_THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:_

DEVOTED TO

LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY. 

VOL. I. --JUNE, 1862. --No. VI. 

 * * * * *

_THE CONSTITUTION AND SLAVERY. _

There are two sections of the United States, the Free States and theSlave States, who hold views widely different upon the subject ofSlavery and the true interpretation of the Constitution in relation toit. The Southern view, for the most part, is:

1. The Constitution recognizes slaves as strictly property, to herbought and sold as merchandise. 

2. The Constitution recognizes all the territories as open to slavery asmuch as to freedom, except in those cases where it has been expresslyinterdicted by the Federal Government; and it secures the legal right tocarry slaves into the territories, and any act of Congress, restrictingthis right to hold slaves in the territories, is unconstitutional andvoid. 

3. Slavery is a natural institution, and not to be considered as localand municipal. 

4. The Constitution is simply a compact or league between sovereignStates, and when either party breaks, in the estimation of the other, this contract, it is no longer binding upon the whole, and the partythat thinks itself wronged has a right, acting according to its ownjudgment, to leave the Union. 

5. This contract between sovereign States has been broken to such anextent, by long and repeated aggressions upon the South by the North, that the slave States who have seceded from the Union, or who maysecede, are not only right in thus doing, but are justified in taking uparms, to prevent the collection of revenue by the Federal Government. 

These ideas are universally repudiated in the free States. It is not mypurpose to discuss the social or moral relations of slavery, but simplyto consider under what circumstances the Constitution originated, andwhat was the clear intent of those who adopted it as the organic orfundamental law of the country. The last assumption taken by theseceding States grows out of the first four, and therefore it becomes aquestion of vital interest, what did the framers of the Constitutionmean? We must remember that while names remain the same, the thingswhich they represent in time go through a radical change. Slavery is notthe same that it was when the Constitution was formed, nor are theoriginal slave States the same. If freedom at the North has made greatstrides, so also has slavery South. Our country now witnesses a mightydifference in free and slave institutions from what originally was seen. The stand-point of slavery and freedom has altogether changed, not fromlocal legislation, but from natural causes, inherent in these twodiverse states of society. New interests, new relations, new views ofcommerce, agriculture, and manufactures now characterize our country. Itwill not do then to infer, from the existing state of things, what wasoriginally the respective condition of the slaveholding and the freeStates, or what was in fact the import of that agreement, called theConstitution, which brought about the Federal Union. The framers of theConstitution did not reason so much as to what they should do forposterity as for the generation then living. As fallible men, much asthey would wish to legislate wisely for the future, yet their veryimperfection of knowledge precluded them from knowing fully what fiftyor a hundred years hence would be the development of slavery or freedom. Their actions must have reference to present wants, and consultespecially existing conditions of society. While they intended that theConstitution should be the supreme law of the land, yet they wisely putinto the hands of the people the power of amending it at any such timeas circumstances might make it necessary. The question then at issuebetween the North and the South is not what the Constitution shouldread, not what it ought to be, to come up to the supposed interests ofthe country; but what it does read. How is the Constitution truly to beinterpreted? All parties should acquiesce in seeking only to find outthe literal import of the Constitution as originally framed, orsubsequently amended, and abide by it, irrespective altogether ofpresent interests or relations. The reason is, in no other way can thecommon welfare of the country be promoted. If the necessities of thepeople demand a change in the Constitution, they can, in a legal way, exercise the right, always remembering that no republic, no freeinstitutions, no democratic state of society can exist that denies thegreat principle of the rule of the majority. It becomes us, then, inorder that we may come to a right decision respecting the duties thatgrow out of our Federal Union, to consider what language theConstitution makes use of, in relation to slavery, and how was thisinstrument interpreted by the framers. The great question is, wasslavery regarded as a political and moral evil, to be restricted andcircumscribed within the States existing under the Constitution, or wasit looked upon as a blessing, a social relation of society, proper to bediffused over the territories? It can be clearly shown that there was nosuch state of feeling, respecting slavery, as to lead the originators ofour Constitution to look upon it as a thing in itself of natural right, useful in its operation, and worthy of enlargement and perpetuation. Rather, the universal sentiment respecting slavery, North and South, was, that as a great moral, social, and political evil, it should becondemned, and the widely prevalent impression was, that through thepeaceful operation of causes that evinced the immeasurable superiorityof free institutions, slavery would itself die out, and the wholecountry be consecrated to free labor. Never did it enter the minds ofthe framers of the Constitution, that slavery was a thing in itselfright and desirable, or that it should be encouraged in the territories. It was looked upon as exclusively local in its character, the creatureof State law, a relation of society that was to be regulated like anyother municipal institution. It is not to be presumed that the authorsof our government would, in the Declaration of Independence, assert thenatural rights of all men to life, liberty, and the pursuit ofhappiness, and then contradict this cardinal principle of the revolutionin the Constitution. They found slavery existing in the Southern States;they simply left it as it was before the Revolution, with the idea thatin time the local action of the State legislature would do away with thesystem. But so far as the extension of slavery was concerned, thepredominant feeling, North and South, was hostile to it. The securityof the country demanded the union of the States under one commonConstitution. The dangers of foreign war, the exhausted finances of thedifferent States, the evils of a great public debt, contracted duringthe Revolution, made it advisable, as soon as the consent of the Statescould be got, to have a Constitution that should command security athome and credit and respect abroad. It was regarded as indispensable forunion, that slavery should be left as it was found in the States. Thethirteen States that first formed our Union under the Constitution, withthe great evils that grew out of war and debt, agreed, for their ownmutual protection, that slavery should be permitted to exist in thoseStates where it was sanctioned by the local government, as an evil to betolerated, not as a thing good in itself, to be fostered, perpetuated, and enlarged. Seeing that union could not be had without slavery, it wasrecognized as an institution not to be interfered with by the freeStates; but not acknowledged, in the sense that it was right, a blessingthat, like free labor, should be the normal condition of the wholepeople. There was no such indifference to slavery as a civilinstitution, as has been asserted. The reason is two-fold: first, theStates could not be indifferent to slavery, if they wished; andsecondly, they could not repudiate, in the Constitution, the Declarationof Independence. Thus the word 'slave' is not found in the Constitution. In the rendition of slaves, they simply spoke of persons held toservice, and as union was impossible, if the free States were open totheir escape, without the right being recognized of being returned, thisprovision was accordingly made; and yet by the provision that no personshould be deprived of liberty or life, without due process of law, andthat the free citizens of one State, irrespective of color, should havethe same rights, while resident in any other State, as the citizens ofthat State, the framers of our Constitution declared, in language mostexplicit, the natural rights of all men. The question is not as to theconsistency of their profession and practice, or how they could fightfor their own independence, and yet deny freedom, for the sake of theUnion, to the slaves; but the question is simply whether, in preparingthe Constitution, they intended to engraft upon it the idea of thenatural right of slavery, and recognize it as a blessing, to beperpetuated and enlarged. The question is simply, whether theConstitution was designed to be pro-slavery, or whether, like theinstrument of the Declaration of Independence, it was intended to be thegreat charter of civil and religious freedom, although compelled, forthe sake of union, not to interfere with slavery where it alreadyexisted? Great stress is put upon that clause enjoining the rendition ofslaves escaping from their masters; but union was impossible withoutthis provision. The necessity of union was thought indispensable forprotection, revenue, and securing the dearly-bought blessings ofindependence. The question with them was not, ought slavery to berecognized as a natural right, and slaves a species of property likeother merchandise? but simply, shall we tolerate this evil, for the sakeof Union? Thus, as the indispensable condition of union, the provisionwas made for the rendition of persons held to labor in the slave States. Why is the language of the Constitution so guarded as not to have eventhe word 'slave' in it, and yet of such a character as not to interferewith local State legislation upon slavery? Simply to steer between theCharybdis of no union and the Scylla of the repudiation of theDeclaration of Independence, teaching that all men are born free andequal, and that all have natural rights, such as life, liberty, and thepursuit of happiness. And yet, in the slave States, the interpretationof the Constitution is such, that the free States are accused ofviolating it, unless they acknowledge that it recognizes slavery as anatural right, and an institution to be perpetuated and enlarged, andput upon the same level with the blessing of freedom, in theterritories. Slavery virtually must be nationalized, and theConstitution be interpreted so as to carry it all over the territoriesnow existing, or to be acquired, or the free States have broken theConstitution, and the slave States may leave the Union whenever it suitstheir pleasure. It is easy to see how time has brought about such arevolution of feeling and idea respecting slavery. It can be shown thatcircumstances have changed altogether the relations of slavery, andwhile names have remained the same, the things which they represent haveassumed a radical difference. It can be shown that the introduction ofthe cotton-gin, and the increased profits of slave labor, have given animpetus to the domestic institution that brings with it an entirerevolution of opinion. When slavery was unprofitable to theslaveholders; when, in the early days of the republic, the number ofslaves was comparatively small; when, all over the country, the veteransof the Revolution existed to testify to the hardships they endured fornational independence, and eulogize even the help of the negro insecuring it, then slavery was regarded a curse, an evil to be curtailedand in time obliterated; then the local character of slavery, as thecreature of municipal law, not to be recognized where such law does notexist, was the opinion universally of the people. But now, with thegrowing profits of slavery, with the increase of the power of thisinstitution, other and far different language is held. Disguise it as wemay, there do exist great motives that have silently yet powerfullyoperated within the last thirty or forty years, to change the popularcurrent of feeling and opinion. Not only have the slave States held thebalance of political power, but the spread of slavery has been gigantic. The fairest regions of the South have been opened up to the domesticinstitution, and Texas annexed, with Louisiana, Arkansas and Florida, making an immense area of country, to be the nursery of slavery. Thepolitical ascendency of the slave States has ever given to the South agreat advantage, in the extension of their favored institution, and theresult has proved that what our ancestors looked upon as an evil thattime would soon do away with, has grown into a monster system thatthreatens to make subservient to it the free institutions of the North. 

