to me for 'reassurance. '"

"No, " she said, quickly, "I should go down to Ursule. "

"Ursule has a mattress on deck; I assisted her up. "

"There is the captain! Now"----

He seized her hand and drew her down beside him. For an instant shewould have resisted, as the sparkling eyes and flushed cheeksattested, --and then, with the instinctive feminine baseness that compelsevery woman, when once she has met her master, she submitted. 

"I am sorry, if you are offended, " said he. "But the captain cannotattend to you now, and it is necessary to be guarded in movement; for aslight thing on such occasions may produce a panic. "

"You should not have forced me to sit, " said she, in a smothered voice, without heeding him; "you had no right. "

"This right, that I assume the care of you. "

"Monsieur, you see that I am quite competent to the care of myself. "

"Marguerite, I see that you are determined to quarrel. "

She paused a moment, ere replying; then drew a little nearer and turnedher face toward him, though without looking up. 

"Forgive me, then!" said she. "But I would rather be naughty andfroward, it lets me stay a child, and so you can take me in keeping, andI need not think for myself at all. But if I act like a woman grown, then comes all the responsibility, and I must rely on myself, which issuch trouble now, though I never felt it so before, --I don't know why. Don't you see?" And she glanced at him with her head on one side, andlaughing archly. 

"You were right, " he replied, after surveying her a moment; "myproffered protection is entirely superfluous. "

She thought he was about to go, and placed her hand on his, as it layalong the side. "Don't leave me, " she murmured. 

"I have no intention of leaving you, " he said. 

"You are very good. I have never seen one like you. I love you well. "And, bathed in moonlight, she raised her face and her glowing lipstoward him. 

Mr. Raleigh gazed in the innocent eyes a moment, to seek the extent ofher meaning, and felt, that, should he take advantage of her childlikeforgetfulness, he would be only reënacting the part he had so muchcondemned in one man years before. So he merely bent low over the handthat lay in his, raised it, and touched his lips to that. In an instantthe color suffused her face, she snatched the hand away, half rosetrembling from her seat, then sank into it again. 

"_Soit, Monsieur!_" she exclaimed, abruptly. "But you have not told methe danger. "

"It will not alarm you now?" he replied, laughing. 

"I have said that I am not a coward. "

"I wonder what you would think of me when I say that without doubt Iam. "

"You, Mr. Raleigh?" she cried, astonishment banishing anger. 

"Not that I betray myself. But I have felt the true heart-sinking. Once, surprised in the centre of an insurrection, I expected to find my hairwhite as snow, if I escaped. "

"Your hair is very black. And you escaped?"

"So it would appear. "

"They suffered you to go on account of your terror? You feigned death?You took flight?"

"Hardly, neither. "

"Tell me about it, " she said, imperiously. 

Though Mr. Raleigh had exchanged the singular reserve of his youth for awell-bred reticence, he scarcely cared to be his own hero. 

"Tell me, " said she. "It will shorten the time; and that is what you aretrying to do, you know. "

He laughed. 

"It was once when I was obliged to make an unpleasant journey into theinterior, and a detachment was placed at my service. We were in asuspected district quite favorable to their designs, and the commandingofficer was attacked with illness in the night. Being called to hisassistance, I looked abroad and fancied things wore an unusual aspectamong the men, and sent Capua to steal down a covered path and see ifanything were wrong. Never at fault, he discovered a revolt, with intentto murder my companion and myself, and retreat to the mountains. Ofcourse there was but one thing to do. I put a pistol in my belt andwalked down and in among them, singled out the ringleader, fixed himwith my eye, and bade him approach. My appearance was so sudden andunsuspected that they forgot defiance. "

"_Bien_, but I thought you were afraid. "

"So I was. I could not have spoken a second word. I experienced intenseterror, and that, probably, gave my glance a concentration of which Iwas unaware and by myself incapable; but I did not suffer it to waver; Icould not have moved it, indeed; I kept it on the man while he creptslowly toward me. I shall never forget the horrible sensation. I did notdare permit myself to doubt his conquest; but if I had failed, as I thenthought, his approach was like the slow coil of a serpent about me, andit was his glittering eyes that had fixed mine, and not mine his. At myfeet, I commanded him, with a gesture, to disarm. He obeyed, and Ibreathed; and one by one they followed his example. Capua, who wasbehind me, I sent back with the weapons, and in the morning gave themtheir choice of returning to town with their hands tied behind theirbacks, or of going on with me and remaining faithful. They chose thelatter, did me good service, and I said nothing about the affair. "

"That was well. But were you really frightened?"

"So I said. I cannot think of it yet without a slight shudder. "

"Yes, and a rehearsal. Your eyes charge bayonets now. I am not a Sepoy. "

"Well, you are still angry with me?"

"How can I be angry with you?"

"How, indeed? So much your senior that you owe me respect, MissMarguerite. I am quite old enough to be your father. "

"You are, Sir?" she replied, with surprise. "Why, are you fifty-fiveyears old?"

"Is that Mr. Laudersdale's age?"

"How did you know Mr. Laudersdale Was my father?"

"By an arithmetical process. That is his age?"

"Yes; and yours?"

"Not exactly. I was thirty-seven last August. "

"And will be thirty-eight next?"

"That is the logical deduction. "

"I shall give you a birthday-gift when you are just twice my age. "

"By what courier will you make it reach me?"

"Oh, I forgot. But--Mr. Raleigh?" "What is it?" he replied, turning tolook at her, --for his eyes had been wandering over the deck. 

"I thought you would ask me to write to you. "

"No, that would not be worth while. "

His face was too grave for her to feel indignation. 

"Why?" she demanded. 

"It would give me great pleasure, without doubt. But in a week you willhave too many other cares and duties to care for such a burden. "

"That shows that you do not know me at all. _Vous en avez usé mal avecmoi!_"

Though Mr. Raleigh still looked at her, he did not reply. She rose andwalked away a few steps, coming back. 

"You are always in the right, and I consequently in the wrong, " shesaid. "How often to-night have I asked pardon? I will not put upwith it!"

"We shall part in a few hours, " he replied; "when you lose your temper, I lose my time. "

"In a few hours? Then is the danger which you mentioned past?"

"I scarcely think so. "

"Now I am not going to be diverted again. What is this dreadful danger?"

"Let me tell you, in the first place, that we shall probably make theport before our situation becomes apparently worse, --that we do not taketo the boats, because we are twice too many to fill them, owing to theBelle Voyageuse, and because it might excite mutiny, and for severalother becauses, --that every one is on deck, Capua consoling Ursule, thecaptain having told to each, personally, the possibility of escape"----

"_Allez au hut!_"

"That the lights are closed, the hatches battened down, and by dint ofexcluding the air we can keep the flames in a smouldering state and sailinto harbor a shell of safety over this core of burning coal. "

"Reducing the equation, the ship is on fire?"

"Yes. "

She did not speak for a moment or two, and he saw that she was quitefaint. Soon recovering herself, --

"And what do you think of the mirage now?" she asked. "Where is Ursule?I must go to her, " she added suddenly, after a brief silence, startingto her feet. 

"Shall I accompany you?"

"Oh, no. "

"She lies on a mattress there, behind that group, "--nodding in theimplied direction; "and it would be well, if you could lie beside herand get an hour's rest. "

"Me? I couldn't sleep. I shall come back to you, --may I?" And she wasgone. 

Mr. Raleigh still sat in the position in which she had left him, when, ahalf-hour afterward, she returned. 

"Where is your cloak?" he asked, rising to receive her. 

"I spread it over Ursule, she was so chilly. "

"You will not take cold?"

"I? I am on fire myself. "

"Ah, I see; you have the Saturnalian spirit in you. "

"It is like the Revolution, the French, is it not?--drifting on beforethe wind of Fate, this ship full of fire and all red-hot ragingturbulence. Just look up the long sparkling length of these white, fullshrouds, swelling and curving like proud swans, in the gale, --and thenimagine the devouring monster below in his den!"

"_Don't_ imagine it. Be quiet and sit beside me. Half the night isgone. "

"I remember reading of some pirates once, who, driving forward todestruction on fearful breakers, drank and sang and died madly. I wishthe whole ship's company would burst out in one mighty chorus now, orthat we might rush together with tumultuous impulse and dance, --dancewildly into death and daylight. "

"We have nothing to do with death, " said Mr. Raleigh. "Our foe is simplytime. You dance, then?"

"Oh, yes. I dance well, --like those white fluttering butterflies, --as ifI were _au gré du vent_. " "That would not be dancing well. "

"It would not be dancing well to _be_ at the will of the wind, but it isperfection to appear so. "

"The dance needs the expression of the dancer's will. It is breathingsculpture. It is mimic life beyond all other arts. "

"Then well I love to dance. And I do dance well. Wait, --you shall see. "

He detained her. 

"Be still, little maid!" he said, and again drew her beside him, thoughshe still continued standing. 

At this moment the captain approached. 

"What cheer?" asked Mr. Raleigh. 

"No cheer, " he answered, gloomily, dinting his finger-nails into hispalm. "The planks forward are already hot to the hand. I tremble atevery creak of cordage, lest the deck crash in and bury us all. "

"You have made the Sandy Hook light?"

"Yes; too late to run her ashore. "

"You cannot try that at the Highlands?"

"Certain death. "

"The wind scarcely"----

"Veered a point I am carrying all sail. But if this tooth of fire gnawsbelow, you will soon see the masts go by the board. And then we arelost, indeed!"

"Courage! she will certainly hold together till you can hail thepilots. "

"I think no one need tremble when he has such an instance offearlessness before him, " replied the captain, bowing to Marguerite; andturning away, he hid his suspense and pain again under a calmcountenance. 

Standing all this while beside Mr. Raleigh, she had heard the whole ofthe conversation, and he felt the hand in his growing colder as itcontinued. He wondered if it were still the same excitement that sentthe alternate flush and pallor up her cheek. She sat down, leaning herhead back against the bulwark, as if to look at the stars, and sufferingthe light, fine hair to blow about her temples before the steady breeze. He bent over to look into her eyes, and found them fixed and lustreless. 

"Marguerite!" he exclaimed. 

She tried to speak, but the teeth seemed to hinder the escape of herwords, and to break them into bits of sound; a shiver shook her fromhead to foot. 

"I wonder if this is fear, " she succeeded in saying. "Oh, if there weresomewhere to go, something to hide me! A great horror is upon me! I amafraid! _Seigneur Dieu! Mourir par le feu! Périssons alors au plusvite!_" And she shuddered, audibly. 

Mr. Raleigh passed his arm about her and gathered her closer to himself. He saw at once, that, sensitive as she was to every impression, thisfear was a contagious one, a mere gregarian affinity, and that sheneeded the preponderating warmth and strength of a protecting presence, the influence of a fuller vitality. He did not speak, but his touch mustin some measure have counteracted the dread that oppressed her. Sheceased trembling, but did not move. 

The westering moon went to bury herself in banks of cloud; the windincreasing piped and whistled in strident threatening through therigging; the ship vibrated to the concussive voice of the minute-gun. Nomurmurs but those of wind and water were heard among the throng; theydrove forward in awful, pallid silence. Suddenly the shriek of onevoice, but from fourscore throats, rent the agonized quiet. A red lightwas running along the deck, a tongue of flame lapping round theforecastle, a spire shooting aloft. Marguerite hid her face in Mr. Raleigh's arm; a great sob seemed to go up from all the people. Thecaptain's voice thundered through the tumult, and instantly the matessprang forward and the jib went crashing overboard. Mr. Raleigh tore hiseyes away from the fascination of this terror, and fixed them by chanceon two black specks that danced on the watery horizon. He gazed withintense vision a moment. "The tugs!" he cried. The words thrilled withhope in every dying heart; they no longer saw themselves the waitingprey of pain and death, of flames and sea. Some few leaped into the boatat the stern, lowered and cut it away; others dropped spontaneously intofile, and passed the dripping buckets of sea-water, to keep, ifpossible, the flames in check. Mr. Raleigh and Marguerite crossed overto Ursule. 

The sight of her nurse, passive in despair, restored to the girl aportion of her previous spirit. She knelt beside her, talking low andrapidly, now and then laughing, and all the time communicating nervewith her light, firm finger-touches. Except their quick andunintelligible murmurs, and the plash and hiss of water, nothing elsebroke the torturing hush of expectation. There was a half-hour ofbreathless watch ere the steam-tugs were alongside. Already the placewas full of fervid torment, and they had climbed upon every point toleave below the stings of the blistering deck. None waited on the orderof their going, but thronged and sprang precipitately. Ursule was atonce deposited in safety. The captain moved to conduct Margueriteacross, but she drew back and clung to Mr. Raleigh. 

"_J'ai honte_, " she said; "_je ne bougerai pas plus tót que vous. _"

The breath of the fierce flames scorched her cheek as she spoke, thewind of their roaring progress swept her hair. He lifted her overwithout further consultation, and still kept her in his care. 

There was a strange atmosphere on board the little vessels, as theylabored about and parted from the doomed Osprey. Many were subdued withawe and joy at their deliverance; others broke the tense strain of thelast hours in suffocating sobs. Every throb of the panting engines theyanswered with waiting heart-beats, as it sent them farther from thefearful wonder, now blazing in multiplex lines of fire against the grayhorizon. Mr. Raleigh gazed after it as one watches the conflagration ofa home. Marguerite left her quiet weeping to gaze with him. An hoursilently passed, and as the fiery phantom faded into dawn and distanceshe sang sweetly the first few lines of an old French hymn. Anothervoice took up the measure, stronger and clearer; those who knew nothingof the words caught the spirit of the tune; and no choral service everpealed up temple-vaults with more earnest accord than that in which thischant of grateful, exultant devotion now rose from rough-throated menand weary women in the crisp air and yellowing spring-morning. 

As the moment of parting approached, Marguerite stood with folded handsbefore Mr. Raleigh, looking sadly down the harbor. 

"I regret all that, " she said, --"these days that seem years. "

"An equivocal phrase, " he replied, with a smile. 

"But you know what I mean. I am going to strangers; I have been withyou. I shall find no one so kind to me as you have been, Monsieur. "

"Your strangers can be much kinder to you than I have been. "

"Never! I wish they did not exist! What do I care for them? What do theycare for me? They do not know me; I shall shock them. I miss you, I hatethem, already. _Non! Personne ne m'aime, et je n'aime personne!_" sheexclaimed, with low-toned vehemence. 

"Rite, " began Mr. Raleigh. 

"Rite! No one but my mother ever called me that. How did you know it?"

"I have met your mother, and I knew you a great many years ago. "

"Mr. Raleigh!" And there was the least possible shade of unconsciousregret in the voice before it added, --"And what was I?"

"You were some little wood-spirit, the imp of a fallen cone, mayhap, orthe embodiment of birch-tree shadows. You were a soiled and naughtylittle beauty, not so different from your present self, and who kissedme on the lips. " "And did you refuse to take the kiss?"

He laughed. 

"You were a child then, " he said. "And I was not"----

"Was not?"----

Here the boat swung round at her moorings, and the shock prevented Mr. Raleigh's finishing his sentence. 

"Ursule is with us, or on the other one?" she asked. 

"With us. "

"That is fortunate. She is all I have remaining, by which to prove myidentity. "

"As if there could be two such maidens in the world!"

Marguerite left him, a moment, to give Captain Tarbell her address, andreturning, they were shortly afterward seated side by side in a coach, Capua and Ursule following in another. As they stopped at the destineddoor, Mr. Raleigh alighted and extended his hand. She lingered a momentere taking it, --not to say adieu, nor to offer him cheek or lip again. 

"_Que je te remercie!_" she murmured, lifting her eyes to his. "_Que jete trouve bon!_" and sprang before him up the steps. 

He heard her father meet her in the hall; Ursule had already joinedthem; he reëntered the coach and rolled rapidly beyond recall. 

The burning of the Osprey did not concern Mr. Raleigh'sbusiness-relations. Carrying his papers about him, he had personallylost thereby nothing of consequence. He refreshed himself, and proceededat once to the transactions awaiting him. In a brief time he found thataffairs wore a different aspect from that for which he had beeninstructed, and letters from the house had already arrived, by theoverland route, which required mutual reply and delay before he couldtake further steps; so that Mr. Raleigh found himself with some monthsof idleness upon his hands, in a land with not a friend. There lay alittle scented billet, among the documents on his table, that had atfirst escaped his attention; he took it up wonderingly, and broke theseal. It was from his Cousin Kate, and had been a few days before him. Mrs. McLean had heard of his expected arrival, it said, and begged him, if he had any time to spare, to spend it with her in his old home by thelake, whither every summer they had resorted to meditate on the virtuesof the departed. There was added, in a different hand, whose delicateand pointed characters seemed singularly familiar, --

 "Come o'er the stream, Charlie, dear Charlie, brave Charlie!

 "Come o'er the stream, Charlie, and dine wi' McLean!"

Mr. Raleigh looked at the matter a few moments; he did not think it bestto remain long in the city; he would be glad to know if sight of the oldscenes could renew a throb. He answered his letters, replenished hiswardrobe, and took, that same day, the last train for the North. At noonof the second day thereafter he found Mr. McLean's coach, with thatworthy gentleman in person, awaiting him, and he stepped out, when itpaused at the foot of his former garden, with a strange sense of theworld as an old story, a twice-told tale, a maze of error. 

Mrs. McLean came running down to meet him, --a face less round and rosythan once, as the need of pink cap-ribbons testified, but smiling andbright as youth. 

"The same little Kate, " said Mr. Raleigh, after the first greeting, putting his hands on her shoulders and smiling down at her benevolently. 

"Not quite the same Roger, though, " said she, shaking her head. "Iexpected this stain on your skin; but, dear me! your eyes look as if youhad not a friend in the world. "

"How can they look so, when you give me such a welcome?"

"Dear old Roger, you _are_ just the same, " said she, bestowing a littlecaress upon his sleeve. "And if you remember the summer before you wentaway, you will not find that pleasant company so very much changedeither. " "I do not expect to find them at all. "

"Oh, then they will find you; because they are all here, --at least theprincipals; some with different names, and some, like myself, withduplicates, "--as a shier Kate came down toward them, dragging a brotherand sister by the hand, and shaking chestnut curls over rosy blushes. 

After making acquaintance with the new cousins, Mr. Raleigh turned againto Mrs. McLean. 

"And who are there here?" he asked. 

"There is Mrs. Purcell, --you remember Helen Heath? Poor Mrs. Purcell, whom you knew, died, and her slippers fitted Helen. She chaperons Mary, who is single and speechless yet; and Captain, now Colonel, Purcellmakes a very good silent partner. He is hunting in the West, onfurlough; she is here alone. There is Mrs. Heath, --you never haveforgotten her?"

"Not I. "

"There is"------

"And how came you all in the country so early in the season, --anybodywith your devotion to company?"

"To be made April fools, John says. "

"Why, the willows are not yet so yellow as they will be. "

"I know it. But we had the most fatiguing winter; and Mrs. Laudersdaleand I agreed, that, the moment the snow was off the ground up here, wewould fly away and be at rest. "

"Mrs. Laudersdale? Can she come here?"

"Goodness! Why not? The last few summers we have always spent together. "

"She is with you now, then?"

"Oh, yes. She is the least changed of all. I didn't mean to tell, butkeep her as a surprise. Of course, you will be a surprise toeverybody. --There, run along, children; we'll follow. --Yes, won't it bedelightful, Roger? We can all play at youth again. "

"Like skeletons in some Dance of Death!" he exclaimed. "We shall behideous in each other's sight. "

"McLean, I am a bride, " said his wife, not heeding the late misanthropy;"Helen is a girl; the ghost of the prior Mrs. Purcell shall be_rediviva_; and Katy there"------

"Wait a bit, Kate, " said her cousin. 

"Before you have shuffled off mortality for the whole party, sit downunder this hedge, --here is an opportune bench, --and give me accountsfrom the day of my departure. "

"Dear me, Roger, as if that were possible! The ocean in a tea-cup? Letme see, --you had a flirtation with Helen that summer, didn't you? Well, she spent the next winter at the Fort with the Purcells. It was odd tomiss both her and Mrs. Laudersdale from society at once. Mrs. Laudersdale was ill; I don't know exactly what the trouble was. You knowshe had been in such an unusual state of exhilaration all that summer;and as soon as she left New Hampshire and began the old city-life, shebecame oppressed with a speechless melancholy, I believe, so that thedoctors foreboded insanity. She expressed great disinclination to followtheir advice, and her husband finally banished them all. It was a greatcare to him; he altered much. McLean surmised that she didn't like tosee him, while she was in this state; for, though he used to surroundher with every luxury, and was always hunting out new appliances, andraising the heavens for a trifle, he kept himself carefully out of hersight during the greater part of the winter. I don't know whether shebecame insufferably lonely, or whether the melancholy wore off, or sheconquered it, and decided that it was not right to go crazy for nothing, or what happened. But one cold March evening he set out for his home, dreary, as usual, he thought; and he found the fire blazing andreddening the ceiling and curtains, the room all aglow with richshadows, and his wife awaiting him, in full toilet, just as superb asyou will see her tonight, just as sweet and cold and impassible andimpenetrable. At least, " continued Mrs. McLean, taking breath, "I havemanufactured this little romance out of odds and ends that McLean hasnow and then reported from his conversation. I dare say there isn't abit of it true, for Mr. Laudersdale isn't a man to publish his affairs;but _I_ believe it. One thing is certain: Mrs. Laudersdale withdrew fromsociety one autumn and returned one spring, and has queened itever since. "

"Is Mr. Laudersdale with you?"

"No. But he will come with their daughter shortly. "

"And with what do you all occupy yourselves, pray?"

"Oh, with trifles and tea, as you would suppose us to do. Mrs. Purcellgossips and lounges, as if she were playing with the world forspectator. Mrs. Laudersdale lounges, and attacks things with herfinger-ends, as if she were longing to remould them. Mrs. McLean gossipsand scolds, as if it depended on her to keep the world in order. "

"Are you going to keep me under the hedge all night?"

"This is pretty well! Hush! Who is that?"

As Mrs. McLean spoke, a figure issued from the tall larches on the left, and crossed the grass in front of them, --a woman, something less tallthan a gypsy queen might be, the round outlines of her form rich andregular, with a certain firm luxuriance, still wrapped in a morning-robeof palm-spread cashmere. In her hand she carried various vines andlichens that had maintained their orange-tawny stains under the winter'ssnow, and the black hair that was folded closely over forehead andtemple was crowned with bent sprays of the scarlet maple-blossom. Asvivid a hue dyed her cheek through warm walking, and with a smile ofunconscious content she passed quickly up the slope and disappearedwithin the doorway. She impressed the senses of the beholder like someripe and luscious fruit, a growth of sunshine and summer. 

"Well, " said Mrs. McLean, drawing breath again, "who is it?"

"Really, I cannot tell, " replied Mr. Raleigh. 

"Nor guess?"

"And that I dare not. "

"Must I tell you?"

"Was it Mrs. Laudersdale?"

"And shouldn't you have known her?"

"Scarcely. "

"Mercy! Then how did you know me? She is unaltered. "

"If that is Mrs. Purcell, at the window, she does not recognize me, yousee; neither did -----. Both she and yourself are nearly the same; onecould not fail to know either of you; but of the Mrs. Laudersdale ofthirteen years ago there remains hardly a vestige. "

If Mrs. McLean, at this testimony, indulged in that little inwardsatisfaction which the most generous woman may feel, when told that hercolor wears better than the color of her dearest friend, it must havebeen quickly quenched by the succeeding sentence. 

"Yes, she is certainly more beautiful than I ever dreamed of a woman'sbeing. If she continues, I do not know what perfect thing she willbecome. She is too exquisite for common use. I wonder her husband is notjealous of every mote in the air, of rain and wind, of every day thatpasses over her head, --since each must now bear some charm from her inits flight. "

Mr. Raleigh was talking to Mrs. McLean as one frequently reposesconfidence in a person when quite sure that he will not understand aword you say. 

An hour afterward, Mrs. Purcell joined Mrs. McLean. 

"So that is Mr. Raleigh, is it?" she said. "He looks as if he had madethe acquaintance of Siva the Destroyer. There's nothing left of him. Ishe taller, or thinner, or graver, or darker, or what? My dear Kate, yourcousin, that promised to be such a hero, has become a mereman-of-business. Did you ever burn firecrackers? You have probably foundsome that just fizzed out, then. " And Mrs. Purcell took an attitude. 

"Roger is a much finer man than he was, I think, --so far as I couldjudge in the short time we have seen each other, " replied Mrs. McLean, with spirit. 

"Do you know, " continued Mrs. Purcell, "what makes the Laudersdale sogay? No? She has a letter from her lord, and he brings you that littleRite next week. I must send for the Colonel to see such patterns ofconjugal felicity as you and she. Ah, there is the tea-bell!"

Mr. Raleigh was standing with one hand on the back of his chair, whenMrs. Laudersdale entered. The cheek had resumed its usual pallor, andshe was in her customary colors of black and gold. She carried acuriously cut crystal glass, which she placed on the sideboard, and thenmoved toward her chair. Her eye rested casually for a moment on Mr. Raleigh, as she crossed the threshold, and then returned with a speciesof calm curiosity. 

"Mrs. Laudersdale has forgotten me?" he asked, with a bow. His voice, not susceptible of change in its tone of Southern sweetness, identified him. 

"Not at all, " she replied, moving toward him, and offering him her handquietly. "I am happy at meeting Mr. Raleigh again. " And she tookher seat. 

There was something in her grasp that relieved him. It was neitherstudiedly cold, nor absurdly brief, nor traitorously tremulous. It wassimply and forgetfully indifferent. Mr. Raleigh surveyed her withinterest during the light table-talk. He had been possessed with arestless wish to see her once more, to ascertain if she had yet anyfraction of her old power over him; he had all the more determinedlybanished himself from the city, --to find her in the country. Now hesought for some trace of what had formerly aroused his heart. He rosefrom table convinced that the woman whom he once loved with the wholefervor of youth and strength and buoyant life was no more, that she didnot exist, and that Mr. Raleigh might experience a new passion, but hisold one was as dead as the ashes that cover the Five Cities of thePlain. He wondered how it might be with her. For a moment he cursed hisinconstancy; then he feared lest she were of larger heart and firmerresolve than he, --lest her love had been less light than his; he couldscarcely feel himself secure of freedom, --he must watch. And then stolein a deeper sense of loneliness than exile and foreign tongues hadtaught him, --the knowledge of being single and solitary in the world, not only for life, but for eternity. 

The evening was passed in the recitation of affairs by himself and hiscousins alone together, and until a week completed its tale of dawns andsunsets there was the same diurnal recurrence of question and answer. One day, as the afternoon was paling, Rite came. 

Mr. Raleigh had fallen asleep on the vine-hidden seat outside thebay-window, and was awakened, certainly not by Mrs. Laudersdale'svelvets trailing over the drawing-room carpet. She was just entering, slow-paced, though in haste. She held out both of her beautiful arms. Alittle form of airy lightness, a very snow-wreath, blew into them. 

"_O ma maman! Est ce que c'est toi_, " it cried. "_O comme tu es douce!Si belle, si molle, si chère!_" And the fair head was lying beneath thedark one, the face hidden in the bent and stately neck. 

Mr. Raleigh left his seat, unseen, and betook himself to another abode. As he passed the drawing-room door, on his return, he saw the motherlying on a lounge, with the slight form nestled beside her, playing withit as some tame leopardess might play with her silky whelp. It wasalmost the only portion of the maternal nature developed within her. 

It seemed as if the tea-hour were a fated one. Mr. Raleigh had been outon the water and was late. As he entered, Rite sprang up, half-overturning her chair, and ran to clasp his hand. 

"I did not know that you and Mr. Raleigh were acquainted, " said Mrs. McLean. 

"Oh, Madam, Mr. Raleigh and I had the pleasure of being shipwreckedtogether, " was the reply; and except that Mrs. Laudersdale requiredanother napkin where her cup had spilled, all went on smoothly. 

Mrs. Laudersdale took Marguerite entirely to herself for a while. Sheseemed, at first, to be like some one suddenly possessed of a new sense, and who did not know in the least what to do with it; but custom andfamiliarity destroyed this sentiment. She did not appear to entertain adoubt of her child's natural affection, but she had care to fortify itby the exertion of every charm she possessed. From the presence ofdangerous rivals in the house, an element of determination blended withher manner, and she moved with a certain conscious power, as ifwonderful energies were but half-latent with her, as if there werekingdoms to conquer and crowns to win, and she the destined instrumentYou would have selected her, at this time of her lavish devotion toMarguerite, as the one woman of complete capability, of practicaleffective force, and have declared that there was nothing beyond herstrength. The relation between herself and her child was certainly aspeculiar as anything else about them; the disparity of age seemed soslight that they appeared like sisters, full of mutual trust, theyounger leaning on the elder for support in the most trivial affairs. They walked through the woods together, learned again its glades andcoverts, searched its early treasure of blossoms; they went out on thelake and spent long April afternoons together, floating about cove andinlet of island-shores; they returned with innocent gayety to that housewhich once the mother, in her moment of passion, had fancied to be apossible heaven of delight, and which, since, she had found to be a veryindifferent limbo. For, after all, we derive as much happiness fromhuman beings as from Nature, and it was a tie of placid affection thatbound her to the McLeans, not of sympathetic union, and her husband wascareful never to oppress her with too much of his society. Whether thiswoman, who had lived a life of such wordless emotion, who had neverbestowed a confidence, suddenly blossomed like a rose and took thelittle new-comer into the gold-dust and fragrance of her heart, orwhether there was always between them the thin impalpable division thatestranged the past from the present, there was nothing to tell; itseemed, nevertheless, as if they could have no closer bond, had theyread each other's thoughts from birth. 

That this assumption of Marguerite could not continue exclusive Mr. Raleigh found, when now and then joined in his walks by an airy figureflitting forward at his side: now and then; since Mrs. Laudersdale, without knowing how to prevent, had manifested an uneasiness at everysuch rencontre;--and that it could not endure forever, anothergentleman, without so much reason, congratulated himself, --Mr. FredericHeath, the confidential clerk of Day, Knight, and Company, --a rathersupercilious specimen, quite faultlessly got up, who had accompanied herfrom New York at her father's request, and who already betrayed everysymptom of the suitor. Meanwhile, Mrs. McLean's little women clamorouslydemanded and obtained a share of her attention, --although Capua andUrsule, with their dark skins, brilliant dyes, and equivocal dialects, were creatures of a more absorbing interest. 

One afternoon, Marguerite came into the drawing-room by one door, as Mr. Raleigh entered by another; her mother was sitting near the window, andother members of the family were in the vicinity, having clusteredpreparatory to the tea-bell. 

Marguerite had twisted tassels of the willow-catkins in her hair, drooping things, in character with her wavy grace, and that sprinkledher with their fragrant yellow powder, the very breath of spring; and inone hand she had imprisoned a premature lace-winged fly, a fairy littlesavage, in its sheaths of cobweb and emerald, and with its jewel eyes. 

"Dear!" said Mrs. Purcell, gathering her array more closely about her. "How do you dare touch such a venomous sprite?"

"As if you had an insect at the North with a sting!" replied Marguerite, suffering it, a little maliciously, to escape in the lady's face, andfollowing the flight with a laugh of childlike glee. 

"Here are your snowflakes on stems, mamma, " she continued, droppinganemones over her mother's hands, one by one;--"that is what Mr. Raleighcalls them. When may I see the snow? You shall wrap me in eider, that Imay be like all the boughs and branches. How buoyant the earth must be, when every twig becomes a feather!" And she moved toward Mr. Raleigh, singing, "Oh, would I had wings like a dove!"

"And here are those which, if not daffodils, yet

 "'Come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty, '"

he said, giving her a basket of hepaticas and winter-green. 

Marguerite danced away with the purple trophy, and, emptying a carafeinto a dish of moss that stood near, took them to Mrs. Laudersdale, and, sitting on the footstool, began to rearrange them. It was curious tosee, that, while Mrs. Laudersdale lifted each blossom and let the stemlie across her hand, she suffered it to fall into the place designatedfor it by Marguerite's fingers, that sparkled in the mosaic till doublewreaths of gold-threaded purple rose from the bed of vivid moss andmelted into a fringe of the starry spires of winter-green. 

"Is it not sweet?" said she then, bending over it. 

"They have no scent, " said her mother. 

"Oh, yes, indeed! the very finest, the most delicate, a kind of aërialperfume; they must of course alchemize the air into which they wastetheir fibres with some sweetness. "

"A smell of earth fresh from 'wholesome drench of April rains, '" saidMr. Raleigh, taking the dish of white porcelain between his brown, slender hands. "An immature scent, just such an innocent breath asshould precede the epigea, that spicy, exhaustive wealth of savor, thatcomplete maturity of odor, marriage of daphne and linnaea. The charm ofthese first bidders for the year's favor is neither in the etherealtexture, the depth or delicacy of tint, nor the large-lobed, blood-stained, ancient leaves. This imponderable soul gives them such ahelpless air of babyhood. "

"Is fragrance the flower's soul?" asked Marguerite. "Then anemones arenot divinely gifted. And yet you said, the other day, that to paint myportrait would be to paint an anemone. "

"A satisfactory specimen in the family-gallery, " said Mrs. Purcell. 