Slavery has now come to be a mighty energy of disquietude all over thecountry, assuming colossal proportions of mischief, and mocking all theordinary restraints of law. The question of the present day to bedecided is not whether freedom and slavery shall exist side by side, norwhether slavery shall be tolerated as a necessary evil; but in reality, whether freedom shall be crushed under the iron hoof of slavery, andthis institution shall obtain the complete control of the country. Ithas been said that the Constitution takes the position of completeindifference to slavery; but the history of the slave States does notlead us to infer that they were ever willing that slavery should betested by its own merits, or stand without the most persistent effortsto secure for it the patronage of the Federal Government. Study theprogress of slavery, the last forty years, and none can fail to see thatit has ever aimed to secure first the supreme political control, andthen to advance its own selfish interests, at the expense of freeinstitutions. The great danger has always been, that while numericallyvastly inferior to the North, slavery has always been an unit, with asingle eye to its own aggrandizement; consequently, the history of thecountry will show that so far from the general policy of the governmentbeing adverse to slavery, that policy has been almost exclusively uponthe side of slaveholders. The domestic institution has been ever the petinterest of the land. 

In all that pertains to political power, the slaveholding interests havebeen in the ascendant. Even when Lincoln was elected, it was found thatthe Senate and House of Representatives, as well as the Judiciary, werenumerically upon the side of slavery, so that he could not, even had itbeen his wish, carry out any measure inimical to the South. True, theSouth had not the same power as under Buchanan; they could not hope everagain to wield the resources of government to secure the ascendency ofslavery in Kansas; but for all that, Lincoln was powerless to encroachupon their supposed rights, even if thus disposed. Is it not, then, evident, that so far from the slaveholding States holding to theopinions of the framers of the Constitution, there has been within thelast forty years a mighty change going on in the South, giving toslavery an essentially aggressive policy, and an extension never dreamedof by the authors of the Constitution? The ground of the Constitutionrespecting slavery, was simply non-interference in the States where italready existed. It left slavery to be curtailed, or done away with bythe local legislature, but it used language the most guarded, topreclude the idea that slavery rested upon natural right, and thatslaves, like other property, could be carried into the territories. Ithas been said, that the position of the Constitution is that of absoluteindifference, both to freedom and slavery; that it advocated neither, but was bound to protect both. But how could the Constitution beindifferent to the very end for which it was made? Was not its greatdesign to secure the liberty of the country, and promote its highestwelfare? The Constitution simply tolerated the existence of slavery, andno more. As union was impossible without the provision for the renditionof persons held to labor, escaping from one state into another, itsimply accommodated itself to an evil that was thought would berestricted, and in due process of time done away with in the slaveStates. To strain this provision to mean that it advocated the naturalright of slavery, and recognized the slave as property, to be sold andbought like other merchandise, is simply to say that the framers of theConstitution were the greatest hypocrites in the world, originating theDeclaration of Independence upon the basis of the natural right of allmen to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and yet with fullknowledge and purpose giving the lie to this instrument in theConstitution. Madison thought it wrong to admit in the Constitution theidea of property in man. The word 'service' was substituted for'servitude, ' simply because this last encouraged the idea of property. 

The constitutional provision for the rendition of slaves was simply acompromise between union and slavery. Of the two evils of _no union_, or_no slavery_, it was thought the former was the worse, and consequentlythe free States fell in with the measure. But could the patriots of theRevolution have foreseen the gigantic growth of slavery, and the usethat would have been made of the provision recognizing it, noconsideration would have induced them to adopt a course that has beenprolific of so much misrepresentation and mischief to the country. Theyleft the suppression of slavery to the States where it existed, butthere was no intention to ingraft the idea of property in man in theConstitution, or to favor its extension beyond the original slave Statesin any way. John Jay, the first Chief-Justice, was preëminentlyqualified to judge respecting this. We have his testimony mostexplicitly denying the natural right of property in slaves, anddeclaring that the Constitution did not recognize the equity of itsextension in the new States or Territories. Who was there moreconversant with the genius of our country than Washington; and yet howfull is his testimony to the evil of slavery; its want of natural rightto support it, and the necessity of its speedy suppression andabolition? Is it possible that he, himself a slaveholder and anemancipationist, could utter such sentiments and enforce them by hisexample, if he regarded the Constitution as establishing the light ofproperty in man, and the benefit of the indefinite expansion of slaveryover the country? No, indeed! If we may consider the Constitution inrelation to slaves an inconsistent instrument, we can not prove it anhypocritical and dishonest one. The hard necessities of the times wrungout of reluctant patriots the admission of the rendition of slaves, butthey would not by any reasonable construction of language, assert thenatural right of property in slaves, and the propriety or benefit of itstoleration in new States and Territories. It was bad enough to toleratethis evil in the old slave States, but it would be infamous to hand downto posterity a Constitution denying the self-evident truths of theDeclaration of Independence. Toleration is not synonymous with approval, or existence with right. There is a most subtle error in the assumptionof the indifference of the Constitution to freedom and slavery--that itadvocated neither, but protected both. Certainly the framers of theConstitution were not automatons, or this instrument the accident of thethrow of the dice-box. The great purpose of this instrument was to raisethe revenue, and defend the country. Its end was to protect theliberties and command the respect of civilized nations. The oldConfederation was to give way to the Federal Constitution. Theindependence of the United States had been achieved at a heavy cost. Tosay nothing of frontiers exposed, country ravaged, towns burnt, commercenearly ruined, the derangement of finances--the pecuniary loss aloneamounted to one hundred and seventy million dollars, two thirds of whichhad been expended by Congress, the balance by individual States. Thedesign of the Constitution was to preserve the fruits of the Revolution, to respect State sovereignty, and yet secure a powerful and efficientUnion; to have a central government, and yet not infringe upon the localrights of the States. It will, therefore, be seen that while the subjectof slavery was earnestly discussed, and presented at the outset a greatobstacle to the union of the States, yet it was thought, upon the whole, best to leave to the slave States the business of doing away with thisgreat evil in such a manner as in their judgment might best conduce totheir own security and the preservation of the Union. 

But no truth of history is more evident than that the authors of theConstitution regarded slavery as impossible to be sustained upon theground of the natural rights of mankind, and deserving of noencouragement in the Territories, or States hereafter to come into theUnion. It was thought that the best interests of the slave States wouldlead them to abolish slavery, and that before many years, the Republicwould cease to bear the disgrace of chattel bondage. It is certainlyproper that the acts and language of the authors of the Constitution, and those who chiefly were instrumental in achieving our independence, should be made to interpret that instrument which was the creation oftheir own toils and love of country. Because the circumstances of thepresent day have brought about a mighty change in the feelings andopinions of the slave States, it does not follow that the Constitutionin its original intention and spirit should be accommodated to this newaspect of things. It is easy to get up a theory of the natural right ofslavery, and then say that the Constitution meant that the slave Statesshould carry slave property just where the free States carry theirproperty; but when this ground is taken, the Constitution is made, toall intents, a pro-slavery instrument. It ceases to be the charter of anation's freedom, and resolves itself into the most effective agent ofthe propagandism of slavery. The transition is easy from such a theoryto the fulfillment of the boast of Senator Toombs, 'that the roll ofslaves might yet be called at the foot of Bunker Hill Monument. ' But nostraining of the language of the Constitution can make it mean therecognition of the natural right of slavery, The guarded manner in whichthe provision was made for the rendition of slaves, and all thecircumstances connected with the adoption of the Constitution, showconclusively that slavery was considered only a local and municipalinstitution, a serious evil, to be suppressed and curtailed by the slaveStates, and never by the General Government a blessing to be fosteredand extended where it did not exist at the time the Union of thethirteen States was perfected. 

Alexander H. Stephens, Vice-President of the Confederate States, in aspeech at Atlanta, Georgia, said:

 'Jefferson, Madison, Washington, and many others, were tender of the word slave, in the organic law, and all looked forward to the time when the institution of slavery should be removed from our midst as a trouble and a stumbling-block. The delusion could not be traced in any of the component parts of the Southern Constitution. In that instrument we solemnly discarded the pestilent heresy of fancy politicians, that all men of all races were equal, and we have made African inequality, and subordination, the chief corner-stone of the Southern Republic. '

Here we have the great idea of an essential difference in relation tothe Constitution and slavery existing at the present day South, fromthat which did exist at the time of its ratification universally by thepeople of the thirteen States. The Vice-President of the SouthernConfederacy frankly admits that slavery is its chief corner-stone; thatour ancestors were deluded upon the subject of slavery; that the ideascontained in the Declaration of Independence respecting the equality ofall men, and their natural right to life, liberty, and the pursuit ofhappiness, are only the pestilent heresy of fancy politicians;consequently that in the Southern Constitution all such trash wassolemnly discarded. Can clearer proof be wanted to show that thestand-point of slavery and freedom has altogether changed since the daysof Washington? Is it not true that our country at the present daypresents the singular spectacle of two great divisions, one holding tothe Constitution as interpreted by our ancestors North and South, theother openly repudiating such interpretation? Is it strange, with such aradical difference existing as to the import of the Constitution uponthe subject of slavery, that we should have such frequent and everpersistent charges of Northern aggression? If the history of slavery bekept in mind, it will be seen that it has steadily had its eye upon oneend, and that is national aggrandizement. Thus about two hundredthousand slaveholders wield all the political power of the South, andcompel all non-slaveholders to acquiesce in their supremacy. Butwhatever the South may choose to do, the North is under obligation togive to slavery nothing more than what is guaranteed in theConstitution. If more than this is asked for, the North is bound by ajust regard for its own interests and the prosperity of the country torefuse compliance. It has been seen that even admitting that a State hasa just cause of complaint, or supposing as a matter of fact that theConstitution is violated, she can not set herself up to be exclusivelythe judge in this matter, and leave the Union at her convenience. 

The history of our country reveals two memorable cases where thequestion was decided that not the State, but the Federal Government wasto be its own judge of what was constitutional, and act accordingly. First, the case of New-York; secondly, the course taken by Massachusettsin relation to the Embargo law of 1807, which was believed to beunconstitutional generally in New-England. In the case of New-York, there was, as has been said, the surrender of any right to secede fromthe Union at her pleasure; while in the Embargo law of 1807, which wasbrought up to the Supreme Court for decision, there was the acquiescenceof New-England upon the simple point, who should be the final arbiter inthe dispute. Massachusetts and all New-England assented to a decision ofthe Judiciary, not upon the ground that it was right, but that theSupreme Court had alone the authority to say what was right. 

In this case there was a perfect refutation of the whole theory ofsecession; that theory falls back upon the idea that the Stategovernment is to be its own judge of what constitutes a violation of theConstitution, and act accordingly; but the Embargo law of 1807, whencarried up to the Supreme bench, and the way New-England assented to adecision that was not believed to be in accordance with theConstitution, is a signal rebuke of the assumption of State sovereigntywhen arrayed against the General Government. The all-important questionwas not, Was the decision of the Judiciary right, but simply, Who hadthe authority to say what was right? Who should submit to thatauthority? No person can fail to see in these two cases, undercircumstances so widely different, and with an end proposed in eachdirectly the reverse of the other, that the point so important toestablish was clearly made out, that the National Government reserves toitself alone the right to decide as to what should be the course takenin questions of dispute that arise between the States and the Federalauthority. 