"A flaw in the indictment!" replied Mr. Raleigh. "I am not one of thosewho paint the lily. "

"Though you've certainly added a perfume to the violet, " remarked Mr. Frederic Heath, with that sweetly lingering accent familiarly called thedrawl, as he looked at the hepaticas. 

"I don't think it very complimentary, at any rate, " continuedMarguerite. "They are not lovely after bloom, --only the littlepink-streaked, budded bells, that hang so demurely. _Oui, dà!_ I haveexchanged great queen magnolias for rues; what will you give me forpomegranates and oleanders?"

"Are the old oleanders in the garden yet?" asked Mrs. Laudersdale. 

"Not the very same. The hurricane destroyed those, years ago; these areothers, grand and rosy as sunrise sometimes. "

"It was my Aunt Susanne who planted those, I have heard. "

"And it was your daughter Rite who planted these. "

"She buried a little box of old keepsakes at its foot, after her brotherhad examined them, --a ring or two, a coin from which she broke and keptone half"------

"Oh, yes! we found the little box, found it when Mr. Heath was inMartinique, all rusted and moulded and falling apart, and he wears thathalf of the coin on his watch-chain. See!"

Mrs. Laudersdale glanced up indifferently, but Mrs. Purcell sprang fromher elegant lounging and bent to look at her brother's chain. 

"How odd that I never noticed it, Fred!" she exclaimed. "And how oddthat I should wear the same!" And, shaking her _châtelaine_, shedetached a similar affair. 

They were placed side by side in Mr. Raleigh's hand; they matchedentirely, and, so united, they formed a singular French coin of valueand antiquity, the missing figures on one segment supplied by the other, the embossed profile continued and lost on each, the scroll begun bythis and ended by that; they were plainly severed portions of thesame piece. 

"And this was buried by your Aunt Susanne Le Blanc?" asked Mrs. Purcell, turning to Mrs. Laudersdale again, with a flush on her cheek. 

"So I presume. "

"Strange! And this was given to mamma by her mother, whose maiden namewas Susan White. There's some _diablerie_ about it. "

"Oh, that is a part of the ceremony of money-hiding, " said Mr. Raleigh. "Kidd always buried a little imp with his pots of gold, you know, towork deceitful charms on the finder. "

"Did he?" said Marguerite, earnestly. 

They all laughed thereat, and went in to tea. 

[To be continued. ]

EPITHALAMIA. 

I. 

THE WEDDING. 

 O Love! the flowers are blowing in park and field, With love their bursting hearts are all revealed. So come to me, and all thy fragrance yield!

 O Love! the sun is sinking in the west, And sequent stars all sentinel his rest. So sleep, while angels watch, upon my breast!

 O Love! the flooded moon is at its height, And trances sea and land with tranquil light. So shine, and gild with beauty all my night!

 O Love! the ocean floods the crooked shore, Till sighing beaches give their moaning o'er. So, Love, o'erflow me, till I sigh no more!

II. 

THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 

 O wife! the fragrant Mayflower now appears, Fresh as the Pilgrims saw it through their tears. So blows our love through all these changing years. 

 O wife! the sun is rising in the east, Nor tires to shine, while ages have increased. So shines our love, and fills my happy breast

 O wife! on yonder beach the ocean sings, As when it bore the Mayflower's drooping wings. So in my heart our early love-song rings. 

 O wife! the moon and stars slide down the west To make in fresher skies their happy quest. So, Love, once more we'll wed among the blest!

ARTHUR HALLAM. 

We were standing in the old English church at Clevedon on a summerafternoon. And here, said my companion, pausing in the chancel, sleepsArthur Hallam, the friend of Alfred Tennyson, and the subject of "InMemoriam. "

 "'Tis well, 'tis something, we may stand Where he in English earth is laid. "

His burial-place is on a hill overhanging the Bristol Channel, a spotselected by his father as a fit resting-place for his beloved boy. And so

 "They laid him by the pleasant shore, And in the hearing of the wave. "

Dying at twenty-two, the hope and pride of all who knew him, "remarkablefor the early splendor of his genius, " the career of this young manconcentres the interest of more than his native country. Tennyson haslaid upon his early grave a poem which will never let his ashes beforgotten, or his memory fade like that of common clay. What Southey sofelicitously says of Kirke White applies most eloquently to youngHallam:--"Just at that age when the painter would have wished to fix hislikeness and the lover of poetry would delight to contemplate him, inthe fair morning of his virtues, the full spring-blossom of his hopes, --just at that age hath death set the seal of eternity upon him, and thebeautiful hath been made permanent. "

Arthur Henry Hallam was born in Bedford Place, London, on the 1st ofFebruary, 1811. The eldest son of Henry Hallam, the eminent historianand critic, his earliest years had every advantage which culture andmoral excellence could bring to his education. His father has feelinglycommemorated his boyish virtues and talents by recording his "peculiarclearness of perception, his facility of acquiring knowledge, and, aboveall, an undeviating sweetness of disposition, and adherence to his senseof what was right and becoming. " From that tearful record, not publiclycirculated, our recital is partly gathered. Companions of his childhoodhave often told us well-remembered incidents of his life, and this isthe too brief story of his earthly career. 

When about eight years of age, Arthur resided some time in Germany andSwitzerland, with his father and mother. He had already become familiarwith the French language, and a year later he read Latin with somefacility. Although the father judiciously studied to repress his son'smarked precocity of talent, Arthur wrote about this time several playsin prose and in rhyme, --compositions which were never exhibited, however, beyond the family-circle. 

At ten years of age he became a pupil at a school in Putney, under thetuition of an excellent clergyman, where he continued two years. He thentook a short tour on the Continent, and, returning, went to Eton, wherehe studied nearly five years. While at Eton, he was reckoned, accordingto the usual test at that place, not a first-rate Latin student, for hismind had a predominant bias toward English literature, and there helingered among the exhaustless fountains of the earlier poetry of hisnative tongue. One who knew him well in those years has described him tous as a sweet-voiced lad, moving about the pleasant playing-fields ofEton with a thoughtful eye and a most kindly expression. Afterwards, asTennyson, singing to the witch-elms and the towering sycamore, paintshim, he mixed in all the simple sports, and loved to gather a happygroup about him, as he lay on the grass and discussed grave questions ofstate. And again, --

 "Thy converse drew us with delight, The men of rathe and riper years: The feeble soul, a haunt of fears, Forgot his weakness in thy sight. "

His taste for philosophical poetry increased with his years, andWordsworth and Shelley became his prime favorites. His contributions tothe "Eton Miscellany" were various, sometimes in prose and now and thenin verse. A poet by nature, he could not resist the Muse's influence, and he expressed a genuine emotion, oftentimes elegantly, and neverwithout a meaning. 

In the summer of 1827 he left Eton, and travelled with his parents eightmonths in Italy. And now began that life of thought and feeling soconspicuous to the end of his too brief career. Among the Alps his wholesoul took the impress of those early introductions to what is mostglorious and beautiful in Nature. After passing the mountains, Italianliterature claimed his attention, and he entered upon its study with allthe ardor of a young and earnest student. An Abbate who recognized hisgenius encouraged him with his assistance in the difficult art ofItalian versification, and, after a very brief stay in Italy, at the ageof seventeen, he wrote several sonnets which attracted considerableattention among scholars. Very soon after acquiring the Italianlanguage, the great Florentine poet opened to him his mystic visions. Dante became his worship, and his own spirit responded to that of theauthor of the "Divina Commedia. "

His growing taste led him to admire deeply all that is noble in Art, andhe soon prized with enthusiasm the great pictures of the Venetian, theTuscan, and the Roman schools. "His eyes, " says his father, "were fixedon the best pictures with silent, intense delight. " One can imagine himat this period wandering with all the ardor of youthful passion throughthe great galleries, not with the stolid stony gaze of a coldbloodedcritic, but with that unmixed enthusiasm which so well becomes theunwearied traveller in his buoyant days of experience among the unveiledglories of genius now first revealed to his astonished vision. 

He returned home in 1828, and went to reside at Cambridge, having beenentered, before his departure for the Continent, at Trinity College. Itis said that he cared little for academical reputation, and in thesevere scrutiny of examination he did not appear as a competitor foraccurate mathematical demonstrations. He knew better than those abouthim where his treasures lay, --and to some he may have seemed a dreamer, to others an indifferent student, perhaps. His aims were higher than thetutor's black-board, and his life-thoughts ran counter to the usualcollege-routine. Disordered health soon began to appear, and a too rapiddetermination of blood to the brain often deprived him of the power ofmuch mental labor. At Florence he had been seized with a slight attackof the same nature, and there was always a tendency to derangement ofthe vital functions. Irregularity of circulation occasioned sometimes amorbid depression of spirits, and his friends anxiously watched forsymptoms of returning health. In his third Cambridge year he grewbetter, and all who knew and loved him rejoiced in his apparent recovery. 

About this time, some of his poetical pieces were printed, but withheldfrom publication. It was the original intention for the two friends, Alfred Tennyson and Arthur Hallam, to publish together; but the idea wasabandoned. Such lines as these the young poet addressed to the man whowas afterwards to lend interest and immortality to the story of hisearly loss:--

 "Alfred, I would that you beheld me now, Sitting beneath a mossy, ivied wall On a quaint bench, which to that structure old Winds an accordant curve. Above my head Dilates immeasurable a wild of leaves, Seeming received into the blue expanse That vaults this summer noon. Before me lies A lawn of English verdure, smooth, and bright, Mottled with fainter hues of early hay, Whose fragrance, blended with the rose-perfume From that white flowering bush, invites my sense To a delicious madness, --and faint thoughts Of childish years are borne into my brain By unforgotten ardors waking now. Beyond, a gentle slope leads into shade Of mighty trees, to bend whose eminent crown Is the prime labor of the pettish winds, That now in lighter mood are twirling leaves Over my feet, or hurrying butterflies, And the gay humming things that summer loves, Through the warm air, or altering the bound Where yon elm-shadows in majestic line Divide dominion with the abundant light. "

And this fine descriptive passage was also written at this period of hislife:--

 "The garden trees are busy with the shower That fell ere sunset: now methinks they talk, Lowly and sweetly, as befits the hour, One to another down the grassy walk. Hark! the laburnum from his opening flower This cheery creeper greets in whisper light, While the grim fir, rejoicing in the night, Hoarse mutters to the murmuring sycamore. What shall I deem their converse? Would they hail The wild gray light that fronts yon massive cloud, Or the half-bow rising like pillared fire? Or are they sighing faintly for desire That with May dawn their leaves may be o'erflowed, And dews about their feet may never fail?"

The first college prize for English declamation was awarded to him thisyear; and his exercise, "The Conduct of the Independent Party during theCivil War, " greatly improved his standing at the University. Otherhonors quickly followed his successful essay, and he was chosen todeliver an oration in the College Chapel just before the Christmasvacation. This was in the year 1831. He selected as his subject the oneeminently congenial to his thought; and his theme, "The Influence ofItalian upon English Literature, " was admirably treated. The oration isbefore us as we write, and we turn the pages with a fond and loving eye. We remember, as we read, his brief sojourn, --that he died "in the sweethour of prime, "--and we are astonished at the eloquent wisdom displayedby a lad of twenty summers. "I cannot help considering, " he says, "thesonnets of Shakspeare as a sort of homage to the Genius of ChristianEurope, necessarily exacted, although voluntarily paid, before he wasallowed to take in hand the sceptre of his endless dominion. " And heends his charming disquisition in these words;--"An English mind thathas drunk deep at the sources of Southern inspiration, and especiallythat is imbued with the spirit of the mighty Florentine, will beconscious of a perpetual freshness and quiet beauty resting on hisimagination and spreading gently over his affections, until, by theblessing of Heaven, it may be absorbed without loss in the pure innerlight of which that voice has spoken, as no other can, --

 "'Light intellectual, yet full of love, Love of true beauty, therefore full of joy, Joy, every other sweetness far above. '"

It was young Hallam's privilege to be among Coleridge's favorites, andin one of his poems Arthur alludes to him as a man in whose face "everyline wore the pale cast of thought. " His conversations with "the old maneloquent" gave him intense delight, and he often alluded to thewonderful talks he had enjoyed with the great dreamer, whose magicalrichness of illustration took him captive for the time being. 

At Abbotsford he became known to Sir Walter Scott, and Lockhart thuschronicles his visit:--

"Among a few other friends from a distance, Sir Walter received thissummer [1829] a short visit from Mr. Hallam, and made in his companyseveral of the little excursions which had in former days been ofconstant recurrence. Mr. Hallam had with him his son, Arthur, a younggentleman of extraordinary abilities, and as modest as able, who notlong afterwards was cut off in the very bloom of opening life andgenius. His beautiful verses, 'On Melrose seen in Company with Scott, 'have since been often printed. "

 "I lived an hour in fair Melrose: It was not when 'the pale moonlight' Its magnifying charm bestows; Yet deem I that I 'viewed it right. ' The wind-swept shadows fast careered, Like living things that joyed or feared, Adown the sunny Eildon Hill, And the sweet winding Tweed the distance crowned well. 

 "I inly laughed to see that scene Wear such a countenance of youth, Though many an age those hills were green, And yonder river glided smooth, Ere in these now disjointed walls The Mother Church held festivals, And full-voiced anthemings the while Swelled from the choir, and lingered down the echoing aisle. 

 "I coveted that Abbey's doom: For if, I thought, the early flowers Of our affection may not bloom, Like those green hills, through countless hours, Grant me at least a tardy waning Some pleasure still in age's paining; Though lines and forms must fade away, Still may old Beauty share the empire of Decay!

 "But looking toward the grassy mound Where calm the Douglas chieftains lie, Who, living, quiet never found, I straightway learnt a lesson high: And well I knew that thoughtful mien Of him whose early lyre had thrown Over these mouldering walls the magic of its tone. 

 "Then ceased I from my envying state, And knew that aweless intellect Hath power upon the ways of Fate, And works through time and space uncheck'd. That minstrel of old Chivalry In the cold grave must come to be; But his transmitted thoughts have part In the collective mind, and never shall depart. 

 "It was a comfort, too, to see Those dogs that from him ne'er would rove, And always eyed him reverently, With glances of depending love. They know not of that eminence Which marks him to my reasoning sense; They know but that he is a man, And still to them is kind, and glads them all he can. 

 "And hence their quiet looks confiding, Hence grateful instincts seated deep, By whose strong bond, were ill betiding, They'd risk their own his life to keep. What joy to watch in lower creature Such dawning of a moral nature, And how (the rule all things obey) They look to a higher mind to be their law and stay!"

At the University he lived a sweet and gracious life. No man had trueror fonder friends, or was more admired for his excellentaccomplishments. Earnest in whatever he attempted, his enthusiasm forall that was high and holy in literature stamped his career at Trinityas one of remarkable superiority. "I have known many young men, both atOxford and elsewhere, of whose abilities I think highly, but I never metwith one whom I considered worthy of being put into competition withArthur for a moment, " writes his early and intimate friend. "I canscarcely hope to describe the feelings with which I regarded him, muchless the daily beauty of his existence, out of which they grew, " writesanother of his companions. Politics, literature, philosophy he discussedwith a metaphysical subtilty marvellous in one so young. The highestcomprehension seemed native to his mind, so that all who came within thesphere of his influence were alike impressed with his vast and variouspowers. The life and grace of a charmed circle, the display of his giftswas not for show, and he never forgot to keep the solemn injunction, _"My son, give me thine heart, "_ clearly engraven before him. 

Among his favorite authors, while at the University, we have been toldhe greatly delighted in the old dramatists, Webster, Heywood, andFletcher. The grace and harmony of style and versification which hefound particularly in the latter master became one of his favoritethemes, and he often dwelt upon this excellence. He loved to repeat thesad old strains of Bion; and Aeschylus and Sophocles interestedhim deeply. 

On leaving Cambridge, he took his degree and went immediately to Londonto reside with his father. It was a beautiful relation which alwaysexisted between the elder and the younger scholar; and now, as soon asArthur had been entered on the boards of the Inner Temple, the fatherand son sat down to read law together. Legal studies occupied the youngstudent till the month of October, 1832, when he became an inmate of theoffice of an eminent conveyancer in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Although heapplied himself diligently to obtain a sound practical knowledge of theprofession he had chosen, his former habits of literary pursuit did notentirely desert him. During the winter he translated most of the sonnetsin the "Vita Nuova, " and composed a dramatic sketch with Raffaello forthe hero. About this period he wrote brief, but excellent, memoirs ofPetrarch, Voltaire, and Burke, for the "Gallery of Portraits, " thenpublishing by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. But histime, when unoccupied at the office, was principally devoted tometaphysical research and the history of philosophical opinion. Hisspirits, sometimes apt to be graver than is the wont of youth, nowbecame more animated and even gay, so that his family were cheered on tohope that his health was firmly gaining ground. The unpleasant symptomswhich manifested themselves in his earlier years had almost entirelydisappeared, when an attack of intermittent fever in the spring of 1833gave the fatal blow to his constitution. In August, the careful, tenderfather took his beloved son into Germany, trusting to a change ofclimate for restoration. Travelling slowly, they lingered among thescenes connected with a literature and a history both were so familiarwith, and many pleasant and profitable hours of delightful conversegladdened Arthur's journey. It is difficult to picture a moreinteresting group of travellers through the picturesque regions theywere again exploring. 

No child was ever more ardently loved--nay, worshipped--by his fatherthan Arthur Hallam. The parallel, perhaps, exists in Edmund Burke's fondattachment for and subsequent calamity in the loss of his son Richard. That passage in the life of the great statesman is one of the mostaffecting in all biographical literature. "The son thus deeplylamented, " says Prior, "had always conducted himself with much filialduty and affection. Their confidence on all subjects was even moreunreserved than commonly prevails between father and son, and theiresteem for each other higher.... The son looked to the father as one ofthe first, if not the very first, character in history; the father hadformed the very highest opinion of the talents of the son, and among hisfriends rated them superior to his own. " The same confidingcompanionship grew up between Henry Hallam and his eldest boy, andcontinued till "death set the seal of eternity" upon the young andgifted Arthur. 

The travellers were returning to Vienna from Pesth; a damp day set inwhile they were on the journey; again intermittent fever attacked thesensitive invalid, and suddenly, mysteriously, his life was ended. Itwas the 15th of September, 1833, and Arthur Hallam lay dead in hisfather's arms. Twenty-two brief years, and all high hopes for him, themanly, the noble-spirited, this side the tomb, are broken down forever. Well might his heart-crushed father sob aloud, "He seemed to tread theearth as a spirit from some better world. " The author of "HoraeSubsecivae" aptly quotes Shakspeare's memorable words, in connectionwith the tragic bereavement of that autumnal day in Vienna:--

 "The idea of thy life shall sweetly creep Into my study of imagination; And every lovely organ of thy life Shall come apparelled in more precious habit, More moving delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of my soul, Than when thou liv'dst indeed. "

Standing by the grave of this young person, now made so renowned by thegenius of a great poet, whose song has embalmed his name and called theworld's attention to his death, the inevitable reflection is not ofsorrow. He sleeps well who is thus lamented, and "nothing can touchhim further. "

THE CONFESSIONS OF A MEDIUM. 

It is not yet a year since I ceased to act as a Spiritual Medium. (I amforced to make use of this title as the most intelligible, but I do itwith a strong mental protest. ) At first, I desired only to withdrawmyself quietly from the peculiar associations into which I had beenthrown by the exercise of my faculty, and be content with the simplefact of my escape. A man who joins the Dashaways does not care to havethe circumstance announced in the newspapers. "So, he was an habitualdrunkard, " the public would say. I was overcome by a similarreluctance, --nay, I might honestly call it shame, --since, although I hadat intervals officiated as a Medium for a period of seven years, my namehad been mentioned, incidentally, only once or twice in the papersdevoted especially to Spiritualism. I had no such reputation as that ofHume or Andrew Jackson Davis, which would call for a public statement ofmy recantation. The result would be, therefore, to give prominence to aweakness, which, however manfully overcome, might be remembered to myfuture prejudice. 

I find, however, that the resolution to be silent leaves me restless andunsatisfied. And in reflecting calmly--objectively, for the firsttime--upon the experience of those seven years, I recognize so manypoints wherein my case is undoubtedly analogous to that of hundreds ofothers who may be still entangled in the same labyrinth whence I havebut recently escaped, so clear a solution of much that is enigmatical, even to those who reject Spiritualism, that the impulse to write weighsupon me with the pressure of a neglected duty. I _cannot_ longer besilent, and, in the conviction that the truth of my statement will beevident enough to those most concerned in hearing it, without theauthority of any name, (least of all, of one so little known as mine, )I now give my confession to the world. The names of the individuals whomI shall have occasion to introduce are, of course, disguised; but, withthis exception, the narrative is the plainest possible record of my ownexperience. Many of the incidents winch I shall be obliged to describeare known only to the actors therein, who, I feel assured, will neverfoolishly betray themselves. I have therefore no fear that any harm canresult from my disclosures. 

In order to make my views intelligible to those readers who have paid noattention to psychological subjects, I must commence a little in advanceof my story. My own individual nature is one of those apparentlyinconsistent combinations which are frequently found in the children ofparents whose temperaments and mental personalities widely differ. Thisclass of natures is much larger than would be supposed. Inheritingopposite, even conflicting, traits from father and mother, they assume, as either element predominates, diverse characters; and that which isthe result of temperament (in fact, congenital inconsistency) is setdown by the unthinking world as moral weakness or duplicity. Those whohave sufficient skill to perceive and reconcile--or, at least, govern--the opposing elements are few, indeed. Had the power come to mesooner, I should have been spared the necessity of making theseconfessions. 

From one parent I inherited an extraordinarily active and sensitiveimagination, --from the other, a sturdy practical sense, a disposition toweigh and balance with calm fairness the puzzling questions which lifeoffers to every man. These conflicting qualities--as is usual in allsimilar natures--were not developed in equal order of growth. The formergoverned my childhood, my youth, and enveloped me with spells, which allthe force of the latter and more slowly ripened faculty was barelysufficient to break. Luxuriant weeds and brambles covered the soil whichshould have been ploughed and made to produce honest grain. Unfortunately, I had no teacher who was competent to understand anddirect me. The task was left for myself, and I can only wonder, afterall that has occurred, how it has been possible for me to succeed. Certainly, this success has not been due to any vigorous exercise ofvirtue on my part, but solely to the existence of that cool, reflectivereason which lay _perdue_ beneath all the extravagances of my mind. 

I possessed, even as a child, an unusual share of what phrenologistscall Concentrativeness. The power of absorption, of self-forgetfulness, was at the same time a source of delight and a torment. Lost in somewild dream or absurd childish speculation, my insensibility to outwardthings was chastised as carelessness or a hardened indifference tocounsel. With a memory almost marvellous to retain those things whichappealed to my imagination, I blundered painfully over the commonesttasks. While I frequently repeated the Sunday hymn, at dinner, I was toooften unable to give the least report of the sermon. Withdrawn into mycorner of the pew, I gave myself up, after the enunciation of the text, to a complete abstraction, which took no note of time or place. Fixingmy eyes upon a knot in one of the panels under the pulpit, I satmoveless during the hour and a half which our worthy old clergymanrequired for the expounding of the seven parts of his discourse. Theycould never accuse me of sleeping, however; for I rarely even winked. The closing hymn recalled me to myself, always with a shock, or sense ofpain, and sometimes even with a temporary nausea. 

This habit of abstraction--properly a complete _passivity_ of themind--after a while developed another habit, in which I now see the rootof that peculiar condition which made me a Medium. I shall thereforeendeavor to describe it. I was sitting, one Sunday, just as the ministerwas commencing his sermon, with my eyes carelessly following the fingersof my right hand, as I drummed them slowly across my knee. Suddenly, thewonder came into my mind, --How is it my fingers move? What set themgoing? What is it that stops them? The mystery of that communicationbetween will and muscle, which no physiologist has ever fathomed, burstupon my young intellect. I had been conscious of no intention of thusdrumming my fingers; they were in motion when I first noticed them: theywere certainly a part of myself, yet they acted without my knowledge ordesign! My left hand was quiet; why did its fingers not move also?Following these reflections came a dreadful fear, as I remembered Jane, the blacksmith's daughter, whose elbows and shoulders sometimes jerkedin such a way as to make all the other scholars laugh, although we weresorry for the poor girl, who cried bitterly over her unfortunate, ungovernable limbs. I was comforted, however, on finding that I couldcontrol the motion of my fingers at pleasure; but my imagination was tooactive to stop there. What if I should forget how to direct my hands?What if they should refuse to obey me? What if my knees, which were justas still as the hymn-books in the rack before me, should cease to bend, and I should sit there forever? These very questions seemed to produce atemporary paralysis of the will. As my right hand lay quietly on myknee, and I asked myself, with a stupid wonder, "Now, can I move it?" itlay as still as before. I had only questioned, not willed. "No I cannotmove it, " I said, in real doubt I was conscious of a blind sense ofexertion, wherein there was yet no proper exertion, but which seemed toexhaust me. Fascinated by this new mystery, I contemplated my hand assomething apart from myself, --something subordinate to, but notidentical with, me. The rising of the congregation for the hymn brokethe spell, like the snapping of a thread. 

The reader will readily understand that I carried these experiences muchfarther. I gradually learned to suspend (perhaps in imagination only, but therefore none the less really) the action of my will upon themuscles of my arms and legs; and I did it with the greater impunity, from knowing that the stir consequent upon the conclusion of theservices would bring me to myself. In proportion as the will becamepassive, the activity of my imagination was increased, and I experienceda new and strange delight in watching the play of fantasies whichappeared to come and go independently of myself. There was still a dimconsciousness of outward things mingled with my condition; I was notbeyond the recall of my senses. But one day, I remember, as I satmotionless as a statue, having ceased any longer to attempt to controlmy dead limbs, more than usually passive, a white, shining mistgradually stole around me; my eyes finally ceased to take cognizance ofobjects; a low, musical humming sounded in my ears, and those creaturesof the imagination which had hitherto crossed my brain as _thoughts_ nowspoke to me as audible voices. If there is any happy delirium in thefirst stages of intoxication, (of which, thank Heaven, I have noexperience, ) it must be a sensation very much like that which I felt. The death of external and the birth of internal consciousnessoverwhelmed my childish soul with a dumb, ignorant ecstasy, like thatwhich savages feel on first hearing the magic of music. 

How long I remained thus I know not. I was aroused, by feeling myselfviolently shaken. "John!" exclaimed my mother, who had grasped my armwith a determined hand, --"bless the boy! what ails him? Why, his faceis as white as a sheet!" Slowly I recovered my consciousness, saw thechurch and the departing congregation, and mechanically followed myparents. I could give no explanation of what had happened, except to saythat I had fallen asleep. As I ate my dinner with a good appetite, mymother's fears were quieted. I was left at home the following Sunday, and afterwards only ventured to indulge sparingly in the exercise of mynewly discovered faculty. My mother, I was conscious, took more note ofmy presence than formerly, and I feared a repetition of the samecatastrophe. As I grew older and my mind became interested in a widerrange of themes, I finally lost the habit, which I classed among themany follies of childhood. 

I retained, nevertheless, and still retain, something of that subtileinstinct which mocks and yet surpasses reason. My feelings with regardto the persons whom I met were quite independent of their behaviortowards me, or the estimation in which they were held by the world. Things which puzzled my brain in waking hours were made clear to me insleep, and I frequently felt myself blindly impelled to do or to avoiddoing certain things. The members of my family, who found it impossibleto understand my motives of action, --because, in fact, there were no_motives_, --complacently solved the difficulty by calling me "queer. " Ipresume there are few persons who are not occasionally visited by theinstinct, or impulse, or faculty, or whatever it may be called, to whichI refer. I possessed it in a more than ordinary degree, and wasgenerally able to distinguish between its suggestions and the merehumors of my imagination. It is scarcely necessary to say that I assumethe existence of such a power, at the outset. I recognize it as a normalfaculty of the human mind, --not therefore universal, any more than thegenius which makes a poet, a painter, or a composer. 

My education was neither general nor thorough; hence I groped darklywith the psychological questions which were presented to me. Tormentedby those doubts which at some period of life assail the soul of everythinking man, I was ready to grasp at any solution which offered, without very carefully testing its character. I eagerly accepted thetheory of Animal Magnetism, which, so far as it went, was satisfactory;but it only illustrated the powers and relations of the soul in itspresent state of existence; it threw no light upon that future which Iwas not willing to take upon faith alone. Though sensible to mesmericinfluences, I was not willing that my spiritual nature should be theinstrument of another's will, --that a human being, like myself, shouldbecome possessed of all my secrets and sanctities, touching the keys ofevery passion with his unhallowed fingers. In the phenomena ofclairvoyance I saw only other and more subtile manifestations of thepower which I knew to exist in my own mind. Hence, I soon grew weary ofprosecuting inquiries which, at best, would fall short of solving my owngreat and painful doubt, --Does the human soul continue to exist afterdeath? That it could take cognizance of things beyond the reach of thefive senses, I was already assured. This, however, might be a sixthsense, no less material and perishable in its character than the others. My brain, as yet, was too young and immature to follow the thread ofthat lofty spiritual logic in the light of which such doubts melt awaylike mists of the night. Thus, uneasy because undeveloped, erringbecause I had never known the necessary guidance, seeking, but almostdespairing of enlightenment, I was a fit subject for any spiritualepidemic which seemed to offer me a cure for worse maladies. 

At this juncture occurred the phenomena known as the "RochesterKnockings. " (My home, let me say, is in a small town not far from NewYork. ) I shared in the general interest aroused by the marvellousstories, which, being followed by the no less extraordinary display ofsome unknown agency at Norwalk, Connecticut, excited me to such a degreethat I was half-converted to the new faith before I had witnessed anyspiritual manifestation. Soon after the arrival of the Misses Fox in NewYork I visited them in their rooms at the Howard House. Impressed bytheir quiet, natural demeanor, the absence of anything savoring ofjugglery, and the peculiar character of the raps and movements of thetable, I asked my questions and applied my tests, in a passive, if not abelieving frame of mind. In fact, I had not long been seated, before thenoises became loud and frequent. 

"The spirits like to communicate with you, " said Mrs. Fish: "you seem tobe nearer to them than most people. "

I summoned, in succession, the spirits of my mother, a younger brother, and a cousin to whom I had been much attached in boyhood, and obtainedcorrect answers to all my questions. I did not then remark, what hassince occurred to me, that these questions concerned things which Iknew, and that the answers to them were distinctly impressed on my mindat the time. The result of one of my tests made a very deep impressionupon me. Having mentally selected a friend whom I had met in the trainthat morning, I asked, --"Will the spirit whose name is now in my mindcommunicate with me?" To this came the answer, slowly rapped out, oncalling over the alphabet, --"_He is living!_"

I returned home, very much puzzled. Precisely those features of theexhibition (let me call it such) which repulse others attracted me. Thesearching daylight, the plain, matter-of-fact character of themanifestations, the absence of all solemnity and mystery, impressed mefavorably towards the spiritual theory. If disembodied souls, I said, really exist and can communicate with those in the flesh, why shouldthey choose moonlight or darkness, graveyards or lonely bedchambers, fortheir visitations? What is to hinder them from speaking at times and inplaces where the senses of men are fully awake and alert, rather thanwhen they are liable to be the dupes of the imagination? In suchreflections as these I was the unconscious dupe of my own imagination, while supposing myself thoroughly impartial and critical. 

Soon after this, circles began to be formed in my native town, for thepurpose of table-moving. A number of persons met, secretly atfirst, --for as yet there were no avowed converts, --and quite as much forsport as for serious investigation. The first evening there was nosatisfactory manifestation. The table moved a little, it is true, buteach one laughingly accused his neighbors of employing some muscularforce: all isolated attempts were vain. I was conscious, nevertheless, of a curious sensation of numbness in the arms, which recalled to mindmy forgotten experiments in church. No rappings were heard, and some ofthe participants did not scruple to pronounce the whole thinga delusion. 