It is mournful to see the finest country on the earth--a land peculiarlyblessed with every element of material wealth, a land that has grownlike a giant, and commanded the respect of the world--now in her centralgovernment made an object of contempt, and crippled in her strength bythose very States who should, upon the principle of gratitude for favorsgranted, have been the last to leave the Union. While the Government atWashington has shown the utmost forbearance, they have manifested thegreatest insolence, as well as disregard of the most sacred rights ofthe Union. An Absalom the most willful and impetuous of his father'sfamily, and yet the most caressed and indulged, requites every debt ofparental kindness by seeking through treachery and the prostitution ofall his privileges to raise an insurrection in the household of David, and turn away through craft the hearts of the people from their rightfullord. So like Absalom, South-Carolina first unfurls the banner oftreason and war among the sister States, desperately resolved to secureher selfish aggrandizement even at the price of the ruin of the country, but like Absalom, also, she is destined to experience a reverse asignominious and as fatal. 

_A STORY OF MEXICAN LIFE_

VIII. 

'My neighbor gazed at the stranger with bewilderment, and remainedspeechless. There was, nevertheless, nothing in his outward mien to giverise to so much emotion. He was a robust and rather handsome fellow, ofabout twenty-five, bold, swaggering, and free and easy in hisdeportment--a perfect specimen of the race of half-breeds so common inMexico. His skin was swarthy, his features regular, and his beardluxuriant and soft as silk. His eyes were large and black as sloes, histeeth small, regular, and white as ivory, and his whole countenance, when in repose, wore an expression which won confidence rather thanexcited distrust. But when conversing, there was an indefinablecraftiness in his smile, and a peculiar cunning in the twinkle of hiseye, that often strikes the traveler in Mexico, as pervading all thatclass who are accustomed to making excursions into the interior. Hiscostume, covered with dust, and torn in many places, led me to inferthat he had only just returned from some long journey. 

'After waiting, with great politeness, for some few seconds, to allowArthur time to address him, and finding he waited in vain, the Mexicanopened the conversation:

''I fear your excellency will scold me for delaying so long on the road;but how could I help it? I am more to be pitied than blamed--I lostthree horses--at monte--and if it had not been by good luck that the aceturned up when I staked my saddle and bridle, I should not be here evennow; but the ace won; I bought a fresh horse--and here I am. '

''What success?' inquired Arthur, with a look of intense anxiety; 'didyou bring any?'

''Certainly, ' replied Pepito, handing him very unconcernedly a smallpackage; 'I brought more than you told me, and, in fact, I might havebrought a mule-load if you had wanted so many. '

''Adéle!' cried Mr. Livermore, overcome with delight, as he rushed intomy room, 'Adéle, HE HAS FOUND IT!'

Pepito followed Arthur with his sharp eye, and on beholding Adéle, askedme, in a low tone:

''Who is that lady, Caballero?'

''I can not say; I myself never saw her until to-day, ' said I; andnoticing his gaze riveted on her in apparent admiration, I added:

''Do you think her pretty?'

''Pretty! Holy Virgin! she is lovely enough to make a man risk hissalvation to win her. '

'Feeling that my presence might be one of those superfluities with whichthey would gratefully dispense, I was on the point of leaving, whenthere was a knock at the door. Again Adéle sought refuge in my room, andagain Arthur advanced to the door:

''Open, it is I, ' said a voice from the outside; 'I have come to inquireafter my friend Pepito. '

''Señor, ' exclaimed Pepito, 'that must be my compadre, Pedro. '

'On the door being opened, they flew to one another's arms, and gave atrue Mexican embrace. 

'The entrance of Pedro, which evidently annoyed Mr. Livermore, awakenedin my mind strange suspicions. I resolved at the earliest opportunity Ihad of a private interview with him, to allude to what I had overheardon the Alameda. In the mean time I would keep an eye on these twocronies. 

''Stand back, Pedro, and let me have a good look at you. '

''_There!_ well, how do you think I look?'

''My dear fellow, you are growing decidedly coarse and fat. '

''Bah! but how do you like my new rig?'

''I can not admire the cut; but, of course, you bought themready-made--one could see that with half an eye. '

''Well, Pepito, now that you are once more back in the city, I lacknothing to make me perfectly happy. You will spend the rest of the daywith me?'

''Of course, my dear fellow. '

''Well, it is about dinner-time; let us be off. '

''Wait till I have first bid adieu to his excellency, ' replied Pepito, turning toward Mr. Livermore. Then advancing a few steps, he whispered afew words to him, at the same time bowing very low. Arthur unlocked thedrawer of his table and took out a roll of dollars, which he handed tothe Mexican. 

''Must you absolutely leave me so soon?' said he. 

''Well, Caballero, after so long a journey, a man requires relaxation, and enjoys a social glass; so, with your permission, I will see youagain to-morrow. '

'This answer was any thing but pleasing to Mr. Livermore, who turned tome, and addressing me in English, said:

''My dear sir, once more I must trespass on your good-nature. It isessential to the success of my plans, that these two men should not beleft together. Will you, _can_ you, tack yourself on to them, and keepclose to Pepito until they separate?'

''Your request is as strange as it is difficult of execution; but I willdo my best. '

''Gentlemen, ' said I, to the two Mexicans, as we all three were goingdown the stairs, 'you were speaking of dining--now I want to visit areal Mexican _fonda_; I am tired of these French cafés; will you favorme by taking me to a first-rate house, for I am not acquainted with thiscity. '

''If you will accompany us to the Fonda Genovesa, Caballero, ' saidPedro, 'I will warrant you will have no cause to repent it. '

''I am infinitely indebted to you, and shall gladly accept yourguidance. '

'The Fonda Genovesa was certainly one of the vilest establishments Iever visited, and the dinner was, of course, detestably bad. However, Itreated my two worthies to a couple of bottles of wine, which being tothem a rare luxury, they declared they had fared sumptuously. 

''But, look here, Pepito, ' said Pedro, 'you have not yet alluded to yourjourney. Where have you been all this time?'

''Where have I been? Oh! well, that is a secret. '

''A secret! what, from me, from your compadre Pedro?'

''Even so, my dear Pedro, even so; I have sworn not to mention theobject of my journey nor my destination. '

''Oh! I dare say; but look here, what did you swear by--the holy Virginof Guadalupe? No? Well, was it the cross?'

''No, neither by the one nor the other. '

''What is there binding, then? nothing else ought to keep you silentwhen _I_ am in question?'

''I pledged my sacred honor. '

''Your sacred honor! Give me your hand, you always were a wag, but youhumbugged me this time, I confess; well, that _is_ a good one--the bestjoke I have heard for an age--excellent! well, go on, I am allattention, all ears. '

''Well, you won't hear much, for I am a man of honor, and bound not tospeak; besides, I received a hundred dollars to keep mum. '

'Pedro for a moment appeared to be in a brown study; at last, gazinghard at his friend, he said:

''Would two hundred tempt you to speak?'

''If such a proposition were to come from a stranger, I might, perchance, accept it; but seeing it comes from you--never. '

''Why?'

''Because, when you offer me two hundred dollars for any thing, it mustbe worth far more than you offer. '

''Well, now, admit, just as a supposition, that I am interested in thismatter, what harm will it do you, if we both turn an honest penny?'

''That is just the point; but I don't want you to turn ten pennies to myone. '

''Your scruples, my dear Pepito, display a cautious temperament, andevince deep acquaintance with human nature; you see through my littleveil of mystery, and I own your sagacity; now I will be honest withyou--with a man like you, lying is mere folly. It is true, I am to havefour hundred dollars if I can find out where you have been. I swear toyou by the holy Virgin of Guadalupe, I am making a clean breast of it. Now, will you take that amount? Say the word, and I will go and fetch itright away. '

'This proposition seemed to embarrass the scrupulous Pepito extremely, and he remained some time lost in thought. 

''But, if you only receive four hundred, and give me four hundred, whatthe deuce will you make out of such an operation?'

''Trust entirely to your generosity. '

''What! leave me to do what I like! I take you up--by Jupiter! Pedro, that is a noble trait in your character--I take you up. '

''Then it is a bargain. Will you wait here for me, or would you preferto meet me at our usual Monte in the Calle de los Meradores?'

''I prefer the Monte. '

''You will swear on the cross, to relate fully and truly everyparticular relating to your journey?'

''Of course--every thing. '

''I will be there in a couple of hours. '

'After his friend's departure, Pepito sat silent; his brow was knit, andyet a mocking sneer played around his lips; he seemed to be pursuing twotrains of thought at once; suspicion and merriment were clearly workingin his mind. 

''This is a droll affair, Caballero; I can't clearly see the bottom ofit'

''There is nothing very unusual in it that I see, ' I replied, 'for everyday men sacrifice honor for gold. '

''True, nothing more common, and yet this proposition beats all I evermet with. '

''In what respect?'

''Why, the interest that these folks who employ Pedro, take in thisjourney that I undertook for your friend, Señor Pride. '

''But, if this journey has some valuable secret object in view?'

''Valuable secret!' repeated Pepito, bursting into a fit of laughter;'Yes, a valuable secret indeed! Oh! the joke of offering four hundreddollars for what, 'twixt you and me, is not worth a cent. But who can itbe that is behind Pedro, in this matter? He must be some rival doctor, or else a naturalist, on the same scent. '

''Is Señor Pride, ' I inquired, 'a doctor--are you sure of that?'

''Yes--he must be--but I don't know, ' exclaimed Pepito; 'I am at mywits' end. If he is not, I have been working in the dark, and he hasdeceived me with a false pretext; I am at a loss--dead beat. But onething is plain--I can make four hundred dollars, if I like. '

''And will you betray your employer?' said I indignantly. 

''Time enough--never decide rashly, Caballero; I shalldeliberate--nothing like sleeping on important affairs; to-morrow--whoknows what to-morrow may bring forth?'

'So saying, Pepito arose, took his traveling sword under his arm, placedhis hat jauntily on his head, cast an admiring eye at the looking-glass, and then brushed off some of the dust that still clung to his leftsleeve. 

''The smile of Heaven abide with you, Señor, ' said he, with a mostgraceful bow. 'As for your friend's secret, do not be uneasy about it; Iam not going to meet Pedro to-night. I shall take advantage of hisabsence to make a call on my lady-love. Pedro is a good fellow, butshockingly self-conceited; he fancies himself far smarter thanI--perhaps he is--but somehow I fancy, this time he must be early if hecatches me asleep. '

'On his departure, I paid the bill, which both my friends hadoverlooked, then walked out and seated myself on the Alameda, which atthat hour was thronged with promenaders. Isolated, buried in thought, inthe midst of that teeming throng, the various episodes in the drama ofwhich my mysterious neighbor was the principal character, passed beforemy mind. I again and again reviewed the strange events which, by somefreak of fortune, I had been a witness to. What was the basis on whichmy friend, with two sets of names, founded his dream of inexhaustiblewealth, this mission he had intrusted to Pepito? What the mission whichthe agent laughed at, and which to gain a clue to, others were temptinghim with glittering bribes? And again, why the deceit practiced onPepito, by assuming the guise of a doctor? Each of these facts was atext on which I piled a mountain of speculation. 

'Vexed and annoyed at finding myself becoming entangled in this web ofmystery, as well as piqued at my failure to unravel it, I determined toavoid all further connection with any of the actors; and full of thisresolve, I wended my way homeward, to have a final and decisiveinterview with Mr. Livermore. 

'The worthy Donna Teresa Lopez confronted me as I entered the innerdoor:

''Plenty of news, is there not?' she asked; 'I heard a good deal ofsquabbling, last night; that man in the cloak was noisy. '

''Yes; they had an interesting discussion. '

''You can not make me believe that was all. _Discussion_, indeed! Whenthere is a pretty woman in the case, and two men talk as loudly as theydid, it generally ends in a serious kind of discussion. 'When love stirsthe fire, anger makes the blood boil. ' Tell me, now, will they fighthere, in the Señor Pride's room?'

'This question, which Donna Teresa put in the most matter-of-fact sortof way, staggered me considerably, and confirmed me in the resolution toavoid the whole business. 

''I sincerely trust, Señora, that such an event is not probable. On whatdo you base your supposition?'

''There is nothing so very astounding in rivals fighting; but it is allthe same to me. I only asked that I might take precautions. '

''Precautions! what, inform the police?'

''No, no! I thought it might be as well to take down the newcurtains--the blood might spoil them. '

'Need I say I terminated my interview with my hostess, more impressedwith admiration of her business qualities than of her sympatheticvirtues? But let me do the poor woman justice; life is held so cheap, and the knife acts so large a part in Mexico, that violence and suddendeath produce a mere transient effect. 

IX. 

'Instead of going to my own apartments, I went direct to Mr. Livermore's, intending thus to show him that I wished no longer to belooked upon as the man in the next room. 

''We were dying with anxiety to see you, ' he said, as I entered; 'walkinto the other room, you will find Adéle there. '

''Well, Mr. Rideau, ' said she, with intense anxiety visible on hercountenance, 'what passed between those two men?'

''Little of importance. Pedro offered Pepito four hundred dollars if hewould divulge the particulars of his journey; to which offer Pepito hasacceded. That is about all. '

'I was far from anticipating the effect my answer would produce on myhearers. They were overwhelmed--thunderstruck. Adéle was the first torecover. 

''Fool! fool that I was, ' she exclaimed, 'why did I select in such anenterprise a man worn down by sickness and disease?'

'The look she cast on Arthur, rapid as it was, was so full of menaceand reproach, that it startled me. 

''Well, Arthur, ' she said, laying her hand on his arm; 'do you feel illagain?'

'Roused by the sound of her voice, Arthur placed his hand on his heart, and mutely plead excuse for the silence which his sufferings imposed onhim. 

'As for me, I spoke no word, but mentally consigned my mysteriousneighbors to a distant port, whence consignments never return. 