A few evenings after this we met again. Those who were most increduloushappened to be absent, while, accidentally, their places were filled bypersons whose temperaments disposed them to a passive seriousness. Amongthese was a girl of sixteen, Miss Abby Fetters, a pale, delicatecreature, with blond hair and light-blue eyes. Chance placed her next tome, in forming the ring, and her right hand lay lightly upon my left. Westood around a heavy circular dining-table. A complete silence waspreserved, and all minds gradually sank into a quiet, passiveexpectancy. In about ten minutes I began to feel, or to imagine that Ifelt, a stream of light, --if light were a palpable substance, --asomething far finer and more subtile than an electric current, passingfrom the hand of Miss Fetters through my own into the table. Presentlythe great wooden mass began to move, --stopped, --moved again, --turned ina circle, we following, without changing the position of our hands, --andfinally began to rock from side to side, with increasing violence. Someof the circle were thrown off by the movements; others withdrew theirhands in affright; and but four, among whom were Miss Fetters andmyself, retained their hold. My outward consciousness appeared to besomewhat benumbed, as if by some present fascination or approachingtrance, but I retained curiosity enough to look at my companion. Hereyes, sparkling with a strange, steady light, were fixed upon the table;her breath came quick and short, and her cheek had lost every trace ofcolor. Suddenly, as if by a spasmodic effort, she removed her hands; Idid the same, and the table stopped. She threw herself into a seat, asif exhausted, yet, during the whole time, not a muscle of the hand whichlay upon mine had stirred. I solemnly declare that my own hands hadbeen equally passive, yet I experienced the same feeling offatigue, --not muscular fatigue, but a sense of _deadness_, as if everydrop of nervous energy had been suddenly taken from me. 

Further experiments, the same evening, showed that we two, eithertogether or alone, were able to produce the same phenomena without theassistance of the others present. We did not succeed, however, inobtaining any answers to our questions, nor were any of us impressed bythe idea that the spirits of the dead were among us. In fact, thesetable-movings would not, of themselves, suggest the idea of a spiritualmanifestation. "The table is bewitched, " said Thompson, a hard-headedyoung fellow, without a particle of imagination; and this was really thefirst impression of all: some unknown force, latent in the dead matter, had been called into action. Still, this conclusion was so strange, soincredible, that the agency of supernatural intelligences finallypresented itself to my mind as the readiest solution. 

It was not long before we obtained rappings, and were enabled to repeatall the experiments which I had tried during my visit to the Fox family. The spirits of our deceased relatives and friends announced themselves, and generally gave a correct account of their earthly lives. I mustconfess, however, that, whenever we attempted to pry into the future, weusually received answers as ambiguous as those of the Grecian oracles, or predictions which failed to be realized. Violent knocks or otherunruly demonstrations would sometimes interrupt an intelligentcommunication which promised us some light on the other life: these, wewere told, were occasioned by evil or mischievous spirits, whose delightit was to create disturbances. They never occurred, I now remember, except when Miss Fetters was present. At the time, we were too muchabsorbed in our researches to notice the fact. 

The reader will perceive, from what he knows of my previous mentalstate, that it was not difficult for me to accept the theories of theSpiritualists. Here was an evidence of the immortality of thesoul, --nay, more, of its continued individuality through endless futureexistences. The idea of my individuality being lost had been to me thesame thing as complete annihilation. The spirits themselves informed usthat they had come to teach these truths. The simple, ignorant faith ofthe Past, they said, was worn out; with the development of science, themind of man had become skeptical; the ancient fountains no longersufficed for his thirst; each new era required a new revelation; in allformer ages there had been single minds pure enough and advanced enoughto communicate with the dead and be the mediums of their messages tomen, but now the time had come when the knowledge of this intercoursemust be declared unto all; in its light the mysteries of the Past becameclear; in the wisdom thus imparted, that happy Future which seemspossible to every ardent and generous heart would be secured. I was nottroubled by the fact that the messages which proclaimed these thingswere often incorrectly spelt, that the grammar was bad and the languagefar from elegant. I did not reflect that these new and sublime truthshad formerly passed through my own brain as the dreams of a wanderingimagination. Like that American philosopher who looks upon one of hisown neophytes as a man of great and profound mind because the lattercarefully remembers and repeats to him his own carelessly utteredwisdom, I saw in these misty and disjointed reflections of my ownthoughts the precious revelation of departed and purified spirits. 

How a passion for the unknown and unattainable takes hold of men isillustrated by the search for the universal solvent, by the mysteries ofthe Rosicrucians, by the patronage of fortune-tellers, even. Whollyabsorbed in spiritual researches, --having, in fact, no vital interest inanything else, --I soon developed into what is called a Medium. Idiscovered, at the outset, that the peculiar condition to be attainedbefore the tables would begin to move could be produced at will. [7] Ialso found that the passive state into which I naturally fell had atendency to produce that trance or suspension of the will which I haddiscovered when a boy. External consciousness, however, did not whollydepart. I saw the circle of inquirers around me, but dimly, and asphantoms, --while the impressions which passed over my brain seemed towear visible forms and to speak with audible voices. 

I did not doubt, at the time, that spirits visited me, and that theymade use of my body to communicate with those who could hear them in noother way. Beside the pleasant intoxication of the semi-trance, I felt arare joy in the knowledge that I was elected above other men to be theirinterpreter. Let me endeavor to describe the nature of this possession. Sometimes, even before a spirit would be called for, the figure of theperson, as it existed in the mind of the inquirer, would suddenlypresent itself to me, --not to my outward senses, but to my interior, instinctive knowledge. If the recollection of the other embraced alsothe voice, I heard the voice in the same manner, and unconsciouslyimitated it. The answers to the questions I knew by the same instinct, as soon as the questions were spoken. 

If the question was vague, asked for information rather than_confirmation_, either no answer came, or there was an impression of a_wish_ of what the answer might be, or, at times, some strangeinvoluntary sentence sprang to my lips. When I wrote, my hand appearedto move of itself; yet the words it wrote invariably passed through mymind. Even when blindfolded, there was no difference in its performance. The same powers developed themselves in a still greater degree in MissFetters. The spirits which spoke most readily through her were those ofmen, even coarse and rude characters, which came unsummoned. Two orthree of the other members of our circle were able to produce motions inthe table; they could even feel, as they asserted, the touch ofspiritual hands; but, however much they desired it, they were neverpersonally possessed as we, and therefore could not properly becalled Mediums. 

These investigations were not regularly carried on. Occasionally theinterest of the circle flagged, until it was renewed by the visit ofsome apostle of the new faith, usually accompanied by a "PreachingMedium. " Among those whose presence especially conduced to keep alivethe flame of spiritual inquiry was a gentleman named Stilton, the editorof a small monthly periodical entitled "Revelations from the Interior. "Without being himself a Medium, he was nevertheless thoroughlyconversant with the various phenomena of Spiritualism, and both spokeand wrote in the dialect which its followers adopted. He was a man ofvaried, but not profound learning, an active intellect, giving andreceiving impressions with equal facility, and with an unusualcombination of concentrativeness and versatility in his nature. Acertain inspiration was connected with his presence. His personalityoverflowed upon and influenced others. "My mind is not sufficientlysubmissive, " he would say, "to receive impressions from the spirits, butmy atmosphere attracts them and encourages them to speak. " He was astout, strongly built man, with coarse black hair, gray eyes, largeanimal mouth, square jaws, and short, thick neck. Had his hair beencropped close, he would have looked very much like a prize-fighter; buthe wore it long, parted in the middle, and as meek in expression as itsstiff waves would allow. 

Stilton soon became the controlling spirit of our circle. His presencereally seemed, as he said, to encourage the spirits. Never before hadthe manifestations been so abundant or so surprising. Miss Fetters, especially, astonished us by the vigor of her possessions. Not onlySamson and Peter the Great, but Gibbs the Pirate, Black Hawk, and JoeManton, who had died the previous year in a fit of delirium-tremens, prophesied, strode, swore, and smashed things in turn, by means of herfrail little body. As Cribb, a noted pugilist of the last century, shefloored an incautious spectator, giving him a black eye which he worefor a fortnight afterwards. Singularly enough, my visitors were of theopposite cast. Hypatia, Petrarch, Mary Magdalen, Abelard, and, oftenestof all, Shelley, proclaimed mystic truths from my lips. They usuallyspoke in inspired monologues, without announcing themselves beforehand, and often without giving any clue to their personality. A practisedstenographer, engaged by Mr. Stilton, took down many of thesecommunications as they were spoken, and they were afterwards publishedin the "Revelations. " It was also remarked, that, while Miss Fettersemployed violent gestures and seemed to possess a superhuman strength, I, on the contrary, sat motionless, pale, and with little sign of lifeexcept in my voice, which, though low, was clear and dramatic in itsmodulations. Stilton explained this difference without hesitation. "MissAbby, " he said, "possesses soul-matter of a texture to which the soulsof these strong men naturally adhere. In the spirit-land thesuperfluities repel each other; the individual souls seek to remedytheir imperfections: in the union of opposites only is to be found thegreat harmonia of life. You, John, move upon another plane; through whatin you is undeveloped, these developed spirits are attracted. "

For two or three years, I must admit, my life was a very happy one. Notonly were those occasional trances an intoxication, nay, a covetedindulgence, but they cast a consecration over my life. My restored faithrested on the sure evidence of my own experience; my new creed containedno harsh or repulsive feature; I heard the same noble sentiments which Iuttered in such moments repeated by my associates in the faith, and Idevoutly believed that a complete regeneration of the human race was athand. Nevertheless, it struck me sometimes as singular that many of theMediums whom I met--men and women chosen by spiritual hands to the samehigh office--excited in my mind that instinct of repulsion on which Ihad learned to rely as a sufficient reason for avoiding certain persons. Far as it would have been from my mind, at that time, to question themanifestations which accompanied them, I could not smother my mistrustof their characters. Miss Fetters, whom I so frequently met, was one ofthe most disagreeable. Her cold, thin lips, pale eyes, and lean figuregave me a singular impression of voracious hunger. Her presence wasoften announced to me by a chill shudder, before I saw her. Centuriesago one of her ancestors must have been a ghoul or vampire. The tranceof possession seemed, with her, to be a form of dissipation, in whichshe indulged as she might have catered for a baser appetite. The newreligion was nothing to her; I believe she valued it only on account ofthe importance she obtained among its followers. Her father, a vain, weak-minded man, who kept a grocery in the town, was himself a convert. 

Stilton had an answer for every doubt. No matter how tangled a labyrinthmight be exhibited to him, he walked straight through it. 

"How is it, " I asked him, "that so many of my fellow-mediums inspire mewith an instinctive dislike and mistrust?"

"By mistrust you mean dislike, " he answered; "since you know of noreason to doubt their characters. The elements of soul-matter aredifferently combined in different individuals, and there are affinitiesand repulsions, just as there are in the chemical elements. Your feelingis chemical, not moral. A want of affinity does not necessarily imply anexisting evil in the other party. In the present ignorance of the world, our true affinities can only he imperfectly felt and indulged; and theentire freedom which we shall obtain in this respect is the greatesthappiness of the spirit-life. "

Another time I asked, --

"How is it that the spirits of great authors speak so tamely to us?Shakspeare, last night, wrote a passage which he would have beenheartily ashamed of, as a living man. We know that a spirit spoke, calling himself Shakspeare; but, judging from his communication, itcould not have been he. "

"It probably was not, " said Mr. Stilton. "I am convinced that allmalicious spirits are at work to interrupt the communications from thehigher spheres. We were thus deceived by one professing to be BenjaminFranklin, who drew for us the plan of a machine for splitting shingles, which we had fabricated and patented at considerable expense. On trial, however, it proved to be a miserable failure, a complete mockery. Whenthe spirit was again summoned, he refused to speak, but shook the tableto express his malicious laughter, went off, and has never sincereturned. My friend, we know but the alphabet of Spiritualism, the mereA B C; we can no more expect to master the immortal language in a daythan a child to read Plato after learning his letters. "

Many of those who had been interested in the usual phenomena graduallydropped off, tired, and perhaps a little ashamed, in the reactionfollowing their excitement; but there were continual accessions to ourranks, and we formed, at last, a distinct clan or community. Indeed, thenumber of _secret_ believers in Spiritualism would never be suspected bythe uninitiated. In the sect, however, as in Masonry and the CatholicChurch, there are circles within circles, --concentric rings, whence youcan look outwards, but not inwards, and where he alone who stands at thecentre is able to perceive everything. Such an inner circle was at lastformed in our town. Its object, according to Stilton, with whom the planoriginated, was to obtain a purer spiritual atmosphere, by the exclusionof all but Mediums and those non-mediumistic believers in whose presencethe spirits felt at ease, and thus invite communications from thefarther and purer spheres. 

In fact, the result seemed to justify the plan. The character of thetrance, as I had frequently observed, is vitiated by the consciousnessthat disbelievers are present. The more perfect the atmosphere ofcredulity, the more satisfactory the manifestations. The expectantcompany, the dim light, the conviction that a wonderful revelation wasabout to dawn upon us, excited my imagination, and my trance was reallya sort of delirium, in which I spoke with a passion and an eloquence Ihad never before exhibited. The fear, which had previously haunted me, at times, of giving my brain and tongue into the control of an unknown, power, was forgotten; yet, more than ever, I was conscious of somestrong controlling influence, and experienced a reckless pleasure inpermitting myself to be governed by it. "Prepare, " I concluded, (I quotefrom the report in the "Revelations, ") "prepare, sons of men, for thedawning day! Prepare for the second and perfect regeneration of man! Forthe prison-chambers have been broken into, and the light from theinterior shall illuminate the external! Ye shall enjoy spiritual andpassional freedom; your guides shall no longer be the despotism ofignorant laws, nor the whip of an imaginary conscience, --but the naturalimpulses of your nature, which are the melody of Life, and the naturalaffinities, which are its harmony! The reflections from the upperspheres shall irradiate the lower, and Death is the triumphal archthrough which we pass from glory to glory!"

--I have here paused, deliberating whether I should proceed farther inmy narrative. But no; if any good is to be accomplished by theseconfessions, the reader must walk with me through the dark labyrinthwhich follows. He must walk over what may be considered delicate ground, but he shall not be harmed. One feature of the trance condition is tooremarkable, too important in its consequences, to be overlooked. It is afeature of which many Mediums are undoubtedly ignorant, the existence ofwhich is not even suspected by thousands of honest Spiritualists. 

Let me again anticipate the regular course of my narrative, and explain. A suspension of the Will, when indulged in for any length of time, produces a suspension of that inward consciousness of good and evilwhich we call Conscience, and which can be actively exercised onlythrough the medium of the Will. The mental faculties and the moralperceptions lie down together in the same passive sleep. The subject is, therefore, equally liable to receive impressions from the minds ofothers, and from their passions and lusts. Besides this, the germs ofall good and of all evil are implanted in the nature of every humanbeing; and even when some appetite is buried in a crypt so deep that itsexistence is forgotten, let the warder be removed, and it will graduallywork its way to the light. Persons in the receptive condition whichbelongs to the trance may be surrounded by honest and pure-mindedindividuals, and receive no harmful impressions; they may even, if of ahealthy spiritual temperament, resist for a time the aggressions of evilinfluences; but the final danger is always the same. The state of theMedium, therefore, may be described as one in which the Will is passive, the Conscience passive, the outward senses partially (sometimes wholly)suspended, the mind helplessly subject to the operations of other minds, and the passions and desires released from all restraininginfluences. [8] I make the statement boldly, after long and carefulreflection, and severe self-examination. 

As I said before, I did not entirely lose my external consciousness, although it was very dim and dream-like. On returning to the naturalstate, my recollection of what had occurred during the trance becameequally dim; but I retained a general impression of the character of thepossession. I knew that some foreign influence--the spirit of a deadpoet, or hero, or saint, I then believed--governed me for the time; thatI gave utterance to thoughts unfamiliar to my mind in its consciousstate; and that my own individuality was lost, or so disguised that Icould no longer recognize it. This very circumstance made the trance anindulgence, a spiritual intoxication, no less fascinating than that ofthe body, although accompanied by a similar reaction. Yet, behind all, dimly evident to me, there was an element of terror. There were timeswhen, back of the influences which spoke with my voice, rose another, --avast, overwhelming, threatening power, the nature of which I could notgrasp, but which I knew was evil. Even when in my natural state, listening to the harsh utterances of Miss Fetters or the lofty spiritualphilosophy of Mr. Stilton, I have felt, for a single second, the touchof an icy wind, accompanied by a sensation of unutterable dread. 

Our secret circle had not held many sessions before a remarkable changetook place in the character of the revelations. Mr. Stilton ceased toreport them for his paper. 

"We are on the threshold, at last, " said he; "the secrets of the ageslie beyond. The hands of spirits are now lifting the veil, fold by fold. Let us not be startled by what we hear: let us show that our eyes canbear the light, --that we are competent to receive the wisdom of thehigher spheres, and live according to it. "

Miss Fetters was more than ever possessed by the spirit of Joe Manton, whose allowance of grog having been cut off too suddenly by his death, he was continually clamoring for a dram. 

"I tell you, " yelled he, or rather she, "I won't stand sich meanness. Iha'n't come all the way here for nothin'. I'll knock Erasmus all tothunder, if you go for to turn me out dry, and let him come in. "

Mr. Stilton thereupon handed him, or her, a tumbler half-full of brandy, which she gulped down at a single swallow. Joe Manton presently retiredto make room for Erasmus, who spoke for some time in Latin, or whatappeared to be Latin. None of us could make much of it; but Mr. Stiltondeclared that the Latin pronunciation of Erasmus was probably differentfrom ours, or that he might have learned the true Roman accent fromCicero and Seneca, with whom, doubtless, he was now on intimate terms. As Erasmus generally concluded by throwing his arms, or rather the armsof Miss Fetters, around the neck of Mr. Stilton, --his spiritfraternizing, apparently, with the spirit of the latter, --we greatlyregretted that his communications were unintelligible, on account of thesuperior wisdom which they might be supposed to contain. 

I confess, I cannot recall the part I played in what would have been apitiable farce, if it had not been so terribly tragical, without afeeling of utter shame. Nothing but my profound sympathy for thethousands and tens of thousands who are still subject to the samedelusion could compel me to such a sacrifice of pride. Curiously enough, (as I thought _then_, but not now, ) the enunciation of sentimentsopposed to my moral sense--the abolition, in fact, of all moralrestraint--came from my lips, while the actions of Miss Fetters hintedat their practical application. Upon the ground that the interests ofthe soul were paramount to all human laws and customs, I declared--orrather, _my voice_ declared--that self-denial was a fatal error, towhich half the misery of mankind could be traced; that the passions, held as slaves, exhibited only the brutish nature of slaves, and wouldbe exalted and glorified by entire freedom; and that our sole guidanceought to come from the voices of the spirits who communicated with us, instead of the imperfect laws constructed by our benighted fellow-men. How clear and logical, how lofty, these doctrines seemed! If, at times, something in their nature repelled me, I simply attributed it to thefact that I was still but a neophyte in the Spiritual Philosophy, andincapable of perceiving the truth with entire clearness. 

Mr. Stilton had a wife, --one of those meek, amiable, simple-heartedwomen whose individuality seems to be completely absorbed into that oftheir husbands. When such women are wedded to frank, tender, protectingmen, their lives are truly blessed; but they are willing slaves to thedomestic tyrant. They bear uncomplainingly, --many of them even without athought of complaint, --and die at last with their hearts full of lovefor the brutes who have trampled upon them. Mrs. Stilton was perhapsforty years of age, of middle height, moderately plump in person, withlight-brown hair, soft, inexpressive gray eyes, and a meek, helpless, imploring mouth. Her voice was mild and plaintive, and its accents ofanger (if she ever gave utterance to such) could not have beendistinguished from those of grief. She did not often attend oursessions, and it was evident, that, while she endeavored to comprehendthe revelations, in order to please her husband, their import was veryfar beyond her comprehension. She was now and then a little frightenedat utterances which no doubt sounded lewd or profane to her ears; butafter a glance at Mr. Stilton's face, and finding that it betrayedneither horror nor surprise, would persuade herself that everythingmust be right. 

"Are you sure, " she once timidly whispered to me, "are you very sure, Mr. ------, that there is no danger of being led astray? It seemsstrange to me; but perhaps I don't understand it. "

Her question was so indefinite, that I found it difficult to answer. Stilton, however, seeing me engaged in endeavoring to make clear to herthe glories of the new truth, exclaimed, --

"That's right, John! Your spiritual plane slants through many spheres, and has points of contact with a great variety of souls. I hope my wifewill be able to see the light through you, since I appear to be tooopaque for her to receive it from me. "

"Oh, Abijah!" said the poor woman, "you know it is my fault. I try tofollow, and I hope I have faith, though I don't see everything asclearly as you do. "

I began also to have my own doubts, as I perceived that an "affinity"was gradually being developed between Stilton and Miss Fetters. She wasmore and more frequently possessed by the spirit of Erasmus, whosesalutations, on meeting and parting with his brother-philosopher, weretoo enthusiastic for merely masculine love. But, whenever I hinted atthe possibility of mistaking the impulses of the soul, or at evilresulting from a too sudden and universal liberation of the passions, Stilton always silenced me with his inevitable logic. Having onceaccepted the premises, I could not avoid the conclusions. 

"When our natures are in harmony with spirit-matter throughout thespheres, " he would say, "our impulses will always be in accordance. Or, if there should be any temporary disturbance, arising from our necessaryintercourse with the gross, blinded multitude, we can always fly to ourspiritual monitors for counsel. Will not they, the immortal souls of theages past, who have guided us to a knowledge of the truth, assist usalso in preserving it pure?"

In spite of this, in spite of my admiration of Stilton's intellect, andmy yet unshaken faith in Spiritualism, I was conscious that the harmonyof the circle was becoming impaired to me. Was I falling behind inspiritual progress? Was I too weak to be the medium for the promisedrevelations? I threw myself again and again into the trance, with arecklessness of soul which fitted me to receive any, even the darkestimpressions, to catch and proclaim every guilty whisper of the senses, and, while under the influence of the excitement, to exult in the age oflicense which I believed to be at hand. But darker, stronger grew theterror which lurked behind this spiritual carnival. A more tremendouspower than that which I now recognized as coming from Stilton's brainwas present, and I saw myself whirling nearer and nearer to its grasp. Ifelt, by a sort of blind instinct, too vague to be expressed, that somedemoniac agency had thrust itself into the manifestations, --perhaps hadbeen mingled with them from the outset. 

For two or three months, my life was the strangest mixture of happinessand misery. I walked about with the sense of some crisis hanging overme. My "possessions" became fiercer and wilder, and the reaction so muchmore exhausting that I fell into the habit of restoring myself by meansof the bottle of brandy which Mr. Stilton took care should be on hand, in case of a visit from Joe Manton. Miss Fetters, strange to say, wasnot in the least affected by the powerful draughts she imbibed. But, atthe same time, my waking life was growing brighter and brighter underthe power of a new and delicious experience. My nature is eminentlysocial, and I had not been able--indeed, I did not desire--wholly towithdraw myself from intercourse with non-believers. There was too muchin society that was congenial to me to be given up. My instinctivedislike to Miss Abby Fetters and my compassionate regard for Mrs. Stilton's weakness only served to render the company of intelligent, cultivated women more attractive to me. Among those whom I met mostfrequently was Miss Agnes Honeywood, a calm, quiet, unobtrusive girl, the characteristic of whose face was sweetness rather than beauty, whilethe first feeling she inspired was respect rather than admiration. Shehad just that amount of self-possession which conceals withoutconquering the sweet timidity of woman. Her voice was low, yet clear;and her mild eyes, I found, were capable, on occasion, of both flashingand melting. Why describe her? I loved her before I knew it; but, withthe consciousness of my love, that clairvoyant sense on which I hadlearned to depend failed for the first time. Did she love me? When Isought to answer the question in her presence, all was confusion within. 

This was not the only new influence which entered into and increased thetumult of my mind. The other half of my two-sided nature--the cool, reflective, investigating faculty--had been gradually ripening, and thequestions which it now began to present seriously disturbed thecomplacency of my theories. I saw that I had accepted many things onvery unsatisfactory evidence; but, on the other hand, there was much forwhich I could find no other explanation. Let me be frank, and say, thatI do not now pretend to explain all the phenomena of Spiritualism. This, however, I determined to do, --to ascertain, if possible, whether theinfluences which governed me in the trance state came from the personsaround, from the exercise of some independent faculty of my own mind, orreally and truly from the spirits of the dead. Mr. Stilton appeared tonotice that some internal conflict was going on; but he said nothing inregard to it, and, as events proved, he entirely miscalculated itscharacter. 

I said to myself, --"If this chaos continues, it will drive me mad. Letme have one bit of solid earth beneath my feet, and I can stand until itsubsides. Let me throw over the best bower of the heart, since all theanchors of the mind are dragging!" I summoned resolution. I made thatdesperate venture which no true man makes without a pang of forcedcourage; but, thank God! I did not make it in vain. Agnes loved me, andin the deep, quiet bliss which this knowledge gave I felt the promise ofdeliverance. She knew and lamented my connection with the Spiritualists;but, perceiving my mental condition from the few intimations which Idared to give her, discreetly held her peace. But I could read theanxious expression of that gentle face none the less. 

My first endeavor to solve the new questions was to check the _abandon_of the trance condition, and interfuse it with more of soberconsciousness. It was a difficult task; and nothing but the circumstancethat my consciousness had never been entirely lost enabled me to makeany progress. I finally succeeded, as I imagined, (certainty isimpossible, ) in separating the different influences which impressedme, --perceiving where one terminated and the other commenced, or wheretwo met and my mind vibrated from one to the other until the strongerprevailed, or where a thought which seemed to originate in my own braintook the lead and swept away with me like the mad rush of a prairiecolt. When out of the trance, I noticed attentively the expressions madeuse of by Mr. Stilton and the other members of the circle, and wassurprised to find how many of them I had reproduced. But might they not, in the first place, have been derived from me? And what was the vague, dark Presence which still overshadowed me at such times? What was thatPower which I had tempted, --which we were all tempting, every time wemet, --and which continually drew nearer and became more threatening? Iknew not; _and I know not_. I would rather not speak or think of itany more. 

My suspicions with regard to Stilton and Miss Fetters were confirmed bya number of circumstances which I need not describe. That he shouldtreat his wife in a harsh, ironical manner, which the poor woman felt, but could not understand, did not surprise me; but at other times therewas a treacherous tenderness about him. He would dilate eloquently uponthe bliss of living in accordance with the spiritual harmonies. Among_us_, he said, there could be no more hatred or mistrust orjealousy, --nothing but love, pure, unselfish, perfect love. "You, mydear, " (turning to Mrs. Stilton, ) "belong to a sphere which is includedwithin my own, and share in my harmonies and affinities; yet thesoul-matter which adheres to you is of a different texture from mine. Yours has also its independent affinities; I see and respect them; andeven though they might lead our bodies--our outward, materiallives--away from one another, we should still be true to that gloriouslight of Jove which permeates all soul-matter. "

"Oh, Abijah!" cried Mrs. Stilton, really distressed, "how can you saysuch a thing of me? You know I can never adhere to anybody elsebut you!"

Stilton would then call in my aid to explain his meaning, asserting thatI had a faculty of reaching his wife's intellect, which he did nothimself possess. Feeling a certain sympathy for her painful confusion ofmind, I did my best to give his words an interpretation which soothedher fears. Then she begged his pardon, taking all the blame to her ownstupidity, and received his grudged, unwilling kiss with a restoredhappiness which pained me to the heart. 

I had a growing presentiment of some approaching catastrophe. I felt, distinctly, the presence of unhallowed passions in our circle; and mysteadfast love for Agnes, borne thither in my bosom, seemed like a purewhite dove in a cage of unclean birds. Stilton held me from him by thesuperior strength of his intellect. I began to mistrust, even to hatehim, while I was still subject to his power, and unable to acquaint himwith the change in my feelings. Miss Fetters was so repulsive that Inever spoke to her when it could be avoided. I had tolerated her, heretofore, for the sake of her spiritual gift; but now, when I began todoubt the authenticity of that gift, her hungry eyes, her thin lips, herflat breast, and cold, dry hands excited in me a sensation of absoluteabhorrence. 

The doctrine of Affinities had some time before been adopted by thecircle, as a part of the Spiritual Truth. Other circles, with which wewere in communication, had also received the same revelation; and theground upon which it was based, in fact, rendered its acceptance easy. Even I, shielded as I was by the protecting arms of a pure love, soughtin vain for arguments to refute a doctrine, the practical operation ofwhich, I saw, might be so dangerous. The soul had a right to seek itskindred soul: that I could not deny. Having found, they belonged to eachother. Love is the only law which those who love are bound to obey. Ishall not repeat all the sophistry whereby these positions werestrengthened. The doctrine soon blossomed and bore fruit, the nature ofwhich left no doubt as to the character of the tree. 

The catastrophe came sooner than I had anticipated, and partly throughmy own instrumentality; though, in any case, it must finally have come. We were met together at the house of one of the most zealous andfanatical believers. There were but eight persons present, --the host andhis wife, (an equally zealous proselyte, ) a middle-aged bachelorneighbor, Mr. And Mrs. Stilton, Miss Fetters and her father, andmyself. It was a still, cloudy, sultry evening, after one of those dull, oppressive days when all the bad blood in a man seems to be uppermost inhis veins. The manifestations upon the table, with which we commenced, were unusually rapid and lively. "I am convinced, " said Mr. Stilton, "that we shall receive important revelations to-night. My own mindpossesses a clearness and quickness, which, I have noticed, alwaysprecede the visit of a superior spirit. Let us be passive and receptive, my friends. We are but instruments in the hands of loftierintelligences, and only through our obedience can this second advent ofTruth be fulfilled. "

He looked at me with that expression which I so well knew, as the signalfor a surrender of my will. I had come rather unwillingly, for I wasgetting heartily tired of the business, and longed to shake off my habitof (spiritual) intoxication, which no longer possessed any attraction, since I had been allowed to visit Agnes as an accepted lover. In fact, Icontinued to hold my place in the circle principally for the sake ofsatisfying myself with regard to the real nature and causes of thephenomena. On this night, something in Mr. Stilton's face arrested myattention, and a rapid inspiration flashed through my mind. "Suppose, " Ithought, "I allow the usual effect to be produced, yet reverse thecharacter of its operation? I am convinced that he has been directingthe current of my thought according to his will; let me now rendermyself so thoroughly passive, that my mind, like a mirror, shall reflectwhat passes through his, retaining nothing of my own except the simpleconsciousness of what I am doing. " Perhaps this was exactly what hedesired. He sat, bending forward a little over the table, his squarejaws firmly set, his eyes hidden beneath their heavy brows, and everylong, wiry hair on his head in its proper place. I fixed my eyes uponhim, threw my mind into a state of perfect receptivity, and waited. 

It was not long before I felt his approach. Shadow after shadow flittedacross the still mirror of my inward sense. Whether the thoughts tookwords in his brain or in mine, --whether I first caught his disjointedmusings, and, by their utterance reacting upon him, gave system anddevelopment to _his_ thoughts, --I cannot tell. But this I know: what Isaid came wholly from him, --not from the slandered spirits of the dead, not from the vagaries of my own imagination, but from _him_. "Listen tome!" I said. "In the flesh I was a martyr to the Truth, and I ampermitted to communicate only with those whom the Truth has made free. You are the heralds of the great day; you have climbed from sphere tosphere, until now you stand near the fountains of light. But it is notenough that you see: your lives must reflect the light. The inwardvision is for you, but the outward manifestation thereof is for thesouls of others. Fulfil the harmonies in the flesh. Be the living music, not the silent instruments. "

There was more, much more of this, --a plenitude of eloquent sound, whichseems to embody sublime ideas, but which, carefully examined, containsno more palpable substance than sea-froth. If the reader will take thetrouble to read an "Epic of the Starry Heavens, " the production of aSpiritual Medium, he will find several hundred pages of the samecharacter. But, by degrees, the revelation descended to details, andassumed a personal application. "In you, in all of you, the spiritualharmonies are still violated, " was the conclusion. "You, Abijah Stilton, who are chosen to hold up the light of truth to the world, require thata transparent soul, capable of transmitting that light to you, should beallied to yours. She who is called your wife is a clouded lens; she canreceive the light only through John----, who is her true spiritualhusband, as Abby Fetters is _your_ true spiritual wife!"

I was here conscious of a sudden cessation of the influence which forcedme to speak, and stopped. The members of the circle opposite to me--thehost, his wife, neighbor, and old Mr. Fetters--were silent, but theirfaces exhibited more satisfaction than astonishment. My eye fell uponMrs. Stilton. Her face was pale, her eyes widely opened, and her lipsdropped apart, with a stunned, bewildered expression. It was the blankface of a woman walking in her sleep. These observations wereaccomplished in an instant; for Miss Fetters, suddenly possessed withthe spirit of Black Hawk, sprang upon her feet. "Ugh! ugh!" sheexclaimed, in a deep, harsh voice, "where's the pale-face? Black Hawk, he like him, --he love him much!"--and therewith threw her arms aroundStilton, fairly lifting him off his feet. "Ugh! fire-water for BlackHawk!--big Injun drink!"--and she tossed off a tumbler of brandy. Bythis time I had wholly recovered my consciousness, but remained silent, stupefied by the extraordinary scene. 