''My dear sir, ' I replied at length, 'Pepito's treachery, which appearsso deeply to affect you, is not yet carried into execution, it is onlycontemplated. I will give you word for word what transpired. '

'When I had concluded my narrative, to which they listened withbreathless attention, Adéle exclaimed:

''Our hopes are not yet crushed, the case is not utterly desperate; butalas! it is evident our secret is suspected, if not known. Arthur, ' shecontinued, 'now is the time to display all our energy. We have someenemy to dread, as I have long suspected. If we do not at once steal amarch on him, then farewell forever to all our dreams of happiness, ofwealth, or even of subsistence. '

''Sir, ' said she, again addressing me; 'your honor alone has kept you inignorance of our secret. You could easily have tempted and corruptedPepito. We prefer you should learn it from us rather than from anaccidental source. We merely request your word of honor that you willnot use it to your own advantage, without our joint consent, nor in anyway thwart our plans. '

''I am deeply sensible, madame, of the confidence you repose in me; butI must beg you will allow me to remain in ignorance. '

''You refuse, then, to give us the promise?' exclaimed Adéle, 'I see itall! you will thwart us; you would preserve your liberty of actionwithout forfeiting your word. '

'If you had known me longer, such a suspicion would not have crossedyour mind. However, as I have no other means of proving it unjust, Iwill give the pledge you desire, I am now ready to hear whatever youhave to communicate. '

'Mr. Livermore resumed the conversation:

''The secret which Adéle imparted to me will, I dare say, appear atfirst very extravagant, but before you laugh at it, give me time toexplain. It is the existence of a marvelous opal mine in the interior;the precise location of which is known to no one save Adéle and myself. '

'In spite of the greatest effort, I could not suppress a smile ofincredulity, at this announcement. Mexico is so full of strange storiesof fabulous mines, that this wondrous tale of opals looked to me likesome new confidence game, and I felt sure my neighbors were duped orelse trying to dupe me. 

''Oh! I see you think we are deceived?'

''I admit, ' I replied, 'it strikes me as possible that you have been thevictims of some crafty scheme. Did you hear of this mine before or sinceyour arrival in Mexico?'

''Before we left New-Orleans. '

''And yet it is not known to the natives?'

''It was from a Mexican we had our information. '

''Why did not this Mexican himself take advantage of it?'

''He could not, for he was banished. He is now dead. But what do youthink of these specimens?'

'He took from a drawer ten or twelve opals of rare size and brilliancy. I examined them with care; they were, beyond all doubt, of veryconsiderable value. My incredulity gradually gave way to amazement. 

''Are you certain these opals really came from the mine of which youspeak?'

''Nothing can be more certain; you saw Pepito hand me a package; youheard his remark that he could have brought a mule-load; these are afew of what he did bring. '

''This mine then really exists?' I said, my incredulity giving way tothe most ardent curiosity. 

''Really exists! yes, my friend; if you listen, I will dispel all doubtof that. '

X. 

''On arriving in this country, my first step was to procure a guide andthe necessary equipage for reaching the opal mine. Although I felt sureof its existence, I could not dispel the fear that the story of itsmarvelous richness would prove false. Without loss of time, I started;for to me it was a question of life and death. I had, however, barelyaccomplished a third of the journey, when I was prostrated by fever. Thefatigue of traveling in the interior of this magnificent but wretchedcountry, combined with excitement and anxiety, preyed upon my mind, andbrought on an illness, from which at one time I gave up all hope ofrecovering. I was compelled to return to Vera Cruz. The doctors were allof the opinion that several months of perfect repose would be necessarybefore I could undertake another such journey. Several months--oh! howthose words fell on my ears; they sounded like the knell of all myhopes. A thousand expedients floated through my brain, and in adoptingthe course I eventually did, time alone will prove whether I followedthe promptings of a good or evil genius. One evening, I explained to myattendant that I was a medical man, deeply interested in botanical andmineralogical discoveries; that my object in undertaking my recentjourney was to collect certain rare herbs and a singular description ofshell. I laid peculiar stress on the herbs, and added in relation to theshells, that I merely wanted a few specimens, as they were rare in mycountry. My attendant at once proffered his services, to go in search ofthem. I appeared at first to attach but little importance to his offer;but as he renewed it whenever the subject was alluded to, I at lastemployed him. The mine is situated on the margin of a little brook. Oneday's work of an active man will turn the stream into a fresh channel, and a few inches beneath its bed will be found, mixed with the damp sandand loam, the shells, which, when polished, form the opal. I gave myservant the needful information as to localities and landmarks, andpromised him a gratuity of a hundred dollars over and above his wages, in case he succeeded. Having given him instructions, I retained hisservices until I reached this city, where I determined to await hisreturn, it being more healthy than Vera Cruz. Having selected mylodgings and given him the pass-word by which alone a stranger couldobtain admittance to me, with an anxious heart I dispatched him on themission. 

''For three months I had no tidings of him; night and day, I was theprey of doubt and fear. No words can portray the agony of suspense thatI endured; the hours seemed days, the days months, and the bitterness ofyears was crowded into that short interval. At last, thanks be toheaven, my messenger returned. '

''Do you mean Pepito?' I exclaimed. 

''The very man, ' replied Arthur; 'his journey was successful. You haveseen the specimens he brought. I was intoxicated with delight; but Adéledid not share my joy. Nature has given woman a faculty of intuitiondenied to man. Alas! Adéle's presentiment has been verified; youraccount of the interview between Pepito and his friend proves her fearswere well-grounded. '

''In what way?'

''In _this_ way; it shows we have an enemy who has an inkling of oursecret, and is striving to snatch the prize from us. What course to takeI am at a loss to know. Adéle advises to make sure of Pepito, at anyprice. '

''And that strikes me as being your surest if not your only course. '

''Yes, the surest; but how to make _sure_ of him?'

''By outbidding your competitors, and proving to him that in adhering toyou he is best serving his own interests. '

''But he is base enough to take bribes from both sides, and betrayeach. '

''Oh! that I were a man!' exclaimed Adéle, 'this fellow is the only onewho knows our secret. One man ought not to stand in fear of another. Only _one_ man crosses your path, Arthur. '

''Unless I murder him, how can he be silenced?'

''_Murder_ him! It is not murder to kill a robber. Were _I_ a man, Iwould not hesitate how to act. '

''The anxiety of Pedro, ' I said, 'indicates you have an enemy. Have youany idea who he is?'

''I believe, ' said Adéle, 'that I know him. '

''Are you sure there is only one?'

''Why do you ask?' said the woman, fixing her eye upon me as though shewould, in spite of every obstacle, read my inmost thoughts. 

''Because I fancy there are _two_, for instance, Brown and Hunt. '

'At the mention of these names Adéle started to her feet, exclaiming:

''On all sides there is treachery. I _demand_, sir, an explanation. Whatleads you to associate the name of that firm with this matter? Eitheryou are our friend or you are not. Speak plainly!'

''Madame, by the merest chance, I overheard Pedro mention those names, and since you have given me your confidence, I will give you someinformation which may put you on your guard, and help to guide yourfuture plans. '

'I then briefly related the conversations I had overheard betweenGeneral Valiente and Pedro, both on the Alameda and in the gaming-housein the Calle del Arco. 

''Now, madame, ' I continued, 'let me inquire whether the Mexican fromwhom you derived your information, had any connection with this firm?'

''Yes, sir, he knew them, ' she replied; then, after a slight pause, sheadded: 'We have already told you so much that it would be folly toconceal the way in which we became acquainted with the existence of thismine. Soon after my marriage, I met a veteran officer of the Mexicanarmy, General Ramiro, then living in exile, at New-Orleans. For me heconceived a paternal affection, and many a time remonstrated with Mr. Percival, and entreated him to devote himself to his family, and abandonthe course of life which was leading him to ruin. He often spoke of hisdesire to return to Mexico, and lived constantly in the hope of thedecree being revoked, which had driven him into exile. One day hedisclosed the chief cause of his desire to return, by revealing thesecret we have imparted to you. '

''Pardon me, madame, ' I said, 'but tell me how General Ramiro gained hisinformation? Exploring for opal mines is hardly part of the duties of aGeneral, even in Mexico. '

''I was about to explain that, ' replied the lady. 'An Indian, convictedof murdering a monk, some three years previously, was condemned todeath. On being taken, according to Mexican usage, on the eve ofexecution, to the confessional, he refused the slightest attention tothe exhortations of the priests, affirming that he had written a letterto the Governor, which would secure his pardon. 

''True enough, a party of dragoons arrived during the night, and tookhim away. The letter was addressed to General Ramiro, then acting asGovernor, and contained promises of a revelation of the highestimportance. 

''When conducted to the General, the Indian proved, by a host ofdetails, the existence of an opal mine, which he had accidentallydiscovered, and in return for the revelation, demanded a free pardon. '

''I understand, perfectly, madame, ' I added, seeing Adéle hesitate. 

''I feel, ' she said, 'a certain reluctance at this portion of mynarrative, for it forces me to lay bare an act which General Ramiro everafter regretted, and which--' ''Madame, I will spare you the recital;the fact is, the General gained the Indian's secret, andthen--unfortunately for the Indian--forgot to fulfill his promise. '

''Alas! sir, you have rightly judged. Two hours after the interview, theIndian suffered the garrote, and General Ramiro became the solepossessor of this important secret. I will not attempt to justify myvenerable friend. He sincerely lamented his sin, and retributionfollowed him with long, sad years of exile and poverty. We often sattogether for hours, he talking of his wonderful mine, and longing forhis recall to his native land. His enemies, however, held a firm hold ofgovernment, and growing weary of delay, he made overtures to this firmof Brown and Hunt, through their correspondents in New-Orleans. Beingsadly in want of funds, he was even mad enough to give a hint of somekind, relative to an opal mine, which was to be worked by them on jointaccount. 

''Before any definite arrangement was perfected, an event occurred whichis indelibly impressed on my memory. The General, after spending aportion of the afternoon with us, had returned to his home; and abouteleven at night, a messenger begged my immediate attendance on him. Hehad been taken suddenly ill; and my husband, who was cognizant of thepaternal affection the General felt for me, urged me to hasten to hisbedside. 

''I found him at the point of death; but my presence seemed to call himback to life. 'My child, ' said he, placing in my hands a very voluminousletter, 'this is all I have to give you. Farewell, dear child, I amgoing. Farewell, forever. ' In a few moments he was no more. I returnedhome a prey to the most intense grief, and for several days did notthink of opening the letter I had received from my dying benefactor. Itcontained the most precise details of the situation of the opal mine, and advice as to the best means of reaching it. 

''So you see, Mr. Rideau, ' she added, after a slight pause, 'the secretis known only to three persons--Arthur, Pepito, and myself. What, underthe circumstances, would you do?'

''I see but one course, madame--prompt action; by this means only canyou hope to succeed. You should start without a day's delay. '

''And Pepito?'

''Take him with you. '

''Your advice would be excellent were it practicable; but the state ofMr. Livermore's health will not permit him to travel. '

''Oh! never fear, Adéle; your presence and your care will keep me up. Ishall gain strength by change of air and scene. '

'Adéle was, probably, about to protest against such a proof of hisattachment, when she was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

''It is Pepito, ' said I. My conjecture proved correct. Opening the door, the Mexican appeared, dressed in a new suit, and evidently not a littleproud of his external improvements. He bowed politely to Mr. Livermoreand myself, and then bending before Adéle, took her hand and raised itwith true Mexican grace, to his lips. 

''You arrive, Pepito, ' said Adéle, 'at the very moment we are talkingabout you. '

'Pepito again bowed to the lady. 

''Señora, ' said he, 'to please you I would die; to obey you I would killmyself. '

'The exaggerated tone of Mexican politeness which prompted this replydid not surprise Adéle, but it brought a smile to her lips. 

''I trust my wishes will not lead to such disastrous results, ' shereplied. 'The fact is, Señor Pride thinks shortly of undertaking anotherjourney; and as his health is delicate, we are anxious you should bearus company. I need not add, the zeal you have already shown, will notfail to secure our interest in your future welfare. '

''Indeed! does his excellency intend starting very soon? May I beallowed to ask where is he going?'

''To the same place, ' said Arthur. 

''Oh! oh! I see; the herbs and shells I brought were not enough toanswer his excellency's purpose; you want more of the shells--eh, Señor?'

'Yes, a few more, ' said Arthur, with a deep sigh, for he felt acutelythe ironical tone which the Mexican assumed. 

''Well, what would you say, Señor Pride, if, instead of the few I handedyou, I had brought a sack full--you would not feel angry, would you?'

''Scoundrel! you have not dared to thus deceive me?' exclaimed Mr. Livermore, starting to his feet and advancing toward Pepito, with an airof menace. 

''Unfortunately, I did not; but you have proved to me what a fool I was, not to suspect their value. You evidently attach immense importance tothem. '

''Control your temper, Arthur, ' said Adéle, in English, 'or you willruin every thing. '

''After all, ' resumed Pepito, 'it is only a chance deferred, not achance lost. With a good horse, I can soon make up for lost time. '

'His tone of defiance annihilated the self-possession even of Adéle;while as for Arthur, he looked the very picture of despair. I, therefore, resolved to smooth matters over, and if possible, to bringPepito to terms. At first he listened to me very unwillingly, andanswered sulkily and laconically; but wearied at last by my pertinacity, he suggested that it was scarcely fair play for me to assume to sit asjudge in a cause wherein I was an interested party. '

''You are strangely mistaken, Pepito, ' I said, in reply; 'I can swear toyou on my honor, and by the holy Virgin of Guadalupe, that I am not inany way a party to this transaction; and that its success or its failurewill not affect me to the extent of a real. 

''Oh! I beg your pardon, Caballero, ' muttered Pepito, on whom myadjuration by the holy Virgin of Guadalupe, had produced an unexpectedeffect. 'In that case I will trust to your advice; I rely on your honor. Now tell me--I know very well these shells are valuable--how much woulda mule-load be worth--two thousand dollars?'

''Yes, and perhaps more. '

''You speak frankly, like a man!' he exclaimed with delight; 'you don'tseek to take advantage of my ignorance; you are a true gentleman. Tellme where I could sell these things. '

''You could find no one to buy them in this country; they must be senteither to Europe or New-York. '

''The devil! that upsets my plans. I know no one in Europe, no one inNew-York; besides, I can neither read nor write; I should be cheated onall hands. Is there no way to settle this business between ourselves?Listen, now: I will agree not only to accompany Señor Pride as hisguide, but to do all the work when we arrive at our destination, oncondition that he pays me two thousand dollars for every trip we make. What do you say to my proposition?'

''That it is Señor Pride who must answer you, not I. '

XI. 