Presently Miss Fetters became more quiet, and the possession left her. "My friends, " said Stilton, in his cold, unmoved voice, "I feel that thespirit has spoken truly. We must obey our spiritual affinities, or ourgreat and glorious mission will be unfulfilled. Let us rather rejoicethat we have been selected as the instruments to do this work. Come tome, Abby; and you, Rachel, remember that our harmony is not disturbed, but only made more complete. "

"Abijah!" exclaimed Mrs. Stilton, with a pitiful cry, while the tearsburst hot and fast from her eyes; "dear husband, what does this mean?Oh, don't tell me that I'm to be cast off! You promised to love me andcare for me, Abijah! I'm not bright, I know, but I'll try to understandyou; indeed I will! Oh, don't be so cruel!--don't"----And the poorcreature's voice completely gave way. 

She dropped on the floor at his feet, and lay there, sobbing piteously. 

"Rachel, Rachel, " said he, --and his face was not quite so calm as hisvoice, --"don't be rebellious. We are governed by a higher Power. This isall for our own good, and for the good of the world. Besides, ours wasnot a perfect affinity. You will be much happier with John, as heharmonizes"----

I could endure it no longer. Indignation, pity, the full energy of mywill, possessed me. He lost his power over me then, and forever. 

"What!" I exclaimed, "you, blasphemer, beast that you are, you dare todispose of your honest wife in this infamous way, that you may be freeto indulge your own vile appetites?--you, who have outraged the dead andthe living alike, by making me utter your forgeries? Take her back, andlet this disgraceful scene end!--take her back, or I will give you abrand that shall last to the end of your days!"

He turned deadly pale, and trembled. I knew that he made a desperateeffort to bring me under the control of his will, and laughed mockinglyas I saw his knit brow and the swollen veins in his temples. As for theothers, they seemed paralyzed by the suddenness and fierceness of myattack. He wavered but for an instant, however, and hisself-possession returned. 

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "it is the Spirit of Evil that speaks in him! TheDevil himself has risen to destroy our glorious fabric! Help me, friends! help me to bind him, and to silence his infernal voice, beforehe drives the pure spirits from our midst!"

With that, he advanced a step towards me, and raised a hand to seize myarm, while the others followed behind. But I was too quick for him. Weakas I was, in comparison, rage gave me strength, and a blow, deliveredwith the rapidity of lightning, just under the chin, laid him senselesson the floor. Mrs. Stilton screamed, and threw herself over him. Therest of the company remained as if stupefied. The storm which had beengathering all the evening at the same instant broke over the house insimultaneous thunder and rain. 

I stepped suddenly to the door, opened it, and drew a long, deep breathof relief, as I found myself alone in the darkness. "Now, " said I, "Ihave done tampering with God's best gift; I will be satisfied with thenatural sunshine which beams from His Word and from His Works; I havelearned wisdom at the expense of shame!" I exulted in my new freedom, inmy restored purity of soul; and the wind, that swept down the dark, lonely street, seemed to exult with me. The rains beat upon me, but Iheeded them not; nay, I turned aside from the homeward path, in order topass by the house where Agnes lived. Her window was dark, and I knew shewas sleeping, lulled by the storm; but I stood a moment below, in therain, and said aloud, softly, --

"Now, Agnes, I belong wholly to you! Pray to God for me, darling, that Imay never lose the true light I have found at last!"

My healing, though complete in the end, was not instantaneous. The habitof the trance, I found, had really impaired the action of my will. Iexperienced a periodic tendency to return to it, which I have been ableto overcome only by the most vigorous efforts. I found it prudent, indeed, to banish from my mind, as far as was possible, all subjects, all memories, connected with Spiritualism. In this work I was aided byAgnes, who now possessed my entire confidence, and who willingly tookupon herself the guidance of my mind at those seasons when my owngoverning faculties flagged. Gradually my mental health returned, and Iam now beyond all danger of ever again being led into such fataldissipations. The writing of this narrative, in fact, has been a test ofmy ability to overlook and describe my experience without being touchedby its past delusions. If some portions of it should not be whollyintelligible to the reader, the defect lies in the very nature ofthe subject. 

It will be noticed that I have given but a partial explanation of thespiritual phenomena. Of the genuineness of the physical manifestations Iam fully convinced, and I can account for them only by the suppositionof some subtile agency whereby the human will operates upon inertmatter. Clairvoyance is a sufficient explanation of the utterances ofthe Mediums, --at least of those which I have heard; but there is, as Ihave said before, _something_ in the background, --which I feel tooindistinctly to describe, yet which I know to be Evil. I do not wonderat, though I lament, the prevalence of the belief in Spiritualism. In afew individual cases it may have been productive of good, but itsgeneral tendency is evil. There are probably but few Stiltons among itsapostles, few Miss Fetterses among its Mediums; but the condition whichaccompanies the trance, as I have shown, inevitably removes thewholesome check which holds our baser passions in subjection. The Mediumis at the mercy of any evil will, and the impressions received from acorrupt mind are always liable to be accepted by innocent believers asrevelations from the spirits of the holy dead. I shall shock many honestsouls by this confession, but I hope and believe that it may awaken andenlighten others. Its publication is necessary, as an expiation for someof the evil which has been done through my own instrumentality. 

I learned, two days afterwards, that Stilton (who was not seriouslydamaged by my blow) had gone to New York, taking Miss Fetters with him. Her ignorant, weak-minded father was entirely satisfied with theproceeding. Mrs. Stilton, helpless and heart-broken, remained at thehouse where our circle had met, with her only child, a boy of threeyears of age, who, fortunately, inherited her weakness rather than hisfather's power. Agnes, on learning this, insisted on having her removedfrom associations which were at once unhappy and dangerous. We wenttogether to see her, and, after much persuasion, and many painfulscenes which I shall not recapitulate, succeeded in sending her to herfather, a farmer in Connecticut. She still remains there, hoping for theday when her guilty husband shall return and be instantly forgiven. 

My task is ended; may it not have been performed in vain!

 * * * * *

JOHN ANDRE AND HONORA SNEYD. 

Many of our readers will remember the exquisite lines in which Bérangerpaints the connection between our mortal lives and the stars of the sky. With every human soul that finds its way to earth, a new gem is added tothe azure belt of heaven. Thenceforth the two exist in mutualdependence, each influencing the other's fate; so that, when death comesto seal the lips of the man, a flame is paled and a lamp extinguished inthe gulf above. In every loosened orb that shoots across the face ofnight the experienced eye may trace the story and the fall of afellow-being. Youth, beauty, wealth, the humility of indigence and thepride of power, alike find their term revealed in the bright, silentcourse of the celestial spark; and still new signs succeed to provokethe sympathy or dazzle the philosophy of the observer. 

 "Quelle est cette étoile qui file, Qui file, file, et disparait?"

It is unfortunate that such a pretty manner of accounting for the natureand origin of falling stars should be unsustained by sound astronomicaldata, and utterly discountenanced by Herschel and Bond. There issomething in the theory very pleasant and very flattering to humannature; and there are passages in the history of our race that mightmake its promulgation not unacceptable. When, among the innumerable"patines of bright gold" that strew the floor of heaven, we see one partfrom the sphere of its undistinguished fellows, and, filling its pathwaywith radiant light, vanish noiselessly into annihilation, we cannot butbe reminded of those characters that, with no apparent reason for beingsegregated from the common herd, are, through some strange conjuncture, hurried from a commonplace life by modes of death that illuminate theirmemory with immortal fame. It is thus that the fulfilment of the vowmade in the heat of battle has given Jephthah's name a melancholypermanence above all others of the captains of Israel. Mutius would longago have been forgotten, among the thousands of Roman soldiers as braveas he, and not less wise, who gave their blood for the good city, butfor the fortunate brazier that stood in the tent of his enemy. AndLeander might have safely passed and repassed the Hellespont for twentyyears without leaving anything behind to interest posterity; it wasfailure and death that made him famous. 

Eighty years ago a tragedy was consummated by the river Hudson, which, in the character of its victim and the circumstances of his story, goesfar to yield another example to the list of names immortalized bycalamity. On the 2d of October, 1780, a young British officer ofundistinguished birth and inconsiderable rank was hanged at Tappan. Amiable as his private life was, and respectable as were hisprofessional abilities, it is improbable that the memory of John André, had he died upon the battle-field or in his bed, would have survived thegeneration of those who knew and who loved him. The future, indeed, wasopening brilliantly before him; but it was still nothing more than thefuture. So far in his career he had hardly accomplished anything betterthan the attainment of the mountain-top that commanded a view of thePromised Land. It is solely and entirely to the occasion and thecircumstances of his death that we are to ascribe the peculiar anduniversal interest in his character that has ever since continued tohold its seat in the bosom of friend and of foe. To this day, the mostdistinguished American and English historians are at issue respectingthe justice of his doom; and to this day, the grave inquirer into therise and fall of empires pauses by the way to glean some scanty memorialof his personal adventures. As often happens, the labors of the lesserauthor who pursues but a single object may encounter more success onthat score than the writer whose view embraces a prodigious range; andmany trifling details, too inconsiderable to find place in the pages ofthe annals of a state, reward the inquiry that confines itself to theelucidation of the conduct of an individual. 

John André was born in England, probably at London, --possibly atSouthampton, --in the year 1751. His father was an honest, industriousSwitzer, who, following the example of his countrymen and his kindred, had abandoned the rugged land of his birth, and come over to England tosee what could be made out of John Bull. The family-name appears to haveoriginally been St. André; and this was the style of the famousdancing-master who gave to the courtiers of Charles II. Theirgraceful motions. 

 "St. André's feet ne'er kept more equal time, "

wrote Dryden, in his "MacFlecknoe"; and the same writer again brings himforward in the third act of "Limberham. " It must be remembered that inthose days the teacher of fencing and dancing occupied a veryrespectable position; and St. André's career was sufficiently prosperousto tempt a young kinsman, who felt the elements of success strong withinhim, to cross the seas in his own turn, and find wealth and reputationin those pleasant pastures which England above all other countries thenlaid open to the skilful adventurer. 

Nicholas St. André, who came to London about the close of theseventeenth century, and who was undoubtedly nearly related to thefuture Major André, seems to have passed through a career hardlyparalleled by that of Gil Blas himself. From the humblest beginnings, his ready wit, his multifarious accomplishments, and his indomitableassurance speedily carried him to the topmost wave of social prosperity. A brief instruction in surgery gave him such a plausible appearance ofproficiency in the art as to permit his public lectures to be favorablyreceived, and to lead to his employment in the royal household. GeorgeI. Made him Anatomist to the Court, and, as a token of especial grace, on one occasion, went so far as to bestow upon the young Swiss his ownsword. His attainments in all the amusements of a gentleman probably hadmore to do with these advancements, however, than any professionalskill. He was a capital linguist; at fencing, leaping, running, andother manly exercises, he found few rivals; and his dabblings inarchitecture and botany were at least as notable as his mastership ofchess and his skill as a musician. But when it came to a scientific testof his surgical and anatomical pretensions, his failure was lamentableindeed. The unquenchable thirst for notoriety--which he may havemistaken for fame--was perpetually leading him into questionablepositions, and finally covered his name with ridicule and confusion. 

An impudent woman, known as Mary Tofts, declared to the world, that, instead of a human child, she had given birth to a litter of rabbits. How such a ridiculous tale ever found believers, it is impossible toconceive; but such was the case. All England, with the very smallexception of those who united the possession of learning with commonsense, was imbued with the frenzy. The price of warrens was abated to amere song, and for a season a Londoner would as readily have eaten abaked child as a roasted rabbit. The children of men were believed topopulate the burrows, and authorities of the highest reputation lent anunhesitating support to the delusion. The learned Whiston published inthe circumstance a fulfilment of a prophecy of Esdras, and St. Andréloudly urged the authenticity of the entire fable and of the theoriesthat were founded upon it. But the satiric pen of Swift, the burin ofHogarth, and the graver investigations of Cheselden at last turned thepopular tide, and covered St. André in particular with such a load ofcontemptuous obloquy as to drive him forever from the high circles hehad moved in. So great was his spleen, that, from that time forth, hewould never suffer a dish upon his table or a syllable in hisconversation that could in any way bring to mind the absurd occasion ofhis disgrace. 

If all reports are to be believed, St. André's career had led him intomany singular adventures. He had saved Voltaire's life, by violentlydetaining Lord Peterborough, when the latter stood prepared to punishwith peremptory death some peccadillo of the Frenchman's. Voltaire fledfrom the scene, while his adversary struggled to be released. Hisservices to Pope, when the poet was overturned in Lord Bolingbroke'scoach, did not protect him from a damaging allusion in the Epilogue tothe Satires, where the source of the wealth that he got by his marriagewith Lady Betty Molyneux is more plainly than politely pointed out. Leaving forever, therefore, the sphere in which he had encountered somuch favor and so much severity, he retired to Southampton to end hisdays in the society of his kindred; and it is more than probable that anindisposition to proclaim too loudly their identity of race with theunlucky surgeon was the cause of their modification of name by theimmediate family from which John André sprung. 

The father of our hero was a thrifty London trader, whose business as aTurkey merchant had been prosperous enough to persuade him that no othercareer could possibly be so well adapted for his son. The lad was ofanother opinion; but those were not the days when a parent's will mightbe safely contravened. Sent to Geneva to complete the education that hadbeen commenced at London, he returned to a seat in the counting-roomwith intellectual qualifications that seemed to justify his aspirationsfor a very different scene of action. He was a fluent linguist, a readyand graceful master of the pencil and brush, and very well versed in theschools of military design. Add to these a proficiency in poetry andmusic, a person of unusual symmetry and grace, a face of almost femininesoftness, yet not descending from the dignity of manhood, and we have anidea of the youth who was already meditating the means of throwing offthe chains that bound him to the inkhorn and ledger, and embracing amore brilliant and glorious career. With him, the love of fame was aninstinctive passion. The annals of his own fireside taught him howeasily the path to distinction might be trod by men of parts andaddress; and he knew in his heart that opportunity was the one and theonly thing needful to insure the accomplishment of his desires. Of verymoderate fortunes and utterly destitute of influential connections, heknew that his education better qualified him for the useful fulfilmentof military duties than perhaps any man of his years in the service ofthe king. Once embarked in the profession of arms, he had nothing torely upon but his own address to secure patronage and promotion, --nothingbut his own merits to justify the countenance that his ingenuityshould win. Without undue vanity, it is tolerably safe to saynow that he was authorized by the existing state of things toconfidently predicate his own success on these estimates. 

It is not easy to underrate the professional standard of the Englishofficer a hundred years ago. That some were good cannot be denied; thatmost were bad is very certain. As there was no school of militaryinstruction in the realm, so no proof of mental or even of physicalcapacity was required to enable a person to receive and to hold acommission. A friend at the Horse Guards, or the baptismal gift of agodfather, might nominate a baby three days old to a pair of colors. Court influence or the ready cash having thus enrolled a puny sucklingamong the armed defenders of the state, he might in regular process ofseniority come out a full-fledged captain or major against the seasonfor his being soundly birched at Eton; and an ignorant school-boy wouldthus be qualified to govern the lives and fortunes of five hundredstalwart men, and to represent the honor and the interests of the empirein that last emergency when all might be depending on his courage andcapacity. Even women were thus saddled upon the pay-lists; and the timeis within the memory of living men, when a gentle lady, whose knowledgeof arms may be presumed to have never extended beyond the internecinedisputes of the nursery, habitually received the salary of a captaincyof dragoons. In ranks thus officered, it was easy to foresee the speedyand sure triumph of competent ability, when once backed by patronage. 

So long, however, as his dependence upon his father endured, it wasuseless for André to anticipate the day when he might don the king'slivery. The repugnance with which his first motion in the matter wasgreeted, and the affectionate opposition of his mother and sisters, seemto have at least silenced, if they did not extinguish his desires. Andwhen the death of his father, in 1769, left him free to select his ownpathway through the world, a new conjuncture of affairs again caused himto smother his cherished aspirations. 

The domestic relations of the André family were ever peculiarly tenderand affectionate; and in the loss of its head the survivors confessed agreat and a corroding sorrow. To repair the shattered health and recruitthe exhausted spirits of his mother and sisters, the son resolved tolead them at once away from the daily contemplation of the grave to morecheerful scenes. The medicinal waters of Derbyshire were then in vogue, and a tour towards the wells of Buxton and of Matlock was undertaken. Among the acquaintances that ensued from this expedition was that of thefamily of the Rev. Mr. Seward of Lichfield; and while a warm and lastingfriendship rapidly grew up between André and Miss Anna Seward, his heartwas surrendered to the charms of her adopted sister, Miss Honora Sneyd. 

By every account, Honora Sneyd must have been a paragon of feminineloveliness. Her father was a country-gentleman of Staffordshire, who hadbeen left, by the untimely death of their mother, to the charge of abevy of infants. The solicitude of friends and relatives had sought thecare of these, and thus Honora became virtually a daughter of Mrs. Seward's house. The character of this establishment may be conjecturedfrom the history of Anna Seward. Remote from the crushing weight ofLondon authority, she grew up in a provincial atmosphere of literary andsocial refinement, and fondly believed that the polite praises (forcensure was a thing unknown among them) that were bandied about in herown coterie would be cordially echoed by the voices of posterity. Inthis she has been utterly deceived; but at the same time it must beconfessed that there was much in the tone of the reigning circles atLichfield, in those days, to contrast most favorably with the manners ofthe literary sovereigns of the metropolis, or the intellectual elevationof the rulers of fashion. At Lichfield, it was polite to be learned, andgood-breeding and mutual admiration went hand in hand. 

In such an atmosphere had Miss Sneyd been educated; and theenthusiastic, not to say romantic, disposition of Miss Seward must havegiven additional effect to every impulse that taught her to acknowledgeand rejoice in the undisguised admiration of the young London merchant. His sentiments were as pure and lofty as her own; his person was asattractive as that of any hero of romance; and his passion was deep andtrue. With the knowledge and involuntary approbation of all theirfriends, the love-affair between the two young people went on withoutinterruption or opposition. It seemed perfectly natural and proper thatthey should be brought together. It was not, therefore, until a formalbetrothal began to loom up, that the seniors on either side bethoughtthemselves of the consequences. Neither party was a beggar; but neitherwas in possession of sufficient estate to render a speedy marriageadvisable. It was concluded, then, to prohibit any engagement, whichmust inevitably extend over several years, between two young personswhose acquaintance was of so modern a date, and whose positions involveda prolonged and wide separation. To this arrangement it would appearthat Honora yielded a more implicit assent than her lover. His feelingswere irretrievably interested; and he still proposed to himself to presshis suit without intermission during the term of his endurance. Hismistress, whose affections had not yet passed entirely beyond her owncontrol, was willing to receive as a friend the man whom she wasforbidden to regard as an elected husband. 

It was by the representations of Miss Seward, who strongly urged on himthe absolute necessity of his adherence to trade, if he wished to securethe means of accomplishing matrimony, that André was now persuaded torenounce, for some years longer, his desire for the army. He went backto London, and applied himself diligently to his business. An occasionalvisit to Lichfield, and a correspondence that he maintained with MissSeward, served to keep his flame sufficiently alive. His letters arevivacious and characteristic, and the pen-and-ink drawings with whichhis text was embellished gave them additional interest. Here is aspecimen of them. It will be noted, that, according to the sentimentalfashion of the day, his correspondent must be called Julia because hername is Anna. 

"_London, October_ 19, 1769. 

"From the midst of books, papers, bills, and other implements of gain, let me lift up my drowsy head awhile to converse with dear Julia. Andfirst, as I know she has a fervent wish to see me a quill-driver, I musttell her that I begin, as people are wont to do, to look upon my futureprofession with great partiality. I no longer see it in sodisadvantageous a light. Instead of figuring a merchant as a middle-agedman, with a bob wig, a rough beard, in snuff-coloured clothes, graspinga guinea in his red hand, I conceive a comely young man, with atolerable pig-tail, wielding a pen with all the noble fierceness of theDuke of Marlborough brandishing a truncheon upon a sign-post, surroundedwith types and emblems, and canopied with cornucopias that disemboguetheir stores upon his head; Mercuries reclin'd upon bales of goods;Genii playing with pens, ink, and paper; while, in perspective, hisgorgeous vessels 'launched on the bosom of the silver Thames' arewafting to distant lands the produce of this commercial nation. Thus allthe mercantile glories crowd on my fancy, emblazoned in the mosteffulgent colouring of an ardent imagination. Borne on her soaringpinions, I wing my flight to the time when Heaven shall have crowned mylabours with success and opulence. I see sumptuous palaces rising toreceive me; I see orphans, and widows, and painters, and fidlers, andpoets, and builders, protected and encouraged; and when the fabrick ispretty nearly finished by my shattered pericranium, I cast my eyesaround, and find John André by a small coal-fire in a gloomycompting-house in Warnford Court, nothing so little as what he has beenmaking himself, and in all probability never to be much more than he isat present. But, oh! my dear Honora! it is for thy sake only I wish forwealth. --You say she was somewhat better at the time you wrote last. Imust flatter myself that she will soon be without any remains of thisthreatening disease. 

"It is seven o'clock. --You and Honora, with two or three more selectfriends, are now probably encircling your dressing-room fireplace. Whatwould I not give to enlarge that circle! The idea of a clean hearth, anda snug circle round it, formed by a few select friends, transports me. You seem combined together against the inclemency of the weather, thehurry, bustle, ceremony, censoriousness, and envy of the world. Thepurity, the warmth, the kindly influence of fire, to all for whom it iskindled, is a good emblem of the friendship of such amiable minds asJulia's and her Honora's. Since I cannot be there in reality, pray, imagine me with you; admit me to your _conversationés_:--Think how Iwish for the blessing of joining them!--and be persuaded that I takepart in all your pleasures, in the dear hope, that, ere it be very long, your blazing hearth will burn again for me. Pray, keep me a place; letthe poker, tongs, or shovel represent me:--But you have Dutch tiles, which are infinitely better; so let Moses, or Aaron, or Balaam's ass bemy representative. 

"But time calls me to Clapton. I quit you abruptly till to-morrow: when, if I do not tear the nonsense I have been writing, I may perhapsincrease its quantity. Signora Cynthia is in clouded majesty. Silveredwith her beams, I am about to jog to Clapton upon my own stumps; musing, as I homeward plod my way. --Ah! need I name the subject of mycontemplations?

"_Thursday_. 

"I had a sweet walk home last night, and found the Claptonians, withtheir fair guest, a Miss Mourgue, very well. My sisters send theiramities, and will write in a few days. 

"This morning I returned to town. It has been the finest day imaginable;a solemn mildness was diffused throughout the blue horizon; its lightwas clear and distinct rather than dazzling; the serene beams of anautumnal sun! Gilded hills, variegated woods, glittering spires, ruminating herds, bounding flocks, all combined to enchant the eyes, expand the heart, and 'chase all sorrows but despair. ' In the midst ofsuch a scene, no lesser sorrow can prevent our sympathy with Nature. Acalmness, a benevolent disposition seizes us with sweet, insinuatingpower. The very brute creation seem sensible of these beauties. There isa species of mild chearfulness in the face of a lamb, which I have butindifferently expressed in a corner of my paper, and a demure, contentedlook in an ox, which, in the fear of expressing still worse, I leaveunattempted. 

"Business calls me away--I must dispatch my letter. Yet what does itcontain? No matter--You like anything better than news. Indeed, you havenever told me so; but I have an intuitive knowledge upon the subject, from the sympathy which I have constantly perceived in the tastes ofJulia and _Cher Jean_. What is it to you or me, "If here in the city we have nothing but riot; If the Spitalfield weavers can't be kept quiet; If the weather is fine, or the streets should be dirty; Or if Mr. Dick Wilson died aged of thirty?

"But if I was to hearken to the versifying grumbling I feel within me, Ishould fill my paper, and not have room left to intreat that you wouldplead my cause with Honora more eloquently than the enclosed letter hasthe power of doing. Apropos of verses, you desire me to recollect myrandom description of the engaging appearance of the charming Mrs. ----. Here it is at your service. 

 "Then rustling and bustling the lady comes down, With a flaming red face and a broad yellow gown, And a hobbling out-of-breath gait, and a frown. 

"This little French cousin of our's, Delarise, was my sister Mary'splayfellow at Paris. His sprightliness engages my sisters extremely. Doubtless they tell much of him to you in their letters. 

"How sorry I am to bid you adieu! Oh, let me not be forgot by thefriends most dear to you at Lichfield. Lichfield! Ah, of what magicletters is that little word composed! How graceful it looks, when it iswritten! Let nobody talk to me of its original meaning, 'The Field ofBlood'! Oh, no such thing! It is the field of joy! 'The beautiful city, that lifts her fair head in the valley, and says, _I am, and there isnone beside me. '_ Who says she is vain? Julia will not say so, --nor yetHonora, --and least of all, their devoted

"John André. "

It is not difficult to perceive in the tone of this letter that itswriter was not an accepted lover. His interests with the lady, despiteMiss Seward's watchful care, were already declining; and the lapse of afew months more reduced him to the level of a valued and entertainingfriend, whose civilities were not to pass the conventional limits ofpolite intercourse. To André this fate was very hard. He was hopelesslyenamored; and so long as fortune offered him the least hope of eventualsuccess, he persevered in the faith that Honora might yet be his own. But every returning day must have shaken this faith. His visits werediscontinued and his correspondence dropped. Other suitors pressed theirclaims, and often urged an argument which it was beyond his means tosupply. They came provided with what Parson Hugh calls good gifts:"Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts. " Foremost amongthese dangerous rivals were two men of note in their way: Richard LovellEdgeworth, and the eccentric, but amiable Thomas Day. 

Mr. Day was a man whose personal charms were not great. Overgrown, awkward, pitted with the small-pox, he offered no pleasing contrast tothe discarded André: but he had twelve hundred pounds a year. Hisnotions in regard to women were as peculiar as his estimate of his ownmerit. He seems to have really believed that it would be impossible forany beautiful girl to refuse her assent to the terms of the contract bywhich she might acquire his hand. These were absurd to a degree; and itis not cause for surprise that Miss Sneyd should have unhesitatinglyrefused them. Poor Mr. Day was not prepared for such continued ill-luckin his matrimonial projects. He had already been very unfortunate in hisplans for obtaining a perfect wife, --having vainly provided for theeducation of two foundlings between whom he promised himself to select aparagon of a helpmate. To drop burning sealing-wax upon their necks, andto discharge a pistol close to their ears, were among his philosophicalrules for training them to habits of submission and self-control; andthe upshot was, that they were fain to attach themselves to men of lesswisdom, but better taste. Miss Sneyd's conduct was more than he couldwell endure, after all his previous disappointments; and he went to bedwith a fever that did not leave him till his passion was cured. He couldnot at this time have anticipated, however, that the friendly hand whichhad aided the prosecution of his addresses was eventually destined toreceive and hold the fair prize which so many were contending for. 

Richard Lovell Edgeworth, the ambassador and counsellor of Mr. Day inthis affair, was at the very moment of the rejection himself enamored ofMiss Sneyd. But Edgeworth had a wife already, --a pining, complainingwoman, he tells us, who did not make his home cheerful, --and honor anddecency forbade him to open his mouth on the subject that occupied hisheart. He wisely sought refuge in flight, and in other scenes thenatural exuberance of his disposition afforded a relief from the pangsof an unlawful and secret passion. Lord Byron, who met him forty yearsafterwards, in five lines shows us the man: if he was thus seen in thedry wood, we can imagine what he was in the green:--"I thought Edgewortha fine old fellow, of a clarety, elderly, red complexion, but active, brisk, and endless. He was seventy, but did not look fifty, --no, norforty-eight even. " He was in France when the death of his father lefthim to the possession of a good estate, --and that of his wife occurringin happy concurrence, he lost little time in opening in his own behalfthe communications that had failed when he spoke for Mr. Day. His wooingwas prosperous; in July, 1773, he married Miss Sneyd. 

It is a mistake, sanctioned by the constant acceptance of historians, tosuppose that it was this occasion that prompted André to abandon acommercial life. The improbability of winning Honora's hand, and thefreedom with which she received the addresses of other men, undoubtedlywent far to convince him of the folly of sticking to trade with but onemotive; and so soon as he attained his majority, he left the desk andstool forever, and entered the army. This was a long time before theEdgeworth marriage was undertaken, or even contemplated. 

Lieutenant André of the Royal Fusileers had a very different line ofduty to perform from Mr. André, merchant, of Warnford Court, ThrogmortonStreet; and the bustle of military life, doubtless, in some degreediverted his mind from the disagreeable contemplation of what waspresently to occur at Lichfield. Some months were spent on the Continentand among the smaller German courts about the Rhine. After all was over, however, and the nuptial knot fairly tied that destroyed all hisyouthful hopes, he is related to have made a farewell expedition to theplace of his former happiness. There, at least, he was sure to find onesympathizing heart. Miss Seward, who had to the very last minutecontended with her friend against Mr. Edgeworth and in support of hisless fortunate predecessor, now met him with open arms. No pains werespared by her to alleviate, since she could not remove, thedisappointment that evidently possessed him. A legend is preserved inconnection with this visit that is curious, though manifestly of veryuncertain credibility. It is said that an engagement had been made byMiss Seward to introduce her friend to two gentlemen of some note in theneighborhood, Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Newton. On the appointed morning, while awaiting their expected guests, Cunningham related to hiscompanion a vision--or rather, a series of visions--that had greatlydisturbed his previous night's repose. He was alone in a wide forest, hesaid, when he perceived a rider approaching him. The horseman'scountenance was plainly visible, and its lines were of a character toointeresting to be readily forgotten. Suddenly three men sprang forthfrom an ambush among the thickets, and, seizing the stranger, hauled himfrom his horse and bore him away. To this succeeded another scene. Hestood with a great multitude near by some foreign town. A bustle washeard, and he beheld the horseman of his earlier dream again led along acaptive. A gibbet was erected, and the prisoner was at once hanged. Innarrating this tale, Cunningham averred that the features of its herowere still fresh in his recollection; the door opened, and in the faceof André, who at that moment presented himself, he professed torecognize that which had so troubled his slumbers. 

Such is the tale that is recorded of the supernatural revelation ofAndré's fate. If it rested on somewhat better evidence than any we areable to find in its favor, it would be at least more interesting. Butwhether or no the young officer continued to linger in the spirit aboutthe spires of Lichfield and the romantic shades of Derbyshire, it iscertain that his fleshly part was moving in a very different direction. In 1774, he embarked to join his regiment, then posted in Canada, andarrived at Philadelphia early in the autumn of the year. 

It is not within the design of this paper to pursue to any length thedetails of André's American career. Regimental duties in a countrydistrict rarely afford matter worthy of particular record; and it is notuntil the troubles of our Revolutionary War break out, that we findanything of mark in his story. He was with the troops that Carleton sentdown, after the fall of Ticonderoga, to garrison Chambly and St. John's, and to hold the passage of the Sorel against Montgomery and his littlearmy. With the fall of these forts, he went into captivity. There istoo much reason to believe that the imprisonment of the English on thisoccasion was not alleviated by many exhibitions of generosity on thepart of their captors. Montgomery, indeed, was as humane and honorableas he was brave; but he was no just type of his followers. The articlesof capitulation were little regarded, and the prisoners were, it wouldseem, rapidly despoiled of their private effects. "I have been taken bythe Americans, " wrote André, "and robbed of everything save the pictureof Honora, which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving that, I thinkmyself happy. " Sent into the remote parts of Pennsylvania, hiscompanions and himself met with but scant measure of courtesy from themountaineers of that region; nor was he exchanged for many long andweary months. Once more free, however, his address and capacity sooncame to his aid. His reports and sketches speedily commended him to theespecial favor of the commander-in-chief, Sir William Howe; and ere longhe was promoted to a captaincy and made aide-de-camp to Sir CharlesGrey. This was a dashing, hard-fighting general of division, whoseelement was close quarters and whose favorite argument was the coldsteel. If, therefore, André played but an inactive part at theBrandywine, he had ample opportunity on other occasions of tasting theexcitement and the horrors of war. The night-surprises of Wayne atPaoli, and of Baylor on the Hudson, --the scenes of Germantown andMonmouth, --the reduction of the forts at Verplanck's Ferry, and theforays led against New Bedford and the Vineyard, --all these familiarizedhim with the bloody fruits of civil strife. But they never blunted forone moment the keenness of his humanity, or warped those sentiments ofrefinement and liberality that always distinguished him. Within thelimited range of his narrow sphere, he was constantly found the friendand reliever of the wounded or captive Americans, and the protector andbenefactor of the followers of his own banner. Accomplished to a degreein all the graces that adorn the higher circles of society, he was freefrom most of their vices; and those who knew him well in this countryhave remarked on the universal approbation of both sexes that followedhis steps, and the untouched heart that escaped so many shafts. Nor, while foremost in the brilliant pleasures that distinguished the Britishcamp and made Philadelphia a Capua to Howe, was he ever known to descendto the vulgar sports of his fellows. In the balls, the theatricals, thepicturesque _Mischianza_, he bore a leading hand; but his affections, meanwhile, appear to have remained where they were earliest and lastbestowed. In our altered days, when marriage and divorce seem so ofteninterchangeable words, and loyal fidelity but an Old-World phrase, ill-fashioned and out of date, there is something very attractive inthis hopeless constancy of an exiled lover. 

Beyond the seas, meanwhile, the object of this unfortunate attachmentwas lending a happy and a useful life in the fulfilment of the variousduties of a wife, a mother, and a friend. Her husband was a large landedproprietor, and in public spirit was inferior to no country-gentleman ofthe kingdom. Many of his notions were fanciful enough, it must beallowed; but they were all directed to the improvement and ameliorationof his native land and its people. In these pursuits, as well as inthose of learning, Mrs. Edgeworth was the active and useful coadjutor ofher husband; and it was probably to the desire of this couple to dosomething that would make the instruction of their children a lesspainful task than had been their own, that we are indebted for theadaptation of the simpler rudiments of science to a childish dress. In1778 they wrote together the First Part of "Harry and Lucy, " and printeda handful of copies in that largo black type which every one associateswith the first school-days of his childhood. From these pages she taughther own children to read. The plan was communicated to Mr. Day, whoentered into it eagerly; and an educational library seemed about to beprepared for the benefit of a far-away household in the heart ofIreland. But a hectic disorder, that had threatened Mrs. Edgeworth'slife while yet a child, now returned upon her with increased virulence;and the kind and beautiful mistress of Edgeworthstown was compelled toforego this and every other earthly avocation. Mr. Day expanded hislittle tale into the delightful story of "Sandford and Merton, " a bookthat long stood second only to "Robinson Crusoe" in the youthfuljudgment of the great boy-world; and in later years, Maria Edgeworthincluded "Harry and Lucy" in her "Early Lessons. " It is thus a point tobe noticed, that nothing but the _res angusta domi_, the lack of wealth, on the part of young André, was the cause of that series of littlevolumes being produced by Miss Edgeworth, which so long held the firstplace among the literary treasures of the nurseries of England andAmerica. Lazy Lawrence, Simple Susan, and a score more of excellentlyconceived characters, might never have been called from chaos toinfluence thousands of tender minds, but for André's narrow purse. 

The ravages of the insidious disease with which she was afflicted sooncame to an end; and after a term of wedlock as brief as it wasprosperous, Mrs. Edgeworth's dying couch was spread. --"I have everyblessing, " she wrote, "and I am happy. The conversation of my belovedhusband, when my breath will let me have it, is my greatest delight: heprocures me every comfort, and, as he always said he thought he should, contrives for me everything that can ease and assist my weakness, --

 "'Like a kind angel, whispers peace, And smooths the bed of death. '"

Rightly viewed, the closing scenes in the life of this estimable womanare not less solemn, not less impressive, than those of that memorableday, when, with all the awful ceremonials of offended justice and thestern pageantries of war, her lover died in the full glare of noondaybefore the eyes of assembled thousands. He had played for a mightystake, and he had lost. He had perilled his life for the destruction ofour American empire, and he was there to pay the penalty: and surelynever, in all the annals of our race, has a man more gallantly yieldedup his forfeited breath, or under circumstances more impressive. Heperished regretted alike by friend and foe; and perhaps not one of thethrong that witnessed his execution but would have rejoicingly hailed ameans of reconciling his pardon with the higher and inevitable dutieswhich they owed to the safety of the army and the existence of thestate. And in the aspect which the affair has since taken, who can saythat André's fate has been entirely unfortunate? He drank out the wineof life while it was still sparkling and foaming and bright in his cup:he tasted none of the bitterness of its lees till almost his last sunhad risen. When he was forever parted from the woman whom he loved, anew, but not an earthly mistress succeeded to the vacant throne; andthenceforth the love of glory possessed his heart exclusively. And howrarely has a greater lustre attached to any name than to his! His bonesare laid with those of the wisest and mightiest of the land; thegratitude of monarchs cumbers the earth with his sepulchral honors; andhis memory is consecrated in the most eloquent pages of the history notonly of his own country, but of that which sent him out of existence. Looked upon thus, death might have been welcomed by him as a benefitrather than dreaded as a calamity, and the words applied by Cicero tothe fate of Crassus be repeated with fresh significancy, --"_Mors dortataquam vita erepta_. "

The same year that carries on its records the date of André's fallwitnessed the death of a second Honora Edgeworth, the only survivingdaughter of Honora Sneyd. She is represented as having inherited all thebeauty, all the talents of her mother. The productions of her pen andpencil seem to justify this assertion, so far as the precocity of such amere child may warrant the ungarnered fruits of future years. But withher parent's person she received the frailties of its constitution; and, ere girlhood had fairly opened upon her way of life, she succumbed tothe same malady that had wrecked her mother. 

 * * * * *

WE SHALL RISE AGAIN. 

 We know the spirit shall not taste of death: Earth bids her elements, "Turn, turn again to me!" But to the soul, unto the soul, she saith, "Flee, alien, flee!"

 And circumstance of matter what doth weigh? Oh! not the height and depth of this to know But reachings of that grosser element, Which, entered in and clinging to it so, With earthlier earthiness than dwells in clay, Can drag the spirit down, that, looking up, Sees, through surrounding shades of death and time, With solemn wonder, and with new-born hope, The dawning glories of its native clime; And inly swell such mighty floods of love, Unutterable longing and desire, For that celestial, blessed home above, The soul springs upward like the mounting fire, Up, through the lessening shadows on its way, While, in its raptured vision, grows more clear The calm, the high, illimitable day To which it draws more near and yet more near. Draws near? Alas! its brief, its waning strength Upward no more the fetters' weight can bear: It falters, --pauses, --sinks; and, sunk at length, Plucks at its chain in frenzy and despair. 

 Not forever fallen! Not in eternal prison! No! hell with fire of pain Melteth apart its chain; Heaven doth once more constrain: It hath arisen!

 And never, never again, thus to fall low? Ah, no! Terror, Remorse, and Woe, Vainly they pierced it through with many sorrows; Hell shall regain it, --thousand times regain it; But can detain it Only awhile from ruthful Heaven's to-morrows. 

 That sin is suffering, It knows, --it knows this thing; And yet it courts the sting That deeply pains it; It knows that in the cup The sweet is but a sup, That Sorrow fills it up, And who drinks drains it. 

 It knows; who runs may read. But, when the fetters dazzle, heaven's far joy seems dim; And 'tis not life but so to be inwound. A little while, and then--behold it bleed With madness of its throes to be unbound!

 It knows. But when the sudden stress Of passion is resistlessness, It drags the flood that sweeps away, For anchorage, or hold, or stay, Or saving rock of stableness, And there is none, -- No underlying fixedness to fasten on: Unsounded depths; unsteadfast seas; Wavering, yielding, bottomless depths: But these!

 Yea, sometimes seemeth gone The Everlasting Arm we lean upon!

 So blind, as well as maimed and halt and lame, What sometimes makes it see? Oppressed with guilt and gnawed upon of shame, What comes upon it so, Faster and faster stealing, Flooding it like an air or sea Of warm and golden feeling? What makes it melt, Dissolving from the earthiness that made it hard and heavy? What makes it melt and flow, And melt and melt and flow, -- Till light, clear-shining through its heart of dew, Makes all things new?

 Loosed from the spirit of infirmity, listen its cry. "Was it I that longed for oblivion, O wonderful Love! was it I, That deep in its easeful water My wounded soul might lie? That over the wounds and anguish The easeful flood might roll? A river of loving-kindness Has healed and hidden the whole. Lo! in its pitiful bosom Vanish the sins of my youth, -- Error and shame and backsliding Lost in celestial ruth. 

 "O grace too great! O excellency of my new estate!

 "No more, for the friends that love me, I shall veil my face or grieve Because love outrunneth deserving; I shall be as they believe. And I shall be strong to help them, Filled of Thy fulness with stores Of comfort and hope and compassion. Oh, upon all my shores, With the waters with which Thou dost flood me, Bid me, my Father, o'erflow! Who can taste Thy divineness, Nor hunger and thirst to bestow? Send me, oh, send me! The wanderers let me bring! The thirsty let me show Where the rivers of gladness spring, And fountains of mercy flow! How in the hills shall they sit and sing, With valleys of peace below!"

 Oh that the keys of our hearts the angels would bear in their bosoms! For revelation fades and fades away, Dream-like becomes, and dim, and far-withdrawn; And evening comes to find the soul a prey, That was caught up to visions at the dawn; Sword of the spirit, --still it sheathes in rust, And lips of prophecy are sealed with dust. 

 High lies the better country, The land of morning and perpetual spring; But graciously the warder Over its mountain-border Leans to us, beckoning, --bids us, "Come up hither!" And though we climb with step unfixed and slow, From visioning heights of hope we look off thither, And we must go. 

 And we shall go! And we shall go! We shall not always weep and wander so, -- Not always in vain, By merciful pain, Be upcast from the hell we seek again! How shall we, Whom the stars draw so, and the uplifting sea? Answer, thou Secret Heart! how shall it be, With all His infinite promising in thee?

 Beloved! beloved! not cloud and fire alone From bondage and the wilderness restore And guide the wandering spirit to its own; But all His elements, they go before: Upon its way the seasons bring, And hearten with foreshadowing The resurrection-wonder, What lands of death awake to sing And germs of hope swell under; And full and fine, and full and fine, The day distils life's golden wine; And night is Palace Beautiful, peace-chambered. All things are ours; and life fills up of them Such measure as we hold. For ours beyond the gate, The deep things, the untold, We only wait. 

THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 

The young master had not forgotten the old Doctor's cautions. Withoutattributing any great importance to the warning he had given him, Mr. Bernard had so far complied with his advice that he was becoming apretty good shot with the pistol. It was an amusement as good as manyothers to practise, and he had taken a fancy to it after the firstfew days. 

The popping of a pistol at odd hours in the back-yard of the Institutewas a phenomenon more than sufficiently remarkable to be talked about inRockland. The viscous intelligence of a country-village is not easilystirred by the winds which ripple the fluent thought of great cities, but it holds every straw and entangles every insect that lights upon it. It soon became rumored in the town that the young master was a wonderfulshot with the pistol. Some said he could hit a fo'pence-ha'penny atthree rod; some, that he had shot a swallow, flying, with a single ball;some, that he snuffed a candle five times out of six at ten paces, andthat he could hit any button in a man's coat he wanted to. In otherwords, as in all such cases, all the common feats were ascribed to him, as the current jokes of the day are laid at the door of any noted wit, however innocent he may be of them. 

In the natural course of things, Mr. Richard Venner, who had by thistime made some acquaintances, as we have seen, among that class of thepopulation least likely to allow a live cinder of gossip to go out forwant of air, had heard incidentally that the master up there at theInstitute was all the time practising with a pistol, that they say hecan snuff a candle at ten rods, (that was Mrs. Blanche Creamer'sversion, ) and that he could hit anybody he wanted to right in the eye, as far as he could see the white of it. 

Dick did not like the sound of all this any too well. Without believingmore than half of it, there was enough to make the Yankee schoolmastertoo unsafe to be trifled with. However, shooting at a mark was pleasantwork enough; he had no particular objection to it himself. Only he didnot care so much for those little popgun affairs that a man carries inhis pocket, and with which you couldn't shoot a fellow, --a robber, say, --without getting the muzzle under his nose. Pistols for boys;long-range rifles for men. There was such a gun lying in a closet withthe fowling-pieces. He would go out into the fields and see what hecould do as a marksman. 

The nature of the mark that Dick chose for experimenting upon wassingular. He had found some panes of glass which had been removed froman old sash, and he placed these successively before his target, arranging them at different angles. He found that a bullet would gothrough the glass without glancing or having its force materiallyabated. It was an interesting fact in physics, and might prove of somepractical significance hereafter. Nobody knows what may turn up torender these out-of-the-way facts useful. All this was done in a quietway in one of the bare spots high up the side of The Mountain. He wasvery thoughtful in taking the precaution to get so far away;rifle-bullets are apt to glance and come whizzing about people's ears, if they are fired in the neighborhood of houses. Dick satisfied himselfthat he could be tolerably sure of hitting a pane of glass at a distanceof thirty rods, more or less, and that, if there happened to be anythingbehind it, the glass would not materially alter the force or directionof the bullet. 

About this time it occurred to him also that there was an oldaccomplishment of his which he would be in danger of losing for want ofpractice, if he did not take some opportunity to try his hand and regainits cunning, if it had begun to be diminished by disuse. For his firsttrial, he chose an evening when the moon was shining, and after the hourwhen the Rockland people were like to be stirring abroad. He was so farestablished now that he could do much as he pleased withoutexciting remark. 

The prairie horse he rode, the mustang of the Pampas, wild as he was, had been trained to take part in at least one exercise. This was theaccomplishment in which Mr. Richard now proposed to try himself. Forthis purpose he sought the implement of which, as it may be remembered, he had once made an incidental use, --the lasso, or long strip of hidewith a slip-noose at the end of it. He had been accustomed to playingwith such a thong from his boyhood, and had become expert in its use incapturing wild cattle in the course of his adventures. Unfortunately, there were no wild bulls likely to be met with in the neighborhood, tobecome the subjects of his skill. A stray cow in the road, an ox or ahorse in a pasture, must serve his turn, --dull beasts, but moving marksto aim at, at any rate. 

Never, since he had galloped in the chase over the Pampas, had DickVenner felt such a sense of life and power as when he struck the longspurs into his wild horse's flanks, and dashed along the road with thelasso lying like a coiled snake at the saddle-bow. In skilful hands, thesilent, bloodless noose, flying like an arrow, but not like that leavinga wound behind it, --sudden as a pistol-shot, but without the tell-taleexplosion, --is one of the most fearful and mysterious weapons that armthe hand of man. The old Romans knew how formidable, even in contestwith a gladiator equipped with sword, helmet, and shield, was the almostnaked _retiarius_ with his net in one hand and his three-pronged javelinin the other. Once get a net over a man's head, or a cord round hisneck, or, what is more frequently done nowadays, _bonnet_ him byknocking his hat down over his eyes, and he is at the mercy of hisopponent. Our soldiers who served against the Mexicans found this outtoo well. Many a poor fellow has been lassoed by the fierce riders fromthe plains, and fallen an easy victim to the captor who had snared himin the fatal noose. 

But, imposing as the sight of the wild huntsmen of the Pampas might havebeen, Dick could not help laughing at the mock sublimity of hissituation, as he tried his first experiment on an unhappy milky motherwho had strayed from her herd and was wandering disconsolately along theroad, laying the dust, as she went, with thready streams from herswollen, swinging udders. "Here goes the Don at the windmill!" saidDick, and tilted full speed at her, whirling the lasso round his head ashe rode. The creature swerved to one side of the way, as the wild horseand his rider came rushing down upon her, and presently turned and ran, as only cows and--it wouldn't be safe to say it--can run. Just before hepassed, --at twenty or thirty feet from her, --the lasso shot from hishand, uncoiling as it flew, and in an instant its loop was round herhorns. "Well cast!" said Dick, as he galloped up to her side anddexterously disengaged the lasso. "Now for a horse on the run!"

He had the good luck to find one, presently, grazing in a pasture at theroadside. Taking down the rails of the fence at one point, he drove thehorse into the road and gave chase. It was a lively young animal enough, and was easily roused to a pretty fast pace. As his gallop grew more andmore rapid, Dick gave the reins to the mustang, until the two horsesstretched themselves out in their longest strides. If the first featlooked like play, the one he was now to attempt had a good deal theappearance of real work. He touched the mustang with the spur, and in afew fierce leaps found himself nearly abreast of the frightened animalhe was chasing. Once more he whirled the lasso round and round over hishead, and then shot it forth, as the rattlesnake shoots his head fromthe loops against which it rests. The noose was round the horse's neck, and in another instant was tightened so as almost to stop his breath. The prairie horse knew the trick of the cord, and leaned away from thecaptive, so as to keep the thong tensely stretched between his neck andthe peak of the saddle to which it was fastened. Struggling was of nouse with a halter round his windpipe, and he very soon began to trembleand stagger, --blind, no doubt, and with a roaring in his ears as of athousand battle-trumpets, --at any rate, subdued and helpless. That wasenough. Dick loosened his lasso, wound it up again, laid it like a petsnake in a coil at his saddle-bow, turned his horse, and rode slowlyalong towards the mansion-house. 

The place had never looked more stately and beautiful to him than as henow saw it in the moonlight. The undulations of the land, --the grandmountain-screen which sheltered the mansion from the northern blasts, rising with all its hanging forests and parapets of naked rock hightowards the heavens, --the ancient mansion, with its square chimneys, andbodyguard of old trees, and cincture of low walls with marble-pillaredgateways, --the fields, with their various coverings, --the beds offlowers, --the plots of turf, one with a gray column in its centrebearing a sun-dial on which the rays of the moon were idly shining, another with a white stone and a narrow ridge of turf, --over all theseobjects, harmonized with all their infinite details into one fair wholeby the moonlight, the prospective heir, as he deemed himself, lookedwith admiring eyes. 

But while he looked, the thought rose up in his mind like waters from apoisoned fountain, that there was a deep plot laid to cheat him of theinheritance which by a double claim he meant to call his own. Every daythis ice-cold beauty, this dangerous, handsome cousin of his, went up tothat place, --that usher's girltrap. Every day, --regularly now, --it usedto be different. Did she go only to get out of his, her cousin's, reach?Was she not rather becoming more and more involved in the toils of thisplotting Yankee?

If Mr. Bernard had shown himself at that moment a few rods in advance, the chances are that in less than one minute he would have found himselfwith a noose round his neck, at the heels of a mounted horseman. Providence spared him for the present. Mr. Richard rode his horsequietly round to the stable, put him up, and proceeded towards thehouse. He got to his bed without disturbing the family, but could notsleep. The idea had fully taken possession of his mind that a deepintrigue was going on which would end by bringing Elsie and theschoolmaster into relations fatal to all his own hopes. With thatingenuity which always accompanies jealousy, he tortured everycircumstance of the last few weeks so as to make it square with thisbelief. From this vein of thought he naturally passed to a considerationof every possible method by which the issue he feared might be avoided. 

Mr. Richard talked very plain language with himself in all these inwardcolloquies. Supposing it came to the worst, what could be done then?First, an accident might happen to the schoolmaster which should put acomplete and final check upon his projects and contrivances. Theparticular accident which might interrupt his career must, evidently, bedetermined by circumstances; but it must be of a nature to explainitself without the necessity of any particular person's becominginvolved in the matter. It would be unpleasant to go into particulars;but everybody knows well enough that men sometimes get in the way of astray bullet, and that young persons occasionally do violence tothemselves in various modes, --by fire-arms, suspension, and othermeans, --in consequence of disappointment in love, perhaps, oftener thanfrom other motives. There was still another kind of accident which mightserve his purpose. If anything should happen to Elsie, it would be themost natural thing in the world that his uncle should adopt him, hisnephew and only near relation, as his heir. Unless, indeed, Uncle Dudleyshould take it into his head to marry again. In that case, where wouldhe, Dick, be? This was the most detestable complication which he couldconceive of. And yet he had noticed--he could not help noticing--thathis uncle had been very attentive to, and, as it seemed, very muchpleased with, that young woman from the school. What did that mean? Wasit possible that he was going to take a fancy to her?

It made him wild to think of all the several contingencies which mightdefraud him of that good-fortune which seemed but just now within hisgrasp. He glared in the darkness at imaginary faces: sometimes at thatof the handsome, treacherous schoolmaster; sometimes at that of themeek-looking, but, no doubt, scheming, lady-teacher; sometimes at thatof the dark girl whom he was ready to make his wife; sometimes at thatof his much respected uncle, who, of course, could not be allowed toperil the fortunes of his relatives by forming a new connection. It wasa frightful perplexity in which he found himself, because there was noone single life an accident to which would be sufficient to insure thefitting and natural course of descent to the great Dudley property. Ifit had been a simple question of helping forward a casualty to any oneperson, there was nothing in Dick's habits of thought and living to makethat a serious difficulty. He had been so much with lawless people, thata life between his wish and his object seemed only as an obstacle to beremoved, provided the object were worth the risk and trouble. But ifthere were two or three lives in the way, manifestly that alteredthe case. 

His Southern blood was getting impatient. There was enough of theNew-Englander about him to make him calculate his chances before hestruck; but his plans were liable to be defeated at any moment by apassionate impulse such as the dark-hued races of Southern Europe andtheir descendants are liable to. He lay in his bed, sometimes arrangingplans to meet the various difficulties already mentioned, sometimesgetting into a paroxysm of blind rage in the perplexity of consideringwhat object he should select as the one most clearly in his way. On thewhole, there could be no doubt where the most threatening of all hisembarrassments lay. It was in the probable growing relation betweenElsie and the schoolmaster. If it should prove, as it seemed likely, that there was springing up a serious attachment tending to a unionbetween them, he knew what he should do, if he was not quite so sure howhe should do it. 

There was one thing at least which might favor his projects, and which, at any rate, would serve to amuse him. He could, by a little quietobservation, find out what were the schoolmaster's habits of life:whether he had any routine which could be calculated upon; and underwhat circumstances a strictly private interview of a few minutes withhim might be reckoned on, in case it should be desirable. He could alsovery probably learn some facts about Elsie: whether the young man was inthe habit of attending her on her way home from school; whether shestayed about the school-room after the other girls had gone; and anyincidental matters of interest which might present themselves. 

He was getting more and more restless for want of some excitement. A madgallop, a visit to Mrs. Blanche Creamer, who had taken such a fancy tohim, or a chat with the Widow Rowens, who was very lively in her talk, for all her sombre colors, and reminded him a good deal of some of hisearlier friends, the _señoritas_, --all these were distractions, to besure, but not enough to keep his fiery spirit from fretting itself inlongings for more dangerous excitements. The thought of getting aknowledge of all Mr. Bernard's ways, so that he would be in his power atany moment, was a happy one. 

For some days after this he followed Elsie at a long distance behind, towatch her until she got to the school-house. One day he saw Mr. Bernardjoin her: a mere accident, very probably, for it was only once thishappened. She came on her homeward way alone, --quite apart from thegroups of girls who strolled out of the school-house yard in company. Sometimes she was behind them all, --which was suggestive. Could shehave stayed to meet the schoolmaster?

If he could have smuggled himself into the school, he would have likedto watch her there, and see if there was not some understanding betweenher and the master which betrayed itself by look or word. But this wasbeyond the limits of his audacity, and he had to content himself withsuch cautious observations as could be made at a distance. With the aidof a pocket-glass he could make out persons without the risk of beingobserved himself. 

Mr. Silas Peckham's corps of instructors was not expected to be off dutyor to stand at ease for any considerable length of time. Sometimes Mr. Bernard, who had more freedom than the rest, would go out for a ramblein the day-time; but more frequently it would be in the evening, afterthe hour of "retiring, " as bed-time was elegantly termed by the youngladies of the Apollinean Institute. He would then not unfrequently walkout alone in the common roads, or climb up the sides of The Mountain, which seemed to be one of his favorite resorts. Here, of course, it wasimpossible to follow him with the eye at a distance. Dick had a hideous, gnawing suspicion that somewhere in these deep shades the schoolmastermight meet Elsie, whose evening wanderings he knew so well. But of thishe was not able to assure himself. Secrecy was necessary to his presentplans, and he could not compromise himself by over-eager curiosity. Onething he learned with certainty. The master returned, after his walk oneevening, and entered the building where his room was situated. Presentlya light betrayed the window of his apartment. From a wooded bank, somethirty or forty rods from this building, Dick Venner could see theinterior of the chamber, and watch the master as he sat at his desk, thelight falling strongly upon his face, intent upon the book or manuscriptbefore him. Dick contemplated him very long in this attitude. The senseof watching his every motion, himself meanwhile utterly unseen, wasdelicious. How little the master was thinking what eyes were on him!

Well, --there were two things quite certain. One was, that, if he chose, he could meet the schoolmaster alone, either in the road or in a moresolitary place, if he preferred to watch his chance for an evening ortwo. The other was, that he commanded his position, as he sat at hisdesk in the evening, in such a way that there would be very littledifficulty, --so far as that went; of course, however, silence is alwayspreferable to noise, and there is a great difference in the marks leftby different casualties. Very likely nothing would come of all thisespionage; but, at any rate, the first thing to be done with a man youwant to have in your power is to learn his habits. 

Since the tea-party at the Widow Rowens's, Elsie had been more fitfuland moody than ever. Dick understood all this well enough, you know. Itwas the working of her jealousy against that young school-girl to whomthe master had devoted himself for the sake of piquing the heiress ofthe Dudley mansion. Was it possible, in any way, to exasperate herirritable nature against him, and in this way to render her moreaccessible to his own advances? It was difficult to influence her atall. She endured his company without seeming to enjoy it. She watchedhim with that strange look of hers, sometimes as if she were on herguard against him, sometimes as if she would like to strike at him as inthat fit of childish passion. She ordered him about with a haughtyindifference which reminded him of his own way with the dark-eyed womenwhom he had known so well of old. All this added a secret pleasure tothe other motives he had for worrying her with jealous suspicions. Heknew she brooded silently on any grief that poisoned her comfort, --thatshe fed on it, as it were, until it ran with every drop of blood in herveins, --and that, except in some paroxysm of rage, of which he himselfwas not likely the second time to be the object, or in some deadlyvengeance wrought secretly, against which he would keep a sharplook-out, so far as he was concerned, she had no outlet for herdangerous, smouldering passions. 

Beware of the woman who cannot find free utterance for all her stormyinner life either in words or song! So long as a woman can talk, thereis nothing she cannot bear. If she cannot have a companion to listen toher woes, and has no musical utterance, vocal or instrumental, --then, if she is of the real woman sort, and has a few heartfuls of wild bloodin her, and you have done her a wrong, --double-bolt the door which shemay enter on noiseless slipper at midnight, --look twice before you tasteof any cup whose draught the shadow of her hand may have darkened!

But let her talk, and, above all, cry, or, if she is one of thecoarser-grained tribe, give her the run of all the red-hot expletives inthe language, and let her blister her lips with them until she is tired, she will sleep like a lamb after it, and you may take a cup of coffeefrom her without stirring it up to look for its sediment. So, if shecan sing, or play on any musical instrument, all her wickedness will runoff through her throat or the tips of her fingers. How many tragediesfind their peaceful catastrophe in fierce roulades and strenuousbravuras! How many murders are executed in double-quick time upon thekeys which stab the air with their dagger-strokes of sound! What wouldour civilization be without the piano? Are not Erard and Broadwood andChickering the true humanizers of our time? Therefore do I love to hearthe all-pervading _tum tum_ jarring the walls of little parlors inhouses with double door-plates on their portals, looking out on streetsand courts which to know is to be unknown, and where to exist is not tolive, according to any true definition of living. Therefore complain Inot of modern degeneracy, when, even from the open window of the smallunlovely farm-house, tenanted by the hard-handed man of bovine flavorsand the flat-patterned woman of broken-down countenance, issue the samefamiliar sounds. For who knows that Almira, but for these keys, whichthrob away her wild impulses in harmless discords, would not have beenfloating, dead, in the brown stream which runs through the meadows byher father's door, --or living, with that other current which runsbeneath the gas-lights over the slimy pavement, choking with wretchedweeds that were once in spotless flower?

Poor Elsie! She never sang nor played. She never shaped her inner lifein words: such utterance was as much denied to her nature as commonarticulate speech to the deaf mute. Her only language must be in action. Watch her well by day and by night, Old Sophy! watch her well! or thelong line of her honored name may close in shame, and the statelymansion of the Dudleys remain a hissing and a reproach till its roof isburied in its cellar!

CHAPTER XXIV. 

ON HIS TRACKS. 

"Abel!" said the old Doctor, one morning, "after you've harnessedCaustic, come into the study a few minutes, will you?"

Abel nodded. He was a man of few words, and he knew that the "will you"did not require an answer, being the true New-England way of roundingthe corners of an employer's order, --a tribute to the personalindependence of an American citizen. 

The hired man came into the study in the course of a few minutes. Hisface was perfectly still, and he waited to be spoken to; but theDoctor's eye detected a certain meaning in his expression, which lookedas if he had something to communicate. 

"Well?" said the Doctor. 

"He's up to mischief o' some kind, I guess, " said Abel. "I jest happeneddaown by the mansion-haouse last night, 'n' he come aout o' the gate onthat queer-lookin' creatur' o' his. I watched him, 'n' he rid, veryslow, all raoun' by the Institoot, 'n' acted as ef he was spyin' abaout. He looks to me like a man that's calc'latin' to do some kind of ill-turnto somebody. I shouldn't like to have him raoun' me, 'f there wa'n't apitchfork or an eel-spear or some sech weep'n within reach. He may beall right; but I don't like his looks, 'n' I don't see what he's lurkin'raoun' the Institoot for, after folks is abed. "

"Have you watched him pretty close for the last few days?" said theDoctor. 

"W'll, yes, --I've had my eye on him consid'ble o' the time. I haf to bepooty shy abaout it, or he'll find aout th't I'm on his tracks. I don'want him to get a spite ag'inst me, 'f I c'n help it; he looks to melike one o' them kind that kerries what they call slung-shot, 'n' hitsye on the side o' th' head with 'em so suddin y' never know whathurts ye. "

"Why, " said the Doctor, sharply, --"have you ever seen him with anysuch weapon about him?"

"W'll, no, --I caan't say that I hev, " Abel answered. "On'y he looks kin'o' dangerous. May-be he's all jest 'z he ought to be, --I caan't say thathe a'n't, --but he's aout late nights, 'n' lurkin' raoun' jest 'z ef hewuz spyin' somebody; 'n' somehaow I caan't help mistrustin' themPortagee-lookin' fellahs. I caa'n't keep the run o' this chap all thetime; but I've a notion that old black woman daown't the mansion-haouseknows 'z much abaout him 'z anybody. "

The Doctor paused a moment, after hearing this report from his privatedetective, and then got into his chaise, and turned Caustic's head inthe direction of the Dudley mansion. He had been suspicious of Dick fromthe first. He did not like his mixed blood, not his looks, nor his ways. He had formed a conjecture about his projects early. He had made ashrewd guess as to the probable jealousy Dick would feel of theschoolmaster, had found out something of his movements, and hadcautioned Mr. Bernard, --as we have seen. He felt an interest in theyoung man, --a student of his own profession, an intelligent andingenuously unsuspecting young fellow, who had been thrown by accidentinto the companionship or the neighborhood of two person, one of whom heknew to be dangerous, and the other he believed instinctively might becapable of crime. 

The Doctor rode down to the Dudley mansion solely for the sake ofseeing Old Sophy. He was lucky enough to find her alone in her kitchen. He began talking with her as a physician; he wanted to know how herrheumatism had been. The shrewd old woman saw though all that with herlittle beady black eyes. It was something quite different he had comefor, and Old Sophy answered very briefly for her aches and ails. 

"Old folks' bones a'n't like young folks', " she said. "It's the Lord'sdoin's, 'n' 't a'n't much matter. I sh'n't be long roun' this kitchen. It's the young Missis, Doctor, --it's our Elsie, --it's the baby, as weuse' t' call her, --don' you remember, Doctor? Seventeen year ago, 'n'her poor mother cryin' for her, --'Where is she? where is she? Let me seeher!'--'n' how I run up-stairs, --I could run then, --'n' got the coralnecklace 'n' put it round her little neck, 'n' then showed her to hermother, --'n' how her mother looked at her, 'n' looked, 'n' then put outher poor thin fingers 'n' lifted the necklace, --'n' fell right back onher piller, as white as though she was laid out to bury?"

The Doctor answered her by silence and a look of grave assent. He hadnever chosen to let Old Sophy dwell upon these matters, for obviousreasons. The girl must not grow up haunted by perpetual fears andprophecies, if it were possible to prevent it. 

"Well, how has Elsie seemed of late?" he said, after this brief pause. 

The old woman shook her head. Then she looked up at the Doctor sosteadily and searchingly that the diamond eyes of Elsie herself couldhardly have pierced more deeply. 

The Doctor raised his head, by his habitual movement, and met the oldwoman's look with his own calm and scrutinizing gaze, sharpened by theglasses through which he now saw her. 

Sophy spoke presently in an awed tone, as if telling a vision. 

"We shall be havin' trouble before long. The' 's somethin' comin' fromthe Lord. I've had dreams, Doctor. It's many a year I've beena-dreamin', but now they're comin' over 'n' over the same thing. Threetimes I've dreamed one thing, Doctor, --one thing!"

"And what was that?" the Doctor said, with that shade of curiosity inhis tone which a metaphysician would probably say is an index of acertain tendency to belief in the superstition to which thequestion refers. 

"I ca'n' jestly tell y' what it was, Doctor, " the old woman answered, asif bewildered and trying to clear up her recollections; "but it wassomethin' fearful, with a great noise 'n' a great cryin' o'people, --like the Las' Day, Doctor! The Lord have mercy on my poorchil', 'n' take care of her, if anything happens! But I's feared she'llnever live to see the Las' Day, 'f 't don' come pooty quick. " PoorSophy, only the third generation from cannibalism, was, not unnaturally, somewhat confused in her theological notions. Some of the Second-Adventpreachers had been about, and circulated their predictions among thekitchen-population of Rockland. This was the way in which it happenedthat she mingled her fears in such a strange manner with theirdoctrines. 

The Doctor answered solemnly, that of the day and hour we knew not, butit became us to be always ready. --"Is there anything going on in thehousehold different from common?"

Old Sophy's wrinkled face looked as full of life and intelligence, whenshe turned it full upon the Doctor, as if she had slipped off herinfirmities and years like an outer garment. All those fine instincts ofobservation which came straight to her from her savage grandfatherlooked out of her little eyes. She had a kind of faith that the Doctorwas a mighty conjuror, who, if he would, could bewitch any of them. Shehad relieved her feelings by her long talk with the minister, but theDoctor was the immediate adviser of the family, and had watched themthrough all their troubles. Perhaps he could tell them what to do. Shehad but one real object of affection in the world, --this child that shehad tended from infancy to womanhood. Troubles were gathering thickround her; how soon they would break upon her, and blight or destroyher, no one could tell; but there was nothing in all the catalogue ofterrors that might not come upon the household at any moment. Her ownwits had sharpened themselves in keeping watch by day and night, and herface had forgotten its age in the excitement which gave life toits features. 

"Doctor, " Old Sophy said, "there's strange things goin' on here by nightand by day. I don' like that man, --that Dick, --I never liked him. Hegiv' me some o' these things I' got on; I take 'em 'cos I know it makehim mad, if I no take 'em; I wear 'em, so that he needn' feel as if Ididn' like him; but, Doctor, I hate him, --jes' as much as a member o'the church has the Lord's leave to hate anybody. "

Her eyes sparkled with the old savage light, as if her ill-will to Mr. Richard Venner might perhaps go a little farther than the Christianlimit she had assigned. But remember that her grandfather was in thehabit of inviting his friends to dine with him upon the last enemy hehad bagged, and that her grandmother's teeth were filed down to points, so that they were as sharp as a shark's. 

"What is it that you have seen about Mr. Richard Venner that gives yousuch a spite against him, Sophy?" asked the Doctor. 

"What I' seen 'bout Dick Venner?" she replied, fiercely. "I'll tell y'what I' seen. Dick wan's to marry our Elsie, --that's what he wan's; 'n'he don' love her, Doctor, --he hates her, Doctor, as bad as I hate him!He wan's to marry our Elsie, 'n' live here in the big house, 'n' havenothin' to do but jes' lay still 'n' watch Massa Venner 'n' see how long't 'll take him to die, 'n' 'f he don' die fas' 'nuff, help him some wayt' die fasser!--Come close up t' me, Doctor! I wan' t' tell yousomethin' I tol' th' minister t'other day. Th' minister, he come down'n' prayed 'n' talked good, --he's a good man, that Doctor Honeywood, 'n' I tol' him all 'bout our Elsie, --but he didn' tell nobody what todo to stop all what I been dreamin' about happenin'. Come close up tome, Doctor!"

The Doctor drew his chair close up to that of the old woman. 

"Doctor, nobody mus'n' never marry our Elsie 's long 's she lives!Nobody mus'n' never live with Elsie but Ol' Sophy; 'n' Ol' Sophy won'tnever die 's long 's Elsie's alive to be took care of. But I 's feared, Doctor, I 's greatly feared Elsie wan' to marry somebody. The' 's ayoung gen'l'm'n up at that school where she go, --so some of 'em tellsme, --'n' she loves t' see him 'n' talk wi' him, 'n' she talks about himwhen she's asleep sometimes. She mus'n' never marry nobody, Doctor! Ifshe do, he die, certain!"

"If she has a fancy for the young man up at the school there, " the Doctorsaid, "I shouldn't think there would be much danger from Dick. "

"Doctor, nobody know nothin' 'bout Elsie but Ol' Sophy. She no like anyother creatur' th't ever drawed the bref o' life. If she ca'n' marry oneman cos she love him, she marry another man cos she hate him. "

"Marry a man because she hates him, Sophy? No woman ever did such athing as that, or ever will do it. "

"Who tol' you Elsie was a woman, Doctor?" said Old Sophy, with a flashof strange intelligence in her eyes. 

The Doctor's face showed that he was startled. The old woman could notknow much about Elsie that he did not know; but what strangesuperstition had got into her head, he was puzzled to guess. He hadbetter follow Sophy's lead and find out what she meant. 

"I should call Elsie a woman, and a very handsome one, " he said. "Youdon't mean that she has any ugly thing about her, except--youknow--under the necklace?"

The old woman resented the thought of any deformity about her darling. 

"I didn' say she had nothin'--but jes' that--you know. My beauty haveanything ugly? She's the beautifullest-shaped lady that ever had ashinin' silk gown drawed over her shoulders. On'y she a'n't like noother woman in none of her ways. She don't cry 'n' laugh like otherwomen. An' she ha'n' got the same kind o' feelin's as other women. --Doyou know that young gen'l'm'n up at the school, Doctor?"

"Yes, Sophy, I've met him sometimes. He's a very nice sort of young man, handsome, too, and I don't much wonder Elsie takes to him. Tell me, Sophy, what do you think would happen, if he should chance to fall inlove with Elsie, and she with him, and he should marry her?"

"Put your ear close to my lips, Doctor, dear!" She whispered a little tothe Doctor, then added aloud, "He die, --that's all. "

"But surely, Sophy, you a'n't afraid to have Dick marry her, if shewould have him for any reason, are you? He can take care of himself, ifanybody can. "

"Doctor!" Sophy answered, "nobody can take care of hisself that live wi'Elsie! Nobody never in all this worl' mus' live wi' Elsie but Ol' Sophy, I tell you. You don' think I care for Dick? What do I care, if DickVenner die? He wan's to marry our Elsie so's to live in the big house'n' get all the money 'n' all the silver things 'n' all the chists fullo' linen 'n' beautiful clothes! That's what Dick wan's. An' he hatesElsie 'cos she don' like him. But if he marries Elsie, she'll make himdie some wrong way or other, 'n' they'll take her 'n' hang her, or he'llget mad with her 'n' choke her. --Oh, I know his chokin' tricks!--he don'leave his keys roun' for nothin'!"

"What's that you say, Sophy? Tell me what you mean by all that. "

So poor Sophy had to explain certain facts not in all respects to hercredit. She had taken the opportunity of his absence to look about hischamber, and, having found a key in one of his drawers, had applied itto a trunk, and, finding that it opened the trunk, had made a kind ofinspection for contraband articles, and, seeing the end of a leatherthong, had followed it up until she saw that it finished with a noose, which, from certain appearances, she inferred to have seen service of atleast doubtful nature. An unauthorized search; but Old Sophy consideredthat a game of life and death was going on in the household, and thatshe was bound to look out for her darling. 

The Doctor paused a moment to think over this odd piece of information. Without sharing Sophy's belief as to the kind of use thismischievous-looking piece of property had been put to, it was certainlyvery odd that Dick should have such a thing at the bottom of his trunk. The Doctor remembered reading or hearing something about the _lasso_ andthe _lariat_ and the _bolas_, and had an indistinct idea that they hadbeen sometimes used as weapons of warfare or private revenge; but theywere essentially a huntsman's implements, after all, and it was not verystrange that this young man had brought one of them with him. Notstrange, perhaps, but worth noting. 

"Do you really think Dick means mischief to anybody, that he has suchdangerous-looking things?" the Doctor said, presently. 

"I tell you, Doctor. Dick means to have Elsie. If he ca'n' get her, henever let nobody else have her. Oh, Dick's a dark man, Doctor! I knowhim! I 'member him when he was little boy, --he always cunnin'. I thinkhe mean mischief to somebody. He come home late nights, --come insoftly, --oh, I hear him! I lay awake, 'n' got sharp ears, --I hear thecats walkin' over the roofs, --'n' I hear Dick Venner, when he comes upin his stockin'-feet as still as a cat. I think he mean mischief tosomebody. I no like his looks these las' days. --Is that a very pootygen'l'm'n up at the school-house, Doctor?"

"I told you he was good-looking. What if he is?"

"I should like to see him, Doctor, --I should like to see the pootygen'l'm'n that my poor Elsie loves. She mus'n' never marry nobody, --but, oh, Doctor, I should like to see him, 'n' jes' think a little how itwould ha' been, if the Lord hadn' been so hard on Elsie. "

She wept and wrung her hands. The kind Doctor was touched, and left hera moment to her thoughts. 

"And how does Mr. Dudley Venner take all this?" he said, by way ofchanging the subject a little. 

"Oh, Massa Venner, he good man, but he don' know nothin' 'bout Elsie, asOl' Sophy do. I keep close by her; I help her when she go to bed, 'n'set by her sometime when she 'sleep; I come to her in th' mornin' 'n'help her put on her things. "--Then, in a whisper, --"Doctor, Elsie letsOl' Sophy take off that necklace for her. What you think she do, 'fanybody else tech it?"

"I don't know, I'm sure, Sophy, --strike the person, perhaps. "

"Oh, yes, strike 'em! but not with her hands, Doctor!"--The old woman'ssignificant pantomime must be guessed at. 

"But you haven't told me, Sophy, what Mr. Dudley Venner thinks of hisnephew, nor whether he has any notion that Dick wants to marry Elsie. "

"I tell you. Massa Venner, he good man, but he no see nothin' 'bout whatgoes on here in the house. He sort o' broken-hearted, you know, --sort o'giv' up, --don' know what to do wi' Elsie, 'xcep' say 'Yes, yes. ' Dickalways look smilin' 'n' behave well before him. One time I thought MassaVenner b'lieve Dick was goin' to take to Elsie; but now he don' seem totake much notice;--he kin' o' stupid-like 'bout sech things. It'strouble, Doctor; 'cos Massa Venner bright man naterally, --'n' he's got agreat heap o' books. I don' think Massa Venner never been jes' heselfsence Elsie's born. He done all he know how, --but, Doctor, that wa'n' agreat deal. You men-folks don' know nothin' 'bout these young gals; 'n''f you knowed all the young gals that ever lived, y' wouldn' knownothin' 'bout our Elsie. "

"No, --but, Sophy, what I want to know is, whether you think Mr. Vennerhas any kind of suspicion about his nephew, --whether he has any notionthat he's a dangerous sort of fellow, --or whether he feels safe to havehim about, or has even taken a sort of fancy to him. "

"Lor' bless you, Doctor, Massa Venner no more idee 'f any mischief 'boutDick than he has 'bout you or me. Y' see, he very fond o' theCap'n, --that Dick's father, --'n' he live so long alone here, 'long wi'us, that he kin' o' like to see mos' anybody 't 's got any o' th' ol'family-blood in 'em. He ha'n't got no more suspicions 'n a baby, --y'never see sech a man 'n y'r life. I kin' o' think he don' care fornothin' in this world 'xcep' jes' t' do what Elsie wan's him to. Thefus' year after young Madam die he do nothin' but jes' set at the window'n' look out at her grave, 'n' then come up 'n' look at the baby's neck'n' say, '_It's fadin', Sophy, a'n't it?_' 'n' then go down in the study'n' walk 'n' walk, 'n' then kneel down 'n' pray. Doctor, there was twoplaces in the old carpet that was all threadbare, where his knees hadworn 'em. An sometimes, --you remember 'bout all that, --he'd go off upinto The Mountain 'n' be gone all day, 'n' kill all the Ugly Things hecould find up there. --Oh, Doctor, I don' like to think o' themdays!--An' by-'n'-by he grew kin' o' still, 'n' begun to read a little, 'n' 't las' he got's quiet 's a lamb, 'n' that's the way he is now. Ithink he's got religion, Doctor; but he a'n't so bright about what'sgoin' on, 'n' I don' believe he never suspec' nothin' till somethin'happens;--for the' 's somethin' goin' to happen, Doctor, if the Las' Daydoesn' come to stop it; 'n' you mus' tell us what to do, 'n' save mypoor Elsie, my baby that the Lord hasn' took care of like all hisother childer. "

The Doctor assured the old woman that he was thinking a great deal aboutthem all, and that there were other eyes on Dick besides her own. Lether watch him closely about the house, and he would keep a look-outelsewhere. If there was anything new, she must let him know at once. Send up one of the men-servants, and he would come down at amoment's warning. 

There was really nothing definite against this young man; but the Doctorwas sure that he was meditating some evil design or other. He rodestraight up to the Institute. There he saw Mr. Bernard, and had a briefconversation with him, principally on matters relating to his personalinterests. 

That evening, for some unknown reason, Mr. Bernard changed the place ofhis desk and drew down the shades of his windows. Late that night Mr. Richard Venner drew the charge of a rifle, and put the gun back amongthe fowling-pieces, swearing that a leather halter was worth a dozenof it. 

A PLEA FOR FREEDOM FROM SPEECH AND FIGURESOF SPEECH-MAKERS. 

I observe, Messieurs of the "Atlantic, " that your articles are commonlywritten in the imperial style; but I must beg allowance to use the firstperson singular. I cannot, like old Weller, spell myself with a We. Oursis, I believe, the only language that has shown so much sense of theworth of the individual (to himself) as to erect the first personalpronoun into a kind of votive column to the dignity of human nature. Other tongues have, or pretend, a greater modesty. 

I. 

What a noble letter it is! In it every reader sees himself as in aglass. As for me, without my I-s, I should be as poorly off as the greatmole of Hadrian, which, being the biggest, must be also, by parity ofreason, the blindest in the world. When I was in college, I confess Ialways liked those passages best in the choruses of the Greek dramawhich were well sprinkled with _ai ai_, they were so grandly simple. The force of great men is generally to be found in their intenseindividuality, --in other words, it is all in their I. The merit of thisessay will be similar. 

What I was going to say is this. 

My mind has been much exercised of late on the subject of two epidemics, which, showing themselves formerly in a few sporadic cases, have begunto set in with the violence of the cattle-disease: I mean Eloquence andStatuary. They threaten to render the country unfit for humanhabitation, except by the Deaf and Blind. We had hitherto got on verywell in Chesumpscot, having caught a trick of silence, perhaps from thefish which we cured, _more medicorum_, by laying them out. But thissummer some misguided young men among us got up a lecture-association. Of course it led to a general quarrel; for every pastor in the townwished to have the censorship of the list of lecturers. A certain numberof the original projectors, however, took the matter wholly into theirown hands, raised a subscription to pay expenses, and resolved to calltheir lectures "The Universal Brotherhood Course, "--for no other reason, that I can divine, but that they had set the whole village by the ears. They invited that distinguished young apostle of Reform, Mr. PhilipVandal, to deliver the opening lecture. He has just done so, and, fromwhat I have heard about his discourse, it would have been fitter as theintroductory to a nunnery of Kilkenny cats than to anything likeuniversal brotherhood. He opened our lyceum as if it had been an oyster, without any regard for the feelings of those inside. He pitched into theworld in general, and all his neighbors past and present in particular. Even the babe unborn did not escape some unsavory epithets in the way ofvaticination. I sat down, meaning to write you an essay on "The Right ofPrivate Judgment as distinguished from the Right of PublicVituperation"; but I forbear. It may be that I do not understand thenature of philanthropy. 

Why, here is Philip Vandal, for example. He loves his kind so much thathe has not a word softer than a brickbat for a single mother's son ofthem. He goes about to save them by proving that not one of them isworth damning. And he does it all from the point of view of an early (_aknurly_) Christian. Let me illustrate. I was sauntering along Broadwayonce, and was attracted by a bird-fancier's shop. I like dealers inout-of-the-way things, --traders in bigotry and virtue are toocommon, --and so I went in. The gem of the collection was a terrier, --aperfect beauty, uglier than philanthropy itself, and hairier, as aCockney would say, than the 'ole British hairystocracy. "A'n't he astunner?" said my disrespectable friend, the master of the shop. "Ah, you should see him worry a rat! He does it like a puffic Christian!"Since then, the world has been divided for me into Christians andperfect Christians; and I find so many of the latter species inproportion to the former, that I begin to pity the rats. They (the rats)have at least one virtue, --they are not eloquent. 

It is, I think, a universally recognized truth of natural history, thata young lady is sure to fall in love with a young man for whom she feelsat first an unconquerable aversion; and it must be on the same principlethat the first symptoms of love for our neighbor almost always manifestthemselves in a violent disgust at the world in general, on the part ofthe apostles of that gospel. They give every token of hating theirneighbors consumedly; _argal_, they are going to be madly enamored ofthem. Or, perhaps, this is the manner in which Universal Brotherhoodshows itself in people who wilfully subject themselves to infection as aprophylactic. In the natural way we might find the disease inconvenientand even expensive; but thus vaccinated with virus from the udders(whatever they may be) that yield the (butter-)milk of human kindness, the inconvenience is slight, and we are able still to go about ourordinary business of detesting our brethren as usual. It only shows thatthe milder type of the disease has penetrated the system, which willthus be enabled to out-Jenneral its more dangerous congener. Beforelong we shall have physicians of our ailing social system writing to the"Weekly Brandreth's Pill" somewhat on this wise:--"I have a very markedand hopeful case in Pequawgus Four Corners. Miss Hepzibah Tarbell, daughter of that arch-enemy of his kind, Deacon Joash T. , attended onlyone of my lectures. In a day or two the symptoms of eruption were mostencouraging. She has already quarrelled with all her family, --accusingher father of bigamy, her uncle Benoni of polytheism, her brother ZenoC. Of aneurism, and her sister Eudoxy Trithemia of the variation of themagnetic needle. If ever hopes of seeing a perfect case of PrimitiveChristian were well-founded, I think we may entertain them now. "

What I chiefly object to in the general denunciation sort of reformersis that they make no allowance for character and temperament. They wishto repeal universal laws, and to patch our natural skins for us, as ifthey always wanted mending. That while they talk so much of the godlikenature of man, they should so forget the human natures of men! TheFlathead Indian squeezes the child's skull between two boards till itshapes itself into a kind of gambrel-roof against the rain, --thereadiest way, perhaps, of uniforming a tribe that wear no clothes. Butdoes he alter the inside of the head? Not a hair's-breadth. You rememberthe striking old gnomic poem that tells how Aaron, in a moment offanatical zeal against that member by which mankind are so readily ledinto mischief, proposes a rhinotomic sacrifice to Moses? What is theanswer of the experienced lawgiver?

 "Says Moses to Aaron, ''Tis the fashion to wear 'em!'"

Shall we advise the Tadpole to get his tail cut off, as a badge of thereptile nature in him, and to achieve the higher sphere of the Croakersat a single hop? Why, it is all he steers by; without it, he would be ashelpless as a compass under the flare of Northern Lights; and he nodoubt regards it as a mark of blood, the proof of his kinship with thepreadamite family of the Saurians. Shall we send missionaries to theBear to warn him against raw chestnuts, because they are sometimes sodiscomforting to our human intestines, which are so like his own? Onesermon from the colic were worth the whole American Board. 

Moreover, as an author, I protest in the name of universal Grub Streetagainst a unanimity in goodness. Not to mention that a Quaker world, allfaded out to an autumnal drab, would be a little tedious, --what shouldwe do for the villain of our tragedy or novel? No rascals, noliterature. You have your choice. Were we weak enough to consent to asudden homogeneousness in virtue, many industrious persons would bethrown out of employment. The wife and mother, for example, with asindeterminate a number of children as the Martyr Rogers, who visits memonthly, --what claim would she have upon me, were not her husbandforever taking to drink, or the penitentiary, or Spiritualism? Thepusillanimous lapse of her lord into morality would not only take thevery ground of her invention from under her feet, but would rob her andhim of an income that sustains them both in blissful independence of thecurse of Adam. But do not let us be disheartened. Nature is strong; sheis persistent; she completes her syllogism after we have long beenfeeding the roots of her grasses, and has her own way in spite of us. Some ancestral Cromwellian trooper leaps to life again in NathanielGreene, and makes a general of him, to confute five generations ofBroadbrims. The Puritans were good in their way, and we enjoy themhighly as a preterite phenomenon: but they were _not_ good at cakes andale, and that is one reason why they are a preterite phenomenon. 

I suppose we are all willing to let a public censor like P. V. Run amuckwhenever he likes, --so it be not down our street. I confess to a gooddeal of tolerance in this respect, and, when I live in Number 21, haveplenty of stoicism to spare for the griefs of the dwellers in No. 23. Indeed, I agreed with our young Cato heartily in what he said aboutStatues. We must have an Act for the Suppression, either of Great Men, or else of Sculptors. I have not quite made up my mind which are thegreater nuisances; but I am sure of this, that there are too many ofboth. They used to be _rare_, (to use a Yankeeism omitted by Bartlett, )but nowadays they are overdone. I am half-inclined to think that thesculptors club together to write folks up during their lives in thenewspapers, quieting their consciences with the hope of some day makingthem look so mean in bronze or marble as to make all square again. Or dowe really have so many? Can't they help growing twelve feet high in thisnew soil, any more than our maize? I suspect that Posterity will notthank us for the hereditary disease of Carrara we are entailing on him, and will try some heroic remedy, perhaps lithotripsy. 

Nor was I troubled by what Mr. Vandal said about the late BenjaminWebster. I am not a Boston man, and have, therefore, the privilege ofthinking for myself. Nor do I object to his claiming for women the rightto make books and pictures and (shall I say it?) statues, --only thislast becomes a grave matter, if we are to have statues of all the greatwomen, too! To be sure, there will not be the trousers-difficulty, --atleast, not at present; what we may come to is none of my affair. I evengo beyond him in my opinions on what is called the Woman Question. Inthe gift of speech, they have always had the advantage of us; and thoughthe jealousy of the other sex have deprived us of the orations ofXantippe, yet even Demosthenes does not seem to have produced greatereffects, if we may take the word of Socrates for it, --as I, for one, very gladly do. 

No, --what I complain of is not the lecturer's opinions, but theeloquence with which he expressed them. He does not like statues betterthan I do; but is it possible that he fails to see that the one nuisanceleads directly to the other, and that we set up three images of Talkersfor one to any kind of man who was useful in his generation? Let himbeware, or he will himself be petrified after death. Boston seems to bespecially unfortunate. She has more statues and more speakers than anyother city on this continent. I have with my own eyes seen a book called"The Hundred Boston Orators. " This would seem to give her a fairer titleto be called the _tire_ than the _hub_ of creation. What with thespeeches of her great men while they are alive, and those of hersurviving great men about those aforesaid after they are dead, and thosewe look forward to from her _ditto ditto_ yet to be upon her _dittoditto_ now in being, and those of her paulopost _ditto ditto_ upon her_ditto ditto_ yet to be, and those--But I am getting into the housethat Jack built. And yet I remember once visiting the MassachusettsState-House and being struck with the Pythagorean fish hung on high inthe Representatives' Chamber, the emblem of a silence too sacred, aswould seem, to be observed except on Sundays. Eloquent Philip Vandal, Iappeal to you as a man and a brother, let us two form (not anAntediluvian, for there are plenty, but) an Antidiluvian Society againstthe flood of milk-and-water that threatens the land. Let us adopt as ourcreed these two propositions:--

I. _Tongues were given us to be held. _

II. _Dumbness sets the brute below the man: Silence elevates the manabove the brute. _

Every one of those hundred orators is to me a more fearful thought thanthat of a hundred men gathering samphire. And when we take into accounthow large a portion of them (if the present mania hold) are likely to becommemorated in stone or some even more durable material, the conceptionis positively stunning. Let us settle all scores by subscribing to acolossal statue of the late Town-Crier in bell-metal, with theinscription, "VOX ET PRAETEREA NIHIL, " as a comprehensive tribute tooratorical powers in general. _He_, at least, never betrayed hisclients. As it is, there is no end to it. We are to set up Horatius Virin effigy for inventing the Normal Schoolmaster, and by-and-by we shallbe called on to do the same ill-turn for Elihu Mulciber for gettinguselessly learned (as if any man had ideas enough for twenty languages!)without any schoolmaster at all. We are the victims of a drollantithesis. Daniel would not give in to Nebuchadnezzar's taste instatuary, and we are called on to fall down and worship an image ofDaniel which the Assyrian monarch would have gone to grass again soonerthan have it in his back-parlor. I do not think lions are agreeable, especially the shaved-poodle variety one is so apt to encounter;--I metone once at an evening party. But I would be thrown into a den of themrather than sleep in the same room with that statue. Posterity willthink we cut pretty figures indeed in the monumental line! Perhaps thereis a gleam of hope and a symptom of convalescence in the fact that thePrince of Wales, during his late visit, got off without a single speech. The cheerful hospitalities of Mount Auburn were offered to him, as toall distinguished strangers, but nothing more melancholy. In his case Idoubt the expediency of the omission. Had we set a score or two oforators on him and his suite, it would have given them a moreintimidating notion of the offensive powers of the country than WestPoint and all the Navy-Yards put together. 

In the name of our common humanity, consider, too, what shifts ourfriends in the sculpin line (as we should call them in Chesumpscot) areput to for originality of design, and what the country has to pay forit. The Clark Mills (that turns out equestrian statues as the StarkMills do calico-patterns) has pocketed fifty thousand dollars for makinga very dead bronze horse stand on his hind-legs. For twenty-five cents Ihave seen a man at the circus do something more wonderful, --make a veryliving bay horse dance a redowa round the amphitheatre on his (it occursto me that _hind-legs_ is indelicate) posterior extremities to thewayward music of an out-of-town (_Scotice_, out-o'-toon) band. Now, Iwill make a handsome offer to the public. I propose for twenty-fivethousand dollars to suppress my design for an equestrian statue of adistinguished general officer as he _would have_ appeared at the Battleof Buena Vista. This monument is intended as a weathercock to crown thenew dome of the Capitol at Washington. By this happy contrivance, thehorse will be freed from the degrading necessity of touching the earthat all, --thus distancing Mr. Mills by two feet in the race fororiginality. The pivot is to be placed so far behind the middle of thehorse, that the statue, like its original, will always indicate whichway the wind blows by going along with it. The inferior animal I haveresolved to model from a spirited saw-horse in my own collection. Inthis way I shall combine two striking advantages. The advocates of theIdeal in Art cannot fail to be pleased with a charger which embodies, asit were, merely the abstract notion or quality, Horse, and the attentionof the spectator will not be distracted from the principal figure. Thematerial to be pure brass. I have also in progress an allegorical groupcommemorative of Governor Wise. This, like-Wise, represents only apotentiality. I have chosen, as worthy of commemoration, the moment whenand the method by which the Governor meant to seize the Treasury atWashington. His Excellency is modelled in the act of making one of hisspeeches. Before him a despairing reporter kills himself by falling onhis own steel pen; a broken telegraph-wire hints at the weight of thethoughts to which it has found itself inadequate; while the Army andNavy of the United States are conjointly typified in a horse-marine whoflies headlong with his hands pressed convulsively over his ears. Ithink I shall be able to have this ready for exhibition by the time Mr. Wise is nominated for the Presidency, --certainly before he is elected. The material to be plaster, made of the shells of those oysters withwhich Virginia shall have paid her public debt. It may be objected, thatplaster is not durable enough for verisimilitude, since bronze itselfcould hardly be expected to outlast one of the Governor's speeches. Butit must be remembered that his mere effigy cannot, like its prototype, have the pleasure of hearing itself talk; so that to the mind of thespectator the oratorical despotism is tempered with some reasonable hopeof silence. This design, also, is intended only _in terrorem_, and willbe suppressed for an adequate consideration. 

I find one comfort, however, in the very hideousness of our statues. Thefear of what the sculptors will do for them after they are gone maydeter those who are careful of their memories from talking themselvesinto greatness. It is plain that Mr. Caleb Cushing has begun to feel awholesome dread of this posthumous retribution. I cannot in any otherway account for that nightmare of the solitary horseman on the edge ofthe horizon, in his Hartford Speech. His imagination is infected withthe terrible consciousness, that Mr. Mills, as the younger man, will, inthe course of Nature, survive him, and will be left loose to seek newvictims of his nefarious designs. Formerly the punishment of the woodenhorse was a degradation inflicted on private soldiers only; but Mr. Mills (whose genius could make even Pegasus look wooden, in whatevermaterial) flies at higher game, and will be content with nothing shortof a general. Mr. Cushing advises extreme measures. He counsels us tosell our real estate and stocks, and to leave a country where no man'sreputation with posterity is safe, being merely as clay in the hands ofthe sculptor. To a mind undisturbed by the terror natural in one whosemilitary reputation insures his cutting and running, (I mean, of course, in marble and bronze, ) the question becomes an interesting one, --Towhom, in case of a general exodus, shall we sell? The statues will havethe land all to themselves, --until the Aztecs, perhaps, repeopling theirancient heritage, shall pay divine honors to these images, whoseugliness will revive the traditions of the classic period of MexicanArt. For my own part, I never look at one of them now without thinkingof at least one human sacrifice. 

I doubt the feasibility of Mr. Cushing's proposal, and yet somethingought to be done. We must put up with what we have already, I suppose, and let Mr. Webster stand threatening to blow us all up with his pistolpointed at the elongated keg of gunpowder on which his left handrests, --no bad type of the great man's state of mind after thenomination of General Taylor, or of what a country member would call apenal statue. But do we reflect that Vermont is half marble, and thatLake Superior can send us bronze enough for regiments of statues? I goback to my first plan of a prohibitory enactment. I had even gone so faras to make a rough draught of an Act for the Better Observance of theSecond Commandment; but it occurred to me that convictions under itwould be doubtful, from the difficulty of satisfying a jury that ourgraven images did really present a likeness to any of the objectsenumerated in the divine ordinance. Perhaps a double-barrelled statutemight be contrived that would meet both the oratorical and themonumental difficulty. Let a law be passed that all speeches deliveredmore for the benefit of the orator than that of the audience, and alleulogistic ones of whatever description, be pronounced in the chapel ofthe Deaf and Dumb Asylum, and all statues be set up within the groundsof the Institution for the Blind. Let the penalty for infringement inthe one case be to read the last President's Message, and in the otherto look at the Webster statue one hour a day, for a term not so long asto violate the spirit of the law forbidding cruel and unusualpunishments. 

Perhaps it is too much to expect of our legislators that they shouldpass so self-denying an ordinance. They might, perhaps, make all oratorybut their own penal, and then (who knows?) the reports of their debatesmight be read by the few unhappy persons who were demoniacally possessedby a passion for that kind of thing, as girls are sometimes said to beby an appetite for slate-pencils. _Vita brevis, lingua longa_. I protestthat among law-givers I respect Numa, who declared, that, of all theCamenae, Tacita was most worthy of reverence. The ancient Greeks also(though they left too much oratory behind them) had some good notions, especially if we consider that they had not, like modern Europe, theadvantage of communication with America. Now the Greeks had a Muse ofBeginning, and the wonder is, considering how easy it is to talk and howhard to say anything, that they did not hit upon that other and moreexcellent Muse of Leaving-off. The Spartans, I suspect, found her outand kept her selfishly to themselves. She were indeed a goddess to beworshipped, a true Sister of Charity among that loquacious sisterhood!

Endlessness is the order of the day. I ask you to compare Plutarch'slives of demigods and heroes with our modern biographies of deminoughtsand zeroes. Those will appear but tailors and ninth-parts of men incomparison with these, every one of whom would seem to have had ninelives, like a cat, to justify such prolixity. Yet the evils of print areas dust in the balance to those of speech. 

We were doing very well in Chesumpscot, but the Lyceum has ruined all. There are now two debating-clubs, seminaries of multiloquence. A few ofus old-fashioned fellows have got up an opposition club and called it"The Jolly Oysters. " No member is allowed to open his mouth except athigh-tide by the calendar. We have biennial festivals on the evening ofelection-day, when the constituency avenges itself in some small measureon its Representative elect by sending a baker's dozen of orators tocongratulate him. 

But I am falling into the very vice I condemn, --like Carlyle, who hastalked a quarter of a century in praise of holding your tongue. And yetsomething should be done about it. Even when we get one orator safelyunder-ground, there are ten to pronounce his eulogy, and twenty to do itover again when the meeting is held about the inevitable statue. I go tolisten: we all go: we are under a spell. 'Tis true, I find a casualrefuge in sleep; for Drummond of Hawthornden was wrong when he calledSleep the child of Silence. Speech begets her as often. But there is nosure refuge save in Death; and when my life is closed untimely, letthere be written on my headstone, with impartial application to theseBlack Brunswickers mounted on the high horse of oratory and to ourequestrian statues, --

_Os sublime_ did it!

REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES. 

_Fr. Rogeri Bacon Opera quaedam hactenus inedita_. Vol. I, Containing, I. _Opus Tertium_, --II. _Opus Minus_, --III. _Compendium Philosophiae_. Edited by J. S. BREWER, M. A. , Professor of English Literature, King'sCollege, London, and Reader at the Rolls. Published by the Authority ofthe Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty's Treasury, under the Directionof the Master of the Rolls. London: Longman, Green, Longman, andRoberts. 1859. 8vo. Pp. C. , 573. 

Sir John Romilly has shown good judgment in including the unpublishedworks of Roger Bacon in the series of "Chronicles and Memorials of GreatBritain and Ireland during the Middle Ages, " now in course ofpublication under his direction. They are in a true sense importantmemorials of the period at which they were written, and, though butincidentally illustrating the events of the time, they are of greatvalue in indicating the condition of thought and learning as well as themodes of mental discipline and acquisition during the thirteenth century. 

The memory of Roger Bacon has received but scant justice. Although longsince recognized as one of the chief lights of England during the MiddleAges, the clinging mist of popular tradition has obscured his realbrightness and distorted its proportions, while even among scholars hehas been more known by reputation than by actual acquaintance with hiswritings. His principal work, his "Opus Majus, " was published for thefirst time in London in 1733, in folio, and afterwards at Venice in1750, in the same form. Down to the publication of the volume before us, it was the only one of his writings of much importance which had beenprinted complete, if indeed it is to be called complete, --the SeventhPart having been omitted by the editor, Dr. Jebb, and never having sincebeen published. 

The facts known concerning Roger Bacon's life are few, and are sointermingled with tradition that it is difficult wholly to separate themfrom it. Born of a good family at Ilchester, in Somersetshire, near thebeginning of the thirteenth century, he was placed in early youth atOxford, whence, after completing his studies in grammar and logic, "heproceeded to Paris, " says Anthony Wood, "according to the fashionprevalent among English scholars of those times, especially among themembers of the University of Oxford. " Here, under the famous masters ofthe day, he devoted himself to study for some years, and made suchprogress that he received the degree of Doctor in Divinity. Returning toOxford, he seems soon to have entered into the Franciscan Order, for thesake of securing a freedom from worldly cares, that he might the moreexclusively give himself to his favorite pursuits. At various times helectured at the University. He spent some later years out of England, probably again in Paris. His life was embittered by the suspicions feltin regard to his studies by the brethren of his order, and by theiropposition, which proceeded to such lengths that it is said he was castinto prison, where, according to one report, he died wretchedly. Howeverthis may have been, his death took place before the beginning of thefourteenth century. The scientific and experimental studies which hadbrought him into ill-favor with his own order, and had excited thesuspicion against him of dealing in magic and forbidden arts, seem tohave sown the seed of the popular traditions which at once took rootaround his name. Friar Bacon soon became, and indeed has remained almostto the present day, a half-mythical character. To the imagination of thecommon people, he was a great necromancer; he had had dealings with theEvil One, who had revealed many of the secrets of Nature to him; he hadmade a head of brass that could speak and foretell future events; and tohim were attributed other not less wonderful inventions, which seem tohave formed a common stock for popular legends of this sort during theMiddle Ages, and to have been ascribed indiscriminately to onephilosopher or another in various countries and in various times. [9] Thereferences in our early literature to Friar Bacon, as one who had hadfamiliarity with spirits and been a master in magic arts, are sonumerous as to show that the belief in these stories was wide-spread, and that the real character of the learned Friar was quite given over tooblivion. But time slowly brings about its revenges; and the man whomhis ignorant and stupid fellows thought fit to hamper and imprison, andwhom popular credulity looked upon with that half-horror andhalf-admiration with which those were regarded who were supposed to haveput their souls in pawn for the sake of tasting the forbidden fruit, isnow recognized not only as one of the most profound and clearestthinkers of his time, but as the very first among its experimentalphilosophers, and as a prophet of truths which, then neglected anddespised, have since been adopted as axioms in the progress of science. "The precursor of Galileo, " says M. Hauréau, in his work on ScholasticPhilosophy, "he learned before him how rash it is to offend theprejudices of the multitude, and to desire to give lessons to theignorant. "

The range of Roger Bacon's studies was encyclopedic, comprehending allthe branches of learning then open to scholars. Brucker, in speaking ofhim in his History of Philosophy, has no words strong enough to expresshis admiration for his abilities and learning. "Seculi sui indolemmultum superavit, " "vir summus, tantaque occultioris philosophiaecognitione et experientia nobilis, ut merito Doctoris Mirabilis titulumreportaverit. "[10] The logical and metaphysical studies, in theintricate subtilties of which most of the schoolmen of his time involvedthemselves, presented less attraction to Bacon than the pursuits ofphysical science and the investigation of Nature. His genius, displayingthe practical bent of his English mind, turning with weariness from theendless verbal discussions of the Nominalists and Realists, andrecognizing the impossibility of solving the questions which divided theschools of Europe into two hostile camps, led him to the study ofbranches of knowledge that were held in little repute. He recognized theplace of mathematics as the basis of exact science, and proceeded to theinvestigation of the facts and laws of optics, mechanics, chemistry, andastronomy. But he did not limit himself to positive science; he was atthe same time a student of languages and of language, of grammar and ofmusic. He was versed not less in the arts of the _Trivium_ than in thesciences of the Quadrivium. [11]

But in rejecting the method of study then in vogue, and in opposing thestudy of facts to that of questions which by their abstruseness fatiguedthe intellect, which were of more worth in sharpening the wit than inextending the limits of knowledge, and which led rather to vaincontentions than to settled conclusions, --in thus turning from theinvestigation of abstract metaphysics to the study of Nature, RogerBacon went so far before his age as to condemn himself to solitude, tomisappreciation, and to posthumous neglect. Unlike men of far narrowerminds, but more conformed to the spirit of the times, he founded noschool, and left no disciples to carry out the system which he hadadvanced, and which was one day to have its triumph. At the end of thethirteenth century the scholastic method was far from having run itscareer. The minds of men were occupied with problems which it aloneseemed to be able to resolve, and they would not abandon it at the willof the first innovator. The questions in dispute were embittered bypersonal feeling and party animosities. Franciscans and Dominicans weredivided by points of logic not less than by the rules of theirorders. [12] Ignorance and passion alike gave ardor to discussion, and itwas vain to attempt to convince the heated partisans on one side or theother, that the truths they sought were beyond the reach of humanfaculties, and that their dialectics and metaphysics served to bewildermore than to enlighten the intellect. The disciples of subtilespeculatists like Aquinas, or of fervent mystics like Bonaventura, werenot likely to recognize the worth and importance of the slow processesof experimental philosophy. 

The qualities of natural things, the limits of intellectual powers, therelations of man to the universe, the conditions of matter and spirit, the laws of thought, were too imperfectly understood for any man toattain to a comprehensive and correct view of the sources and methods ofstudy and discovery of the truth. Bacon shared in what may he called, without a sneer, the childishnesses of his time, childishnesses oftencombined with mature powers and profound thought. No age is fullyconscious of its own intellectual disproportions; and what now seem merepuerilities in the works of the thinkers of the Middle Ages were perhapsfrequently the result of as laborious effort and as patient study aswhat we still prize in them for its manly vigor and permanent worth. Ina later age, the Centuries of the "Sylva Sylvarum" afford a curiouscomment on the Aphorisms of the "Novum Organum. "

The "Opus Majus" of Bacon was undertaken in answer to a demand of PopeClement IV. In 1266, and was intended to contain a review of the wholerange of science, as then understood, with the exception of logic. Clement had apparently become personally acquainted with Bacon, at thetime when, as legate of the preceding Pope, he had been sent to Englandon an ineffectual mission to compose the differences between Henry III. And his barons, and he appears to have formed a just opinion of thegenius and learning of the philosopher. 

The task to which Bacon had been set by the Papal mandate was rapidlyaccomplished, in spite of difficulties which might have overcome a lessresolute spirit; but the work extended to such great length in hishands, that he seems to have felt a not unnatural fear that Clement, burdened with the innumerable cares of the Pontificate, would not findleisure for its perusal, much less for the study which some part of itdemanded. With this fear, fearful also that portions of his work mightbe deficient in clearness, and dreading lest it might be lost on its wayto Rome, he proceeded to compose a second treatise, called the "OpusMinus, " to serve as an abstract and specimen of his greater work, and toembrace some additions to its matter. Unfortunately, but a fragment ofthis second work has been preserved, and this fragment is for the firsttime published in the volume just issued under the direction of theMaster of the Rolls. But the "Opus Minus" was scarcely completed beforehe undertook a third work, to serve as an introduction and preamble toboth the preceding. This has been handed down to us complete, and this, too, is for the first time printed in the volume before us. We take theaccount of it given by Professor Brewer, the editor, in hisintroduction. 

 "Inferior to its predecessors in the importance of its scientific details and the illustration it supplies of Bacon's philosophy, it is more interesting than either, for the insight it affords of his labors, and of the numerous obstacles he had to contend with in the execution of his work. The first twenty chapters detail various anecdotes of Bacon's personal history, his opinions on the state of education, the impediments thrown in his way by the ignorance, the prejudices, the contempt, the carelessness, the indifference of his contemporaries. From the twentieth chapter to the close of the volume he pursues the thread of the Opus Majus, supplying what he had there omitted, correcting and explaining what had been less clearly or correctly expressed in that or in the Opus Minus. In Chapter LII. He apologizes for diverging from the strict line he had originally marked out, by inserting in the ten preceding chapters his opinions on three abstruse subjects, Vacuum, Motion, and Space, mainly in regard to their spiritual significance. 'As these questions, ' he says, ' are very perplexing and difficult, I thought I would record what I had to say about them in some one of my works. In the Opus Majus and Opus Minus I had not studied them sufficiently to prevail on myself to commit my thoughts about them to writing; and I was glad to omit them, owing to the length of those works, and because I was much hurried in their composition. ' From the fifty-second chapter to the close of the volume he adheres to his subject without further digression, but with so much vigor of thought and freshness of observations, that, like the Opus Minus, the Opus Tertium may be fairly considered an independent work. "--pp. Xliv-xlv. [13]

The details which Bacon gives of his personal history are of specialinterest as throwing light upon the habits of life of a scholar in thethirteenth century. Their autobiographic charm is increased by theirnovelty, for they give a view of ways of life of which but fewparticulars have been handed down. 

Excusing himself for the delay which had occurred, after the receptionof the Pope's letter, before the transmission of the writings he haddesired, Bacon says that he was strictly prohibited by a rule of hisOrder from communicating to others any writing made by one of itsmembers, under penalty of loss of the book, and a diet for many days ofbread and water. Moreover, a fair copy could not be made, supposing thathe succeeded in writing, except by scribes outside of the Order; andthey might transcribe either for themselves or others, and through theirdishonesty it very often happened that books were divulged at Paris. 

"Then other far greater causes of delay occurred, on account of which Iwas often ready to despair; and a hundred times I thought to give up thework I had undertaken; and, had it not been for reverence for the Vicarof the only Saviour, and [regard to] the profit to the world to besecured through him alone, I would not have proceeded, against thesehindrances, with this affair, for all those who are in the Church ofChrist, however much they might have prayed and urged me. The firsthindrance was from those who were set over me, to whom you had writtennothing in my favor, and who, since I could not reveal your secret[commission] to them, being bound not to do so by your command ofsecrecy, urged me with unutterable violence, and with other means, toobey their will. But I resisted, on account of the bond of your precept, which obliged me to your work, in spite of every mandate of mysuperiors.... 

"But I met also with another hindrance, which was enough to put a stopto the whole matter, and this was the want of [means to meet] theexpense. For I was obliged to pay out in this business more than sixtylivres of Paris, [14] the account and reckoning of which I will set forthin their place hereafter. I do not wonder, indeed, that you did notthink of these expenses, because, sitting at the top of the world, youhave to think of so great and so many things that no one can estimatethe cares of your mind. But the messengers who carried your letters werecareless in not making mention to you of these expenses; and they wereunwilling to expend a single penny, even though I told them that I wouldwrite to you an account of the expenses, and that to every one of themshould be returned what was his. I truly have no money, as you know, norcan I have it, nor consequently can I borrow, since I have nothingwherewith to repay. I sent then to my rich brother, in my country, who, belonging to the party of the king, was exiled with my mother and mybrothers and the whole family, and oftentimes being taken by the enemyredeemed himself with money, so that thus being ruined andimpoverished, he could not assist me, nor even to this day have I had ananswer from him. 

"Considering, then, the reverence due to you, and the nature of yourcommand, I solicited many and great people, the faces of some of whomyou know well, but not their minds; and I told them that a certainaffair of yours must he attended to by me in France, (but I did notdisclose to them what it was, ) the performance of which required a largesum of money. But how often I was deemed a cheat, how often repulsed, how often put off with empty hope, how often confused in myself, Icannot express. Even my friends did not believe me, because I could notexplain to them the affair; and hence I could not advance by this way. In distress, therefore, beyond what can be imagined, I compelledserving-men and poor to expend all that they had, to sell many things, and to pawn others, often at usury; and I promised them that I wouldwrite to you every part of the expenses, and would in good faith obtainfrom you payment in full. And yet, on account of the poverty of thesepersons, I many times gave up the work, and many times despaired andneglected to proceed; and indeed, if I had known that you would notattend to the settling of these accounts, I would not for the wholeworld have gone on, --nay, rather, I would have gone to prison. Nor couldI send special messengers to you for the needed sum, because I had nomeans. And I preferred to spend whatever I could procure in advancingthe business rather than in despatching a messenger to you. And also, onaccount of the reverence due to you, I determined to make no report ofexpenses before sending to you something which might please you, and byocular proof should give witness to its cost. On account, then, of allthese things, so great a delay has occurred in this matter. "[15]

There is a touching simplicity in this account of the trials by which hewas beset, and it rises to dignity in connection with a sentence whichimmediately follows, in which he says, the thought of "the advantage ofthe world excited me, and the revival of knowledge, which now for manyages has lain dead, vehemently urged me forward. " Motives such as thesewere truly needed to enable him to make head against such difficulties. 

The work which he accomplished, remarkable as it is from its intrinsicqualities, is also surprising from the rapidity with which it wasperformed, in spite of the distractions and obstacles that attended it. It would seem that in less than two years from the date of Clement'sletter, the three works composed in compliance with its demand weredespatched to the Pope. Bacon's diligence must have been as great as hislearning. In speaking, in another part of the "Opus Tertium, " of theinsufficiency of the common modes of instruction, he gives incidentallyan account of his own devotion to study. "I have labored much, " he says, "on the sciences and languages; it is now forty years since I firstlearned the alphabet, and I have always been studious; except two yearsof these forty, I have been always engaged in study; and I have expendedmuch, [in learning, ] as others generally do; but yet I am sure thatwithin a quarter of a year, or half a year, I could teach orally, to aman eager and confident to learn, all that I know of the powers of thesciences and languages; provided only that I had previously composed awritten compend. And yet it is known that no one else has worked so hardor on so many sciences and tongues; for men used to wonder formerly thatI kept my life on account of my excessive labor, and ever since I havebeen as studious as I was then, but I have not worked so hard, because, through my practice in knowledge, it was not needful. "[16] Again hesays, that in the twenty years in which he had specially labored in thestudy of wisdom, neglecting the notions of the crowd, he had spent morethan two thousand pounds [livres] in the acquisition of secret books, and for various experiments, instruments, tables, and other things, aswell as in seeking the friendship of learned men, and in instructingassistants in languages, figures, the use of instruments and tables, and many other things. But yet, though he had examined everything thatwas necessary for the construction of a preliminary work to serve as aguide to the wisdom of philosophy, though he knew how it was to be done, with what aids, and what were the hindrances to it, still he could notproceed with it, owing to the want of means. The cost of employingproper persons in the work, the rarity and costliness of books, theexpense of instruments and of experiments, the need of infiniteparchment and many scribes for rough copies, all put it beyond his powerto accomplish. This was his excuse for the imperfection of the treatisewhich he had sent to the Pope, and this was a work worthy to besustained by Papal aid. [17]

The enumeration by Bacon of the trials and difficulties of a scholar'slife at a time when the means of communicating knowledge were difficult, when books were rare and to be obtained only at great cost, when theknowledge of the ancient languages was most imperfect, and many of themost precious works of ancient philosophy were not to be obtained orwere to be found only in imperfect and erroneous translations, depicts acondition of things in vivid contrast to the present facilities for thecommunication and acquisition of learning, and enables us in some degreeto estimate the drawbacks under which scholars prosecuted their studiesbefore the invention of printing. That with such impediments they wereable to effect so much is wonderful; and their claim on the gratitudeand respect of their successors is heightened by the arduous nature ofthe difficulties with which they were forced to contend. The value oftheir work receives a high estimate, when we consider the scanty meanswith which it was performed. 

Complaining of the want of books, Bacon says, --"The books on philosophyby Aristotle and Avicenna, by Seneca and Tully and others, cannot be hadexcept at great cost, both because the chief of them are not translatedinto Latin, and because of others not a copy is to be found in publicschools of learning or elsewhere. For instance, the most excellent booksof Tully De Republica are nowhere to be found, so far as I can hear, andI have been eager in the search for them in various parts of the worldand with various agents. It is the same with many other of his books. The books of Seneca also, the flowers of which I have copied out foryour Beatitude, I was never able to find till about the time of yourmandate, although I had been diligent in seeking for them for twentyyears and more. "[18] Again, speaking of the corruption of translations, so that they are often unintelligible, as is especially the case withthe books of Aristotle, he says that "there are not four Latins [thatis, Western scholars] who know the grammar of the Hebrews, the Greeks, and the Arabians; for I am well acquainted with them, and have madediligent inquiry both here and beyond the sea, and have labored much inthese things. There are many, indeed, who can speak Greek and Arabic andHebrew, but scarcely any who know the principles of the grammar so as toteach it, for I have tried very many. "[19]

In his treatise entitled "Compendium Studii Philosophiae, " which isprinted in this volume for the first time, he adds in relation to thissubject, --"Teachers are not wanting, because there are Jews everywhere, and their tongue is the same in substance with the Arabic and theChaldean, though they differ in mode.... Nor would it be much, for thesake of the great advantage of learning Greek, to go to Italy, where theclergy and the people in many places are purely Greek; moreover, bishopsand archbishops and rich men and elders might send thither for books, and for one or for more persons who know Greek, as Lord Robert, thesainted Bishop of Lincoln, [20] did indeed do, --and some of those [whomhe brought over] still survive in England. "[21] The ignorance of themost noted clerks and lecturers of his day is over and over again thesubject of Bacon's indignant remonstrance. They were utterly unable tocorrect the mistakes with which the translations of ancient works werefull. "The text is in great part horribly corrupt in the copy of theVulgate at Paris, ... And as many readers as there are, so manycorrectors, or rather corruptors, ... For every reader changes the textaccording to his fancy. "[22] Even those who professed to translate newworks of ancient learning were generally wholly unfit for the task. Hermann the German knew nothing of science, and little of Arabic, fromwhich he professed to translate; but when he was in Spain, he keptSaracens with him who did the main part of the translations that heclaimed. In like manner, Michael Scot asserted that he had made manytranslations; but the truth was, that a certain Jew named Andrew workedmore than he upon them. [23] William Fleming was, however, the mostignorant and most presuming of all. [24] "Certain I am that it werebetter for the Latins that the wisdom of Aristotle had not beentranslated, than to have it thus perverted and obscured, ... So that themore men study it the less they know, as I have experienced with all whohave stuck to these books. Wherefore my Lord Robert of blessed memoryaltogether neglected them, and proceeded by his own experiments, andwith other means, until he knew the things concerning which Aristotletreats a hundred thousand times better than he could ever have learnedthem from those perverse translations. And if I had power over thesetranslations of Aristotle, I would have every copy of them burned; forto study them is only a loss of time and a cause of error and amultiplication of ignorance beyond telling. And since the labors ofAristotle are the foundation of all knowledge, no one can estimate theinjury done by means of these bad translations. "[25]

Bacon had occasion for lamenting not only the character of thetranslations in use, but also the fact that many of the most importantworks of the ancients were not translated at all, and hence lay out ofthe reach of all but the rare scholars, like himself and his friendGrostête, who were able, through their acquaintance with the languagesin which they were written, to make use of them, provided manuscriptscould be found for reading. "We have few useful works on philosophy inLatin. Aristotle composed a thousand volumes, as we read in his Life, and of these we have but three of any notable size, namely, --on Logic, Natural History, and Metaphysics; so that all the other scientific worksthat he composed are wanting to the Latins, except some tractates andsmall little books, and of these but very few. Of his Logic two of thebest books are deficient, which Hermann had in Arabic, but did notventure to translate. One of them, indeed, he did translate, or causedto be translated, but so ill that the translation is of no sort of valueand has never come into use. Aristotle wrote fifty excellent books aboutAnimals, as Pliny says in the eighth book of his Natural History, and Ihave seen them in Greek, and of these the Latins have only nineteenwretchedly imperfect little books. Of his Metaphysics the Latins readonly the ten books which they have, while there are many more; and ofthese ten which they read, many chapters are wanting in the translation, and almost infinite lines. Indeed, the Latins have nothing worthy; andtherefore it is necessary that they should know the languages, for thesake of translating those things that are deficient and needful. For, moreover, of the works on secret sciences, in which the secrets andmarvels of Nature are explored, they have little except fragments hereand there, which scarcely suffice to excite the very wisest to study andexperiment and to inquire by themselves after those things which arelacking to the dignity of wisdom; while the crowd of students are notmoved to any worthy undertaking, and grow so languid and asinine overthese ill translations, that they lose utterly their time and study andexpense. They are held, indeed, by appearances alone; for they do notcare what they know, but what they seem to know to the sillymultitude. "[26]

These passages may serve to show something of the nature of thoseexternal hindrances to knowledge with which Bacon himself had had tostrive, which he overcame, and which he set himself with all his forceto break down, that they might no longer obstruct the path of study. What scholar, what lover of learning, can now picture to himself suchefforts without emotion, --without an almost oppressive sense of thecontrast between the wealth of his own opportunities and the penury ofthe earlier scholar? On the shelves within reach of his hand lie theaccumulated riches of time. Compare our libraries, with their crowdedvolumes of ancient and modern learning, with the bare cell of thesolitary Friar, in which, in a single small cupboard, are laid away afew imperfect manuscripts, precious as a king's ransom, which it hadbeen the labor of years to collect. This very volume of his works, anoble monument of patient labor, of careful investigation, of deepthought, costs us but a trivial sum; while its author, in his poverty, was scarcely able, without begging, to pay for the parchment upon whichhe wrote it, as, uncheered by the anticipation that centuries after hisdeath men would prize the works he painfully accomplished, he leanedagainst his empty desk, half-discouraged by the difficulties that besethim. All honor to him! honor to the schoolmen of the Middle Ages! to themen who kept the traditions of wisdom alive, who trimmed the wick of thelamp of learning when its flame was flickering, and who, when its lightgrew dim and seemed to be dying out, supplied it with oil hardlysqueezed by their own hands, drop by drop, from the scanty olives whichthey had gathered from the eternal tree of Truth! In these later dayslearning has become cheap. What sort of scholar must he now be, whoshould be worthy to be put into comparison with the philosopher of thethirteenth century?

The general scheme of Bacon's system of philosophy was at once simpleand comprehensive. The scope of his thought had a breadth uncommon inhis or in any time. In his view, the object of all philosophy and humanlearning was to enable men to attain to the wisdom of God; and to thisend it was to be subservient absolutely, and relatively so far asregarded the Church, the government of the state, the conversion ofinfidels, and the repression of those who could not be converted. Allwisdom was included in the Sacred Scriptures, if properly understood andexplained. "I believe, " said he, "that the perfection of philosophy isto raise it to the state of a Christian law. " Wisdom was the gift ofGod, and as such it included the knowledge of all things in heaven andearth, the knowledge of God himself, of the teachings of Christ, thebeauty of virtue, the honesty of laws, the eternal life of glory and ofpunishment, the resurrection of the dead, and all things else. [27]

To this end all special sciences were ordained. All these, properlyspeaking, were to be called speculative; and though they each might bedivided into two parts, the practical and the speculative, yet onealone, the most noble and best of all, in respect to which there was nocomparison with the others, was in its own nature practical: this wasthe science of morals, or moral philosophy. All the works of Art andNature are subservient to morals, and are of value only as they promoteit. They are as nothing without it; as the whole wisdom of philosophy isas nothing without the wisdom of the Christian faith. This science ofmorals has six principal divisions. The first of these is theological, treating of the relations of man to God and to spiritual things; thesecond is political, treating of public laws and the government ofstates; the third is ethical, treating of virtue and vice; the fourthtreats of the revolutions of religious sects, and of the proofs of theChristian faith. 

"This is the best part of all philosophy. " Experimental science and theknowledge of languages come into use here. The fifth division ishortatory, or of morals as applied to duty, and embraces the art ofrhetoric and other subsidiary arts. The sixth and final division treatsof the relations of morals to the execution of justice. [28] Under oneor other of these heads all special sciences and every branch oflearning are included. 

Such, then, being the object and end of all learning, it is to beconsidered in what manner and by what methods study is to be pursued, tosecure the attainment of truth. And here occurs one of the mostremarkable features of Bacon's system. It is in his distinct statementof the prime importance of experiment as the only test of certainty inthe sciences. "However strong arguments may be, they do not givecertainty, apart from positive experience of a conclusion. " "It is theprerogative of experiment to test the noble conclusions of all scienceswhich are drawn from arguments. " All science is ancillary to it. [29] Andof all branches of learning, two are of chief importance: languages arethe first gate of wisdom; mathematics the second. [30] By means offoreign tongues we gain the wisdom which men have collected in pasttimes and other countries; and without them the sciences are not to bepursued, for the requisite books are wanting in the Latin tongue. Eventheology must fail without a knowledge of the original texts of theSacred Writings and of their earliest expositors. Mathematics are ofscarcely less importance; "for he who knows not mathematics cannot knowany other physical science, --what is more, cannot discover his ownignorance or find its proper remedies. " "The sciences cannot be known bylogical and sophistical arguments, such as are commonly used, but onlyby mathematical demonstrations. "[31] But this view of the essentialimportance of these two studies did not prevent Bacon from rising to theheight from which he beheld the mutual importance and relations of allknowledge. We do not know where to find a clearer statement of theconnection of the sciences than in the following words:--"All sciencesare connected, and support each other with mutual aid, as parts of thesame whole, of which each performs its work, not for itself alone, butfor the others as well: as the eye directs the whole body, and the footsupports the whole; so that any part of knowledge taken from the rest islike an eye torn out or a foot cut off. "[32]

Such, then, in brief, appears to have been Bacon's general system ofphilosophy. He has nowhere presented it in a compact form; and his styleof writing is often so corrupt, and his use of terms so inexact, thatany exposition of his views, exhibiting them in a methodicalarrangement, is liable to the charge of possessing a definiteness ofstatement beyond that which his opinions had assumed in his own mind. Still, the view that has now been given of his philosophy corresponds asnearly as may be with the indications afforded by his works. The detailsof his system present many points of peculiar interest. He was notmerely a theorist, with speculative views of a character far in advanceof those of the mass of contemporary schoolmen, but a practicalinvestigator as well, who by his experiments and discoveries pushedforward the limits of knowledge, and a sound scholar who saw anddisplayed to others the true means by which progress in learning was tobe secured. In this latter respect, no parts of his writings are moreremarkable than those in which he urges the importance of philologicaland linguistic studies. His remarks on comparative grammar, on therelations of languages, on the necessity of the study of original texts, are distinguished by good sense, by extensive and (for the time) exactscholarship, and by a breadth of view unparalleled, so far as we areaware, by any other writer of his age. The treatise on the GreekGrammar--which occupies a large portion of the incomplete "CompendiumStudii Philosophiae, " and which is broken off in the middle by themutilation of the manuscript--contains, in addition to many curiousremarks illustrative of the learning of the period, much matter ofpermanent interest to the student of language. The passages which wehave quoted in regard to the defects of the translations of Greekauthors show to how great a degree the study of Greek and other ancienttongues had been neglected. Most of the scholars of the day contentedthemselves with collecting the Greek words which they found interpretedin the works of St. Augustine, St. Jerome, Origen, Martianus Capella, Boëthius, and a few other later Latin authors; and were satisfied to usethese interpretations without investigation of their exactness, orwithout understanding their meaning. Hugo of Saint Victor, (Dante's "Ugodi Sanvittore è qui con elli, ") one of the most illustrious of Bacon'spredecessors, translates, for instance, _mechanica_ by _adulterina_, asif it came from the Latin _moecha_, and derives _economica_ from_oequus_, showing that he, like most other Western scholars, wasignorant even of the Greek letters. [33] Michael Scot, in respect towhose translations Bacon speaks with merited contempt, exhibits thegrossest ignorance, in his version from the Arabic of Aristotle'sHistory of Animals, for example, a passage in which Aristotle speaks oftaming the wildest animals, and says, "Beneficio enim mitescunt, veluticrocodilorum genus afficitur erga sacerdotem a quo enratur ut alantur, "("They become mild with kind treatment, as crocodiles toward the priestwho provides them with food, ") is thus unintelligibly rendered by him:"Genus autem karoluoz et hirdon habet pacem lehhium et domesticatur cumillo, quoniam cogitat de suo cibo. " [34] Such a medley makes it certainthat he knew neither Greek nor Arabic, and was willing to compound athird language, as obscure to his readers as the original was to him. Bacon points out many instances of this kind; and it is against sucherrors--errors so destructive to all learning--that he inveighs with thefull force of invective, and protests with irresistible arguments. Hisacquirements in Greek and in Hebrew prove that he had devoted long laborto the study of these languages, and that he understood them far betterthan many scholars who made more pretence of learning. Nowhere are thedefects of the scholarship of the Middle Ages more pointedly and ablyexhibited than in what he has said of them. 

But, although his knowledge in this field was of uncommon quality andamount, it does not seem to have surpassed his acquisitions in science. "I have attempted, " he says in a striking passage, "with greatdiligence, to attain certainty as to what is needful to be knownconcerning the processes of alchemy and natural philosophy andmedicine.... And what I have written of the roots [of these sciences]is, in my judgment, worth far more than all that the other naturalphilosophers now alive suppose themselves to know; for in vain, withoutthese roots, do they seek for branches, flowers, and fruit. And here Iam boastful in words, but not in my soul; for I say this because Igrieve for the infinite error that now exists, and that I may urge you[the Pope] to a consideration of the truth. "[35] Again he says, inregard to his treatise "De Perspectiva, " or On Optics, --"Why should Iconceal the truth? I assert that there is no one among the Latinscholars who could accomplish, in the space of a year, this work; no, nor even in ten years. "[36] In mathematics, in chemistry, in optics, inmechanics, he was, if not superior, at least equal, to the best of hiscontemporaries. His confidence in his own powers was the just result ofself-knowledge and self-respect. Natural genius, and the accumulationsof forty years of laborious study pursued with a method superior to thatwhich guided the studies of others, had set him at the head of thelearned men of his time; and he was great enough to know and to claimhis place. He had the self-devotion of enthusiasm, and its ready, butdignified boldness, based upon the secure foundation of truth. 

In spite of the very imperfect style in which he wrote, and the usuallyclumsy and often careless construction of his sentences, his workscontain now and then noble thoughts expressed with simplicity and force. "Natura est instrumentum Divinae operationis, " might be taken as themotto for his whole system of natural science. In speaking of the valueof words, he says, --"Sed considerare debemus quod verba habent maximampotestatem, et omnia miracula facta a principio mundi fere facta suntper verba. Et opus animae rationalis praecipuum est verbum, et in quomaxime delectatur. " In the "Opus Tertium, " at the point where he beginsto give an abstract of his "Opus Majus, " he uses words which remind oneof the famous "Franciscus de Verulamio sic cogitavit. " Hesays, --"Cogitavi quod intellectus humanus habet magnam debilitationem exse.... Et ideo volui excludere errorum corde hominis impossible estipsum videre veritatem. " This is strikingly similar to Lord Bacon's"errores qui invaluerunt, quique in aeternum invalituri sunt, alii postalios, si mens sibi permittatur. " Such citations of passages remarkablefor thought or for expression might be indefinitely extended, but wehave space for only one more, in which the Friar attacks the vices ofthe Roman court with an energy that brings to mind the invectives of thegreatest of his contemporaries. "Curia Romana, quae solebat et debetregi sapientia Dei, nunc depravatur.... Laceratur enim illa sedes sacrafraudibus et dolis injustorum. Pent justitia; pax omnis violatur;infinita scandala suscitantur. Mores enim sequuntur ibidemperversissimi; regnat superbia, ardet avaritia, invidia corroditsingulos, luxuria diffamat totam illam curiam, gula in omnibusdominatur. " It was not the charge of magic alone that brought RogerBacon's works into discredit with the Church, and caused a nail to bedriven through their covers to keep the dangerous pages closedtightly within. 

There is no reason to doubt that Bacon's investigations led him todiscoveries of essential value, but which for the most part died withhim. His active and piercing intellect, which employed itself on themost difficult subjects, which led him to the formation of a theory oftides, and brought him to see the need and with prophetic anticipationto point out the means of a reformation of the calendar, enabled him todiscover many of what were then called the Secrets of Nature. Thepopular belief that he was the inventor of gunpowder had its origin intwo passages in his treatise "On the Secret Works of Art and Nature, andon the Nullity of Magic, "[37] in one of which he describes some of itsqualities, while in the other he apparently conceals its compositionunder an enigma. [38] He had made experiments with Greek fire and themagnet; he had constructed burning-glasses, and lenses of various power;and had practised with multiplying-mirrors, and with mirrors thatmagnified and diminished. It was no wonder that a man who knew andemployed such wonderful things, who was known, too, to have sought forartificial gold, should gain the reputation of a wizard, and that hisbooks should be looked upon with suspicion. As he himself says, --"Manybooks are esteemed magic, which are not so, but contain the dignity ofknowledge. " And he adds, --"For, as it is unworthy and unlawful for awise man to deal with magic, so it is superfluous and unnecessary. "[39]

There is a passage in this treatise "On the Nullity of Magic" ofremarkable character, as exhibiting the achievements, or, if not theactual achievements, the things esteemed possible by the inventors ofthe thirteenth century. There is in it a seeming mixture of fancy and offact, of childish credulity with more than mere haphazard prophecy ofmechanical and physical results which have been so lately reached in theprogress of science as to be among new things even six centuries afterBacon's death. Its positiveness of statement is puzzling, when tested bywhat is known from other sources of the nature of the discoveries andinventions of that early time; and were there reason to question Bacon'struth, it would seem as if he had mistaken his dreams for facts. As itstands, it is one of the most curious existing illustrations of thestate of physical science in the Middle Ages. It runs as follows:--"Iwill now, in the first place, speak of some of the wonderful works ofArt and Nature, that I may afterwards assign the causes and methods ofthem, in which there is nothing magical, so that it may be seen howinferior and worthless all magic power is, in comparison with theseworks. And first, according to the fashion and rule of Art alone. Thus, machines can be made for navigation without men to row them; so thatships of the largest size, whether on rivers or the sea, can be carriedforward, under the guidance of a single man, at greater speed than ifthey were full of men [rowers]. In like manner, a car can be made whichwill move, without the aid of any animal, with incalculable impetus;such as we suppose the scythed chariots to have been which wereanciently used in battle. Also, machines for flying can be made, so thata man may sit in the middle of the machine, turning an engine, by whichwings artificially disposed are made to beat the air after the manner ofa bird in flight. Also, an instrument, small in size, for raising anddepressing almost infinite weights, than which nothing on occasion ismore useful: for, with an instrument of three fingers in height, and ofthe same width, and of smaller bulk, a man might deliver himself and hiscompanions from all danger of prison, and could rise or descend. Also, an instrument might be easily made by which one man could draw tohimself a thousand men by force and against their will, and in likemanner draw other things. Instruments can be made for walking in the seaor in rivers, even at the bottom, without bodily risk: for Alexander theGreat made use of this to see the secrets of the sea, as the EthicalAstronomer relates. These things were made in ancient times, and aremade in our times, as is certain; except, perhaps, the machine forflying, which I have not seen, nor have I known any one who had seenit, but I know a wise man who thought to accomplish this device. Andalmost an infinite number of such things can be made; as bridges acrossrivers without piers or any supports, and machines and unheard-ofengines. " Bacon goes on to speak of other wonders of Nature and Art, toprove, that, to produce marvellous effects, it is not necessary toaspire to the knowledge of magic, and ends this division of his subjectwith words becoming a philosopher:--"Yet wise men are now ignorant ofmany things which the common crowd of students [_vulgus studentium_]will know in future times. "[40]

It is much to be regretted that Roger Bacon does not appear to haveexecuted the second and more important part of his design, namely, "toassign the causes and methods" of these wonderful works of Art andNature. Possibly he was unable to do so to his own satisfaction;possibly he may upon further reflection have refrained from doing so, deeming them mysteries not to be communicated to the vulgar;--"for hewho divulges mysteries diminishes the majesty of things; whereforeAristotle says that he should be the breaker of the heavenly seal, werehe to divulge the secret things of wisdom. "[41] However this may havebeen, we may safely doubt whether the inventions which he reports werein fact the result of sound scientific knowledge, whether they hadindeed any real existence, or whether they were only the half-realizedand imperfect creations of the prophetic soul of the wide world dreamingof things to come. 

The matters of interest in the volume before us are by no meansexhausted, but we can proceed no farther in the examination of them, andmust refer those readers who desire to know more of its contents to thevolume itself. We can assure them that they will find it full of vividillustrations of the character of Bacon's time, --of the thoughts of menat an epoch of which less is commonly known than of periods moredistant, but less connected by intellectual sympathy and moral relationswith our own. But the chief interest of Bacon's works lies in theirexhibition to us of himself, a man foremost in his own time in allknowledge, endowed by Nature with a genius of peculiar force andclearness of intuition, with a resolute energy that yielded to noobstacles, with a combination so remarkable of the speculative and thepractical intellect as to place him in the ranks of the chiefphilosophers to whom the progress of the world in learning and inthought is due. They show him exposed to the trials which the men whoare in advance of their contemporaries are in every age called to meet, and bearing these trials with a noble confidence in the final prevalenceof the truth, --using all his powers for the advantage of the world, andregarding all science and learning of value only as they led toacquaintance with the wisdom of God and the establishment of Christianvirtue. He himself gives us a picture of a scholar of his times, whichwe may receive as a not unworthy portrait of himself. "He does not carefor discourses and disputes of words, but he pursues the works ofwisdom, and in them he finds rest. And what others dim-sighted strive tosee, like bats in twilight, he beholds in its full splendor, because heis the master of experiments; and thus he knows natural things, and thetruths of medicine and alchemy, and the things of heaven as well asthose below. Nay, he is ashamed, if any common man, or old wife, orsoldier, or rustic in the country knows anything of which he isignorant. Wherefore he has searched out all the effects of the fusing ofmetals, and whatever is effected with gold and silver and other metalsand all minerals; and whatever pertains to warfare and arms and thechase he knows; and he has examined all that pertains to agriculture, and the measuring of lands, and the labors of husbandmen; and he haseven considered the practices and the fortune-telling of old women, andtheir songs, and all sorts of magic arts, and also the tricks anddevices of jugglers; so that nothing which ought to be known may lie hidfrom him, and that he may as far as possible know how to reject all thatis false and magical. And he, as he is above price, so does he not valuehimself at his worth. For, if he wished to dwell with kings and princes, easily could he find those who would honor and enrich him; or, if hewould display at Paris what he knows through the works of wisdom, thewhole world would follow him. But, because in either of these ways hewould be impeded in the great pursuits of experimental philosophy, inwhich he chiefly delights, he neglects all honor and wealth, though hemight, when he wished, enrich himself by his knowledge. "

 * * * * *

_Popular Music of the Olden Time_. A Collection of Ancient Songs, Ballads, and Dance-Tunes, Illustrative of the National Music of England. With Short Introductions to the Different Reigns, and Notices of theAirs from Writers of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Also, aShort Account of the Minstrels. By W. Chappel, F. S. A. The whole of theAirs harmonized by G. A. McFarren. 2 vols. Pp. 384, 439. London: Cramer, Beale, & Chappell. New York: Webb & Allen. 

In tracing the history of the English nation, no line of investigationis more interesting, or shows more clearly the progress of civilization, than the study of its early poetry and music. Sung alike in the royalpalaces and in the cottages and highways of the nation, the ballads andsongs reflect most accurately the manners and customs, and not a littleof the history of the people; while, as indicating the progress ofintellectual culture, the successive changes in language, and the steadyadvance of the science of music, and of its handmaid, poetry, theypossess a value peculiarly their own. 

The industry and learning of Percy, Warton, and Ritson have rendered athorough acquaintance with early English poetry comparatively easy;while in the work whose comprehensive title heads this article theresearch of Chappell presents to us all that is valuable of the "PopularMusic of the Olden Time, " enriched by interesting incidents andhistorical facts which render the volumes equally interesting to thegeneral reader and to the student in music. Chappell published hiscollection of "National English Airs" about twenty years ago. Since thattime, he tells us in his preface, the increase of material has been sogreat, that it has been advisable to rewrite the entire work, and tochange the title, so that the present edition has all the freshness of anew publication, and contains more than one hundred and fiftyadditional airs. 

The opening chapters are devoted to a concise historical account ofEnglish minstrelsy, from the earliest Saxon times to its gradualextinction in the reigns of Edward IV. And Queen Elizabeth; and whilepresenting in a condensed form all that is valuable in Percy and others, the author has interwoven in the narrative much curious and interestingmatter derived from his own careful studies. Much of romantic interestclusters around the history of the minstrels of England. They aregenerally supposed to have been the successors of the ancient bards, whofrom the earliest times were held in the highest veneration by nearlyall the people of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic origin. Accordingto Percy, "Their skill was considered as something divine; their personswere deemed sacred; their attendance was solicited by kings; and theywere everywhere loaded with honors and rewards. " Our Anglo-Saxonancestors, on their migration into Britain, retained their venerationfor poetry and song, and minstrels continued in high repute, until theirhold upon the people gradually yielded to the steady advance ofcivilization, the influence of the printing-press, and the consequentdiffusion of knowledge. It is to be borne in mind that the name, minstrel, was applied equally to those who sang, and accompanied theirvoices with the harp, or some other instrument, and to those who wereskilled in instrumental music only. The harp was the favorite and indeedthe national instrument of the Britons, and its use has been traced asfar back as the first invasion of the country by the Saxons. By the lawsof Wales, no one could pretend to the character of a freeman orgentleman, who did not possess or could not play upon a harp. Its usewas forbidden to slaves; and a harp could not be seized for debt, as thesimple fact of a person's being without one would reduce him to anequality with a slave. Other instruments, however, were in use by theearly Anglo-Saxons, such as the Psaltery, the Fiddle, and the Pipe. Theminstrels, clad in a costume of their own, and singing to their quainttunes the exploits of past heroes or the simple love-songs of the times, were the favorites of royalty, and often, and perhaps usually, some ofthe better class held stations at court; and under the reigns of HenryI. And II. , Richard I. , and John, minstrelsy flourished greatly, and theservices of the minstrels were often rated higher than those of theclergy. These musicians seem to have had easy access to all places andpersons, and often received valuable grants from the king, until, in thereign of Edward II. , (1315, ) such privileges were claimed by them, thata royal edict became necessary to prevent impositions and abuses. 

In the fourteenth century music was an almost universal accomplishment, and we learn from Chaucer, in whose poetry much can be learned of themusic of his time, that country-squires could sing and play the lute, and even "songes make and well indite. " From the same source it appearsthat then, as now, one of the favorite accomplishments of a young ladywas to sing well, and that her prospects for marriage were in proportionto her proficiency in this art. In those days the bass-viol(_viol-de-gamba_) was a popular instrument, and was played upon byladies, --a practice which in these modern times would be considered aviolation of female propriety, and even then some thought it "anunmannerly instrument for a woman. " In Elizabeth's time vocal music washeld in the highest estimation, and to sing well was a necessaryaccomplishment for ladies and gentlemen. A writer of 1602 says to theladies, "It shall be your first and finest praise to sing the note ofevery new fashion at first sight. " That some of the fair sex may havecarried their musical practice too far, like many who have lived sincethen, is perhaps indicated in some verses of that date which run in thefollowing strain:--

 "This is all that women do: Sit and answer them that woo; Deck themselves in new attire, To entangle fresh desire; After dinner sing and play, Or, dancing, pass the time away. "

To many readers one of the most interesting features of Chappell's workwill be the presentation of the original airs to which were sung theballads familiar to us from childhood, learned from our English andScotch ancestors, or later in life from Percy's "Reliques" and othersources; and the musician will detect, in even the earliestcompositions, a character and substance, a beauty of cadence andrhythmic ideality, which render in comparison much of our modernsong-music tamer, if possible, than it now seems. Here are found theoriginal airs of "Agincourt, " "All in the Downs, " "Barbara Allen, " "TheBarley-Mow, " "Cease, rude Boreas, " "Derry Down, " "Frog he would a-wooinggo, " "One Friday morn when we set sail, " "Chanson Roland, " "ChevyChace, " and scores of others which have rung in our ears fromnursery-days. 

The ballad-mongers took a wide range in their writings, and almost everysubject seems to have called for their rhymes. There is a curious littlesong, dating back to 1601, entitled "O mother, a Hoop, " in which thevalue of hoop-skirts is set forth by a fair damsel in terms that woulddelight a modern belle. It commences thus:--

 "What a fine thing have I seen to-day! O mother, a Hoop! I must have one; you cannot say Nay; O mother, a Hoop!"

Another stanza shows the practical usefulness of the hoop:--

 "Pray, hear me, dear mother, what I have been taught: Nine men and nine women o'erset in a boat; The men were all drowned, but the women did float, And by help of their hoops they all safely got out. "

The fashion for hoops was revived in 1711, in which year was publishedin England "A Panegyrick upon the Late, but most Admirable Invention ofthe Hoop-Pettycoat. " A few years later, (1726, ) in New England, athree-penny pamphlet was issued with the title, "Hoop PetticoatsArraigned and Condemned by the Light of Nature and Law of God, " by whichit would seem that our worthy ancestors did not approve of the fashion. In 1728 we find _hoop-skirts_ and _negro girls_ and other "chattels"advertised for sale in the same shop!

The celebrated song, "Tobacco is an Indian weed, " is traced to GeorgeWithers, of the time of James I. Perhaps no song has been morefrequently "reset"; but the original version, as is generally the case, is the best. 

One of the most satisfactory features of Chappell's work is thethoroughness with which he traces the origin of tunes, and his acutediscrimination and candid judgment. As an instance of this may bementioned his article on "God save the Queen"; and wherever we turn, wefind the same evidence of honest investigation. So far as is possible, he has arranged his airs and his topics chronologically, and presented acomplete picture of the condition of poetry and music during the reignsof the successive monarchs of England. The musician will find thesevolumes invaluable in the pursuit of his studies, the general readerwill be interested in the well-drawn descriptions of men, manners, andcustoms, and the antiquary will pore over the pages with a keen delight. 

The work is illustrated with several specimens of the early style ofwriting music, the first being an illuminated engraving and fac-simileof the song, "Sumer is icumen in, "--the earliest secular composition, inparts, known to exist in any country, its origin being traced back to1250. It should have been mentioned before this that the very difficulttask of reducing the old songs to modern characters and requirements, and harmonizing them, has been most admirably done by McFarren, who hasthus made intelligible and available what would otherwise be valuableonly as curiosities. 

1. _Folk-Songs_. Selected and edited by John Williamson Palmer, M. D. Illustrated with Original Designs. New York: Charles Scribner. 1861. Small folio. Pp. Xxiii. , 466. 

2. _Loves and Heroines of the Poets_. Edited by Richard Henry Stoddard. New York: Derby & Jackson. 1861. Quarto, pp. Xviii. , 480. 

3. _A Forest Hymn_. By William Cullen Bryant. With Illustrations of JohnA. Hows. New York: W. A. Townsend & Co. 1861. Small quarto, pp. 32. 

We have no great liking for illustrated books. Poems, to be sure, oftenlend themselves readily to the pencil; but, in proportion as they standin need of pictures, they fall short of being poetry. We have never yetseen any attempts to help Shakspeare in this way that were not ascrutches to an Indian runner. To illustrate poetry truly great in itselfis like illuminating to show off a torchlight-procession. We doubt ifeven Michel Angelo's copy of Dante was so great a loss as has sometimesbeen thought. We have seen missals and other manuscripts that were truly_illuminated_, --

 "laughing leaves That Franco of Bologna's pencil limned ";

but the line of those artists ended with Frà Angelico, whose works areonly larger illuminations in fresco and on panel. In those days someprecious volume became the Laura of a poor monk, who lavished on it allthe poetry of his nature, all the unsatisfied longing of a lifetime. Shut out from the world, his single poem or book of saintly legends wasthe window through which he looked back on real life, and he stained itspanes with every brightest hue of fancy and tender half-tint of reverie. There was, indeed, a chance of success, when the artist worked for thelove of it, gave his whole manhood to a single volume, and mixed hislife with his pigments. But to please yourself is a different thing frompleasing Tom, Dick, and Harry, which is the problem to be worked out bywhoever makes illustrations to be multiplied and sold by thousands. InDr. Palmer's "Folk-Songs, " if we understand his preface rightly, theartists have done their work for love, and it is accordingly much betterdone than usual. The engravings make a part of the page, and thedesigns, with few exceptions, are happy. Numerous fac-similes ofhandwriting are added for the lovers of autographs; and in point ofprinting, it is beyond a question the handsomest and most tastefulvolume ever produced in America. The Riverside Press may fairly takerank now with the classic names in the history of the art. But it is forthe judgment shown in the choice of the poems that the book deserves itschief commendation. Our readers do not need to be told who Dr. Palmeris, or that one who knows how to write so well himself is likely to knowwhat good writing is in others. We have never seen so good and choice a_florilegium_. The width of its range and its catholicity may beestimated by its including William Blake and Dibdin, Bishop King and Dr. Maginn. It would be hard to find the person who would not meet here afavorite poem. We can speak from our own knowledge of the length oflabor and the loving care that have been devoted to it, and the resultis a gift-book unique in its way and suited to all seasons and alltastes. Nor has the binding (an art in which America is far behind-hand)been forgotten. The same taste makes itself felt here, and Matthews ofNew York has seconded it with his admirable workmanship. 

In Mr. Stoddard's volume we have a poet selecting such poems asillustrate the loves of the poets. It is a happy thought happilyrealized. With the exception of Dante, Petrarch, and Tasso, the choiceis made from English poets, and comes down to our own time. It is a bookfor lovers, and he must be exacting who cannot find his mistresssomewhere between the covers. The selection from the poets of theElizabethan and Jacobian periods is particularly full; and this is as itshould be; for at no time was our language more equally removed fromconventionalism and commonplace, or so fitted to refine strength ofpassion with recondite thought and airy courtliness of phrase. The bookis one likely to teach as well as to please; for, though everybody knowshow to fall in love, few know how to love. It is a mirror of womanlyloveliness and manly devotion. Mr. Stoddard has done his work with theinstinct of a poet, and we cordially commend his truly precious volumeboth to those

 "who love a coral lip And a rosy cheek admire, "

and to those who

 "Interassured of the mind, Are careless, eyes, lips, hands, to miss";

for both likings will find satisfaction here. The season of gifts comesround oftener for lovers than for less favored mortals, and by means ofthis book they may press some two hundred poets into their service tothread for the "inexpressive she" all the beads of Love's rosary. Thevolume is a quarto sumptuous in printing and binding. Of the plates wecannot speak so warmly. 

The third book on our list deserves very great praise. Bryant's noble"Forest Hymn" winds like a river through edging and overhanginggreenery. Frequently the designs are rather ornaments to the page thanillustrations of the poem, and in this we think the artist is to becommended. There is no Birket Foster-ism in the groups of trees, buthonest drawing from Nature, and American Nature. The volume, we think, marks the highest point that native Art has reached in this direction, and may challenge comparison with that of any other country. Many of thedrawings are of great and decided merit, graceful and truthful at thesame time. 

_The Works of Lord Bacon_, etc. , etc. Vols. XI. And XII. Boston: Brown &Taggard. 1860. 

We have already spoken of the peculiar merits which make the edition ofMessrs. Heath and Spedding by far the best that exists of Lord Bacon'sWorks. It only remains to say, that the American reprint has not onlythe advantage of some additional notes contributed by Mr. Spedding, butthat it is more convenient in form, and a much more beautiful specimenof printing than the English. A better edition could not be desired. Thetwo volumes thus far published are chiefly filled with the "Life ofHenry VII. " and the "Essays"; and readers who are more familiar withthese (as most are) than with the philosophical works will see at oncehow much the editors have done in the way of illustration andcorrection. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Some time after, the Bey of Tunis ordered Eaton to send hisship, the Gloria, with despatches to the United States. Eaton sent herto Leghorn, and sold her at a loss. "The flag of the United States, " hewrote, "has never been seen floating in the service of a Barbary pirateunder my agency. "]

[Footnote 2: The Administration was saturated with this petty parsimony, as may be seen in an extract from a letter written by Madison to Eaton, announcing the approach of Dale and his ships:--"The present moment ispeculiarly favorable for the experiment, not only as it is a provisionagainst an immediate danger, but as we are now at peace and amity withall the rest of the world, _and as the force employed would, if at home, be at nearly the same expense, with less advantage to our mariners_. "Linkum Fidelius has given the Jeffersonian plan of making war intwo lines:--

 "We'll blow the villains all sky-high, But do it with e-co-no-my. "]

[Footnote 3: About this time came Meli-Meli, Ambassador from Tunis, insearch of an indemnity and the frigate. ]

[Footnote 4: Massachusetts gave him ten thousand acres, to be selectedby him or by his heirs, in any of the unappropriated land of theCommonwealth in the District of Maine. Act Passed March 3d, 1806]

[Footnote 5: He remained in Sicily until 1809, when he was offered theBeyship of Derne by his brother. He accepted it; two years later, freshtroubles drove him again into exile. He died in great poverty at Cairo. Jusuf reigned until 1832, and abdicated in favor of a son. A grandson ofJusuf took up arms against the new Pacha. The intervention of the Sultanwas asked; a corps of Turkish troops entered Tripoli, drove out bothPachas, and reannexed the Regency to the Porte. ]

[Footnote 6: The scene of Mr. Jefferson's celebrated retreat from theBritish. A place of frequent resort for Federal editors in those days. ]

[Footnote 7: In attempting to describe my own sensations, I labor underthe disadvantage of speaking mostly to those who have never experiencedanything of the kind. Hence, what would he perfectly clear to myself, and to those who have passed through a similar experience, may beunintelligible to the former class. The Spiritualists excuse thecrudities which their Plato, St. Paul, and Shakspeare utter, byascribing them to the imperfection of human language; and I may claimthe same allowance in setting forth mental conditions of which the minditself can grasp no complete idea, seeing that its most importantfaculties are paralyzed during the existence of those conditions. ]

[Footnote 8: The recent experiments in Hypnotism, in France, show that avery similar psychological condition accompanies the trance produced bygazing fixedly upon a bright object held near the eyes. I have no doubt, in fact, that it belongs to every abnormal state of the mind. ]

[Footnote 9: See _The Famous Historie of Fryer Bacon containing theWonderful Things that he did in his Life, also the Manner of his Death;with the Lives and Deaths of the Conjurors Bungye and Vandermast_. Reprinted in Thom's _Early English Romances_. ]

[Footnote 10: _Historia Crit. Phil_. Period. II. Pars II. Liber II. Cap. Iii. Section 23. ]

[Footnote 11: A barbarous distich gives the relations of these twofamous divisions of knowledge in the Middle Ages:--

 "_Gramm_ loquitur, _Dia_ verba docet, _Rhet_ verba colorat, _Mus_ canit, _Ar_ numerat, _Geo_ ponderat, _Ast_ colit astra. "]

[Footnote 12: See Hauréau, _De la Philosophie Scolastique_, II. 284-5. ]

[Footnote 13: Mr. Brewer has in most respects performed his work aseditor in a satisfactory manner. The many difficulties attending thedeciphering of the text of ill-written manuscripts and the correction ofthe mistakes of ignorant scribes have been in great part overcome by hispatience and skill. Some passages of the text, however, require furtherrevision. The Introduction is valuable for its account of existingmanuscripts, but its analysis of Bacon's opinions is unsatisfactory. Norare the translations given in it always so accurate as they should be. The analyses of the chapters in side-notes to the text are sometimesimperfect, and do not sufficiently represent the current of Bacon'sthought; and the volume stands in great need of a thorough Index. Thisomission is hardly to be excused, and ought at once to be supplied in aseparate publication. ]

[Footnote 14: This sum was a large one. It appears that the necessariesof life were cheap and luxuries dear at Paris during the thirteenthcentury. Thus, we are told, in the year 1226, a house sold for forty-sixlivres; another with a garden, near St. Eustache, sold for two hundredlivres. This sum was thought large, being estimated as equal to 16, 400francs at present. Sixty livres were then about five thousand francs, ora thousand dollars. Lodgings at this period varied from 5 to 17 livresthe year. An ox was worth 1 livre 10 sols; a sheep, 6 sols 3 deniers. Bacon must at some period of his life have possessed money, for we findhim speaking of having expended two thousand livres in the pursuit oflearning. If the comparative value assumed be correct, this sumrepresented between $30, 000 and $40, 000 of our currency. ]

[Footnote 15: _Opus Tertium_. Cap. Iii. Pp. 15-17. ]

[Footnote 16: _Opus Tertium_. Cap. Xx. P. 65. ]

[Footnote 17: _Opus Tertium_. Capp. Xvi. , xvii. Roger Bacon's urgency tothe Pope to promote the works for the advancement of knowledge whichwere too great for private efforts bears a striking resemblance to thewords addressed for the same end by his great successor, Lord Bacon, toJames I. "Et ideo patet, " says the Bacon of the thirteenth century, "quod scripta, principalia de sapientia philosophiae non possunt fieriab uno homine, nec a pluribus, nisi manus praelatorum et principumjuvent sapientes cum magna virtute. " "Horum quos enumeravimus omniumdefectuum remedia, " says the Bacon of the seventeenth century, "... Opera sunt vere basilica; erga quae privati alicujus conatus etindustria fere sic se habent ut Mercurius in bivio, qui digito potest inviam intendere, pedem inferre non potest. "--_De Aug. Scient_. Lib. II. _Ad Regem Suum_. 

A still more remarkable parallelism is to be found in the followingpassages. "Nam facile est dicere, fiant scripture completae descientiis, sed nunquam fuerunt apud Latinos aliquae condignae, necfient, nisi aliud consilium habeatur. Et nullus sufficeret ad hoc, nisidominus papa, vel imperator, aut aliquis rex magnificus, sicut estdominus rex Franciae. Aristoteles quidem, auctoritate et auxiliis regum, et maxime Alexandri, fecit in Graeco quae voluit, et multis millibushominum usus est in experientia scientiarum, et expensis copiosis, sicuthistoriae narrant. " (_Opus Tertium_, Cap. Viii. ) Compare with this thefollowing passage from the part of the _De Augmentis_ alreadycited:--"Et exploratoribus ac speculatoribus Naturae satisfaciendum deexpensis suis; alias de quamplurimis scitu dignissimis nunquam fiemuscertiores. Si enim Alexander magnam vim pecuniae suppeditavitAristoteli, qua conduceret venatores, aucupes, piscatores et alios, quoinstructior accederet ad conscribendam historiam animalium; certe majusquiddam debetur iis, qui non in saltibus naturae pererrant, sed inlabyrinthis artium viam sibi aperiunt. "

Other similar parallelisms of expression on this topic are to be foundin these two authors, but need not be here quoted. Many resemblances inthe words and in the spirit of the philosophy of the two Bacons havebeen pointed out, and it has even been supposed that the later of thesetwo great philosophers borrowed his famous doctrine of "Idols" from theclassification of the four chief hindrances to knowledge by hispredecessor. But the supposition wants foundation, and there is noreason to suppose that Lord Bacon was acquainted with the works of theFriar. The Rev. Charles Forster, in his _Mahometanism Unveiled_, a workof some learning, but more extravagance, after speaking of Roger Baconas "strictly and properly an experimentalist of the Saracenic school, "goes indeed so far as to assert that he "was the undoubted, thoughunowned, original when his great namesake drew the materials of hisfamous experimental system. " (Vol. II. Pp. 312-317. ) But theresemblances in their systems, although striking in some particulars, are on the whole not too great to be regarded simply as the results ofcorresponding genius, and of a common sense of the insufficiency of theprevalent methods of scholastic philosophy for the discovery of truthand the advancement of knowledge. "The same sanguine and sometimes rashconfidence in the effect of physical discoveries, the same fondness forexperiment, the same preference of inductive to abstract reasoningpervade both works, " the _Opus Majus_ and the _Novum Organum_. --Hallam, _Europe during the Middle Ages_, III. 431. See also Hallam, _Literatureof Europe_, I. 113; and Mr. Ellis's Preface to the _Novum Organum_, p. 90, in the first volume of the admirable edition of the _Works of LordBacon_ now in course of publication. ]

[Footnote 18: _Opus Tertium_. Cap. Xv. Pp. 55, 56. ]

[Footnote 19: _Id_. Cap. X. P. 33. ]

[Footnote 20: The famous Grostête, --who died in 1253. "Vir in Latino etGraeco peritissimus, " says Matthew Paris. ]

[Footnote 21: _Comp. Studii Phil_. Cap. Vi. ]

[Footnote 22: _Opus Minus_, p. 330. ]

[Footnote 23: This was Michael Scot the Wizard, who would seem to havedeserved the place that Dante assigned to him in the _Inferno_, if notfrom his practice of forbidden arts, at least from his corruption ofancient learning in his so-called translations. Strange that he, of allthe Schoolmen, should have been honored by being commemorated by thegreatest poet of Italy and the greatest of his own land! In the Notes tothe _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, his kinsman quotes the following linesconcerning him from Satchell's poem on _The Right Honorable Nameof Scott_:--

 "His writing pen did seem to me to be Of hardened metal like steel or acumie; The volume of [his book] did seem so large to me As the Book of Martyrs and Turks Historie. "]

[Footnote 24: _Comp. Studii Phil_. Cap. Viii. P. 472. ]

[Footnote 25: _Comp. Studii Phil_. Cap. Viii. P. 469. ]

[Footnote 26: _Comp. Studii Phil_. Cap. Viii. P. 473. ]

[Footnote 27: _Opus Tertium_, Cap. Xxiv. Pp. 80-82. ]

[Footnote 28: _Opus Tertium_. Capp. Xiv. , xv. , pp. 48-53. ]

[Footnote 29: _Id_. Cap. Xiii. Pp. 43-44. ]

[Footnote 30: _Id_. Cap. Xxviii. P. 102. ]

[Footnote 31: _Opus Majus_. Pp. 57, 64. ]

[Footnote 32: _Opus Tertium_. Cap. Iv. P. 18. ]

[Footnote 33: See Hauréau: _Nouvel Examen de l'Édition des Oeuvres deHugues de Saint-Victor. _ Paris, 1869. P. 52. ]

[Footnote 34: Jourdain: _Recherches sur les Traductions Latinesd'Aristote_. Paris, 1819. P. 373. ]

[Footnote 35: _Opus Tertium_. Cap. Xii. P. 42. ]

[Footnote 36: _Id. Cap. Ii. P. 14. ]

[Footnote 37: Reprinted in the Appendix to the volume edited byProfessor Brewer. A translation of this treatise was printed at Londonas early as 1597; and a second version, "faithfully translated out ofDr. Dee's own copy by T. M. , " appeared in 1659. ]

[Footnote 38: "Sed tamen sal petræ LURU VOPO VIR CAN UTRIET sulphuris;et sic facies tonitruum et coruscationem, si scias artificium. Videastamen utrum loquar ænigmate aut secundum veritatem. " (p. 551. ) One istempted to read the last two words of the dark phrase as phonographicEnglish, or, translating the _vir_, to find the meaning to be, "O man!you can try it. "]

[Footnote 39: This expression is similar in substance to the closingsentences of Sir Kenelm Digby's Discourse at Montpellier on the Powderof Sympathy, in 1657. "Now it is a poor kind of pusillanimity andfaint-heartedness, or rather, a gross weakness of the Understanding, topretend any effects of charm or magick herein, or to confine all theactions of Nature to the grossness of our Senses, when we have notsufficiently consider'd nor examined the true causes and principleswhereon 'tis fitting we should ground our judgment: we need not haverecourse to a Demon or Angel in such difficulties. 

"'Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus Inciderit. '"]

[Footnote 40: _Nullity of Magic_, pp. 532-542. ]

[Footnote 41: _Comp. Stud. Phil. _ p. 416. ]

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