'Obeying the injunction laid upon him by Adéle, Mr. Livermore affectedto demur at the high price placed by Pepito on his cooperation, butfinally appeared to yield to our joint solicitation. 

''Well, then, the bargain is closed, ' said Pepito, smiling. 'Now I canunderstand why Pedro was so anxious to have me betray my trust. Oh! howdelighted I am to think he will find I have left him in the lurch. '

''Señor Pepito, ' said Adéle, with a most winning smile, 'do you happento know a family residing some short distance from this city, who, inconsideration of a liberal compensation, would not object to take a ladyto board with them?'

''I do, Señora, at Toluca. '

''How far is it from here?'

''Twelve or fourteen leagues. '

'' Are you intimate enough with the family to take me there to-morrow, without previously informing them of my intention?'

''Certainly; the lady I allude to is my sister. '

''Then to-morrow morning early, at seven, say. But Señor Pepito, I hadforgotten to warn you that in escorting me you will run a great danger. '

''Oh! I am not afraid of the robbers on the road; they know me well, andnever molest me. '

''It is not of robbers that I stand in dread. '

''Of what, then?'

''Of a man--an enemy who hates me with a deadly hatred, and who, I fear, seeks my life. '

''A man--_one_ man--and he seeks your life; well, well, I should liketo meet him face to face, ' exclaimed Pepito. 

''Then, Señor, you promise to protect me at any risk?'

''Protect you! _yes_, ' replied he with vehemence, 'I pledge you myhonor, my body, and my soul. I will face the bravest of the brave, todefend you from injury. '

''From my heart of hearts I thank you, Pepito, ' said Mr. Livermore, 'youshall find me not ungrateful, and in return for the zeal and devotionyou have shown, two hundred dollars shall be yours, on your return withtidings of madame's safe arrival. '

''I will at once proceed to secure the necessary equipage, Señor. Señora, rely on my punctuality; at seven, I shall attend you. '

''Are you related to Señor Pride?' asked Pepito, as we descended thestairs. 

''In no way; I have known him only a few days. '

''Well, Caballero, I own I am enchanted with his wife; I never met awoman of such matchless beauty, such fascinating manners; why, Señor, ifshe said to me, 'Pepito, kill your brother, ' and I had a brother, which, luckily, I have not, I think I should kill him. '

'These words were uttered with so much vehemence, that I deemed itadvisable to turn the conversation. 

''It seems strange to me, ' said I, 'that you should be so intimate withPedro, and yet be ever on the very verge of quarreling with him. '

''Well, it is perhaps astonishing to those who do not know us; butsomehow Pedro is my best, in fact, my only friend. We were brought up inthe same village, and are just like brothers. He is a good sort offellow, but is abominably vain and self-conceited; then he is deucedlyoverbearing. He has no delicacy for his friend's feelings, and, in fact, has a thousand failings that no one else but I could tolerate. True, wehave now and then a pretty rough time of it. The two gashes on his leftcheek are mementoes of my regard, and I confess I have two ugly marks, one on my shoulder, the other on my right breast, which I owe to him. But what galls me most, he is always talking of his six dead ones, whileI can claim only five; but then my five are all men, while two of hissix are women. '

''Horrible!' I exclaimed. 

''Yes, it is not a fair count; but then it shows his insatiable vanity. Vanity is one of the capital sins; it is hard to tell into what meannessit may not lead a man. ' With this sententious denunciation, the Mexican, who had clearly misinterpreted my indignant ejaculation, raised his hat, with an air of extreme politeness, and departed. 

'When I again entered Mr. Livermore's apartment, the conversationnaturally turned on Pepito. 

''Well, what think you of my cavalier?' said Adéle. 

''As you are aware, my acquaintance with him is of but recent date; butone thing speaks greatly in his favor: he has been for several monthsattached to Mr. Livermore's person, both as guide and as attendant whilesick, and he has not attempted, as far as I have heard, either toassassinate or poison him. This I take to be a striking proof ofmeritorious moderation. '

''I fear, Adéle, we are acting imprudently, ' said Arthur, 'in intrustingyou to the tender mercies of such an unprincipled scoundrel, a man youhave seen but twice. 

''Good heavens! dearest Arthur, would it be less imprudent for that manPercival to find me here? I shudder to think of ever again meeting him;and moreover, by flattering this Pepito and pretending to place entireconfidence in him, I shall win him to a devoted submission to my everywish. '

'After a somewhat protracted but by no means important conversation, Iretired, promising to see them in the morning, previous to Adéle'sdeparture. 

XII. 

'Shortly before the appointed hour, Pepito arrived, and announced thatall his preparations had been made. His fair charge quickly made herappearance, dressed in complete Mexican costume. It suited herremarkably well, and I was not surprised to observe the intenseadmiration with which Pepito gazed upon her, for her beauty was trulyfascinating. Notwithstanding my suspicions of the absence of that innerspiritual beauty which should adorn all female loveliness, I myselfcould scarce resist the spell she exercised on my feelings, even inspite of my judgment. 

'Turning to Pepito, with a smile, she inquired gayly, 'Well, Señor, howdo you like my change of costume?'

'The Mexican replied merely by putting his hand on his heart, and bowingalmost reverentially. 

'Having given Mr. Livermore an affectionate embrace, she exclaimed, in afirm, determined voice: 'Let us be off: time is precious. '

'It had been arranged that I should accompany them until they were outof the city. I therefore left Mr. Livermore alone, and followed the twotravelers. On reaching the street, Adéle took the Mexican's arm; but asthey turned the corner of one of the streets running into the CathedralSquare, I noticed that she raised her hood and lowered the veil attachedto it. Surprised at this apparently uncalled-for act of caution, Iinquired the reason. 

''Do you not see Mr. Percival?' she exclaimed, in Spanish. 

''Who is he? Is that the man you said you dreaded? thatmelancholy-looking man, who is walking so moodily ahead of us?'exclaimed Pepito. 'I must have a good look at him. '

''Be cautious, I beseech you; if he sees me, all is lost. '

''Fear nothing, I will be discreet; I only want to get one good look athim. ' So saying, Pepito increased his speed, and was soon walking besidethe unconscious Percival. 

'In a few minutes, Pepito turned suddenly down a narrow street, intowhich we followed, and there we found a carriage awaiting us. 

''Señora, I shall know your enemy among a thousand, ' was Pepito'sremark, on again offering Adéle his arm, to assist her in entering thevehicle. 

'We were soon safely out of the city, and taking advantage of the firstreturning carriage we met, I returned with it, Adéle thanked me withmuch apparent gratitude for my past services, and begged me to devote asmuch of my leisure as possible to cheering and advising her dear Arthur. 

'On my return, I found him pacing his chamber with intense anxiety, andevidently prostrated by the excitement he had undergone. 

''Well, what news?' said he, almost gasping for breath. 

''Adéle is beyond the reach of danger. '

''You met no one?'

''No one. '

''Heaven be praised; and yet I feel a presentiment I shall never see heragain--never. '

''Pshaw! love is always timorous; it delights in raising phantoms. '

''This is no phantom; death is a reality, and, mark my words, on earthwe shall meet no more. '

'Overcome by the violence of his emotions, he buried his face in hishands, and gave way to an outburst of Intense grief. Yielding, finally, to my reiterated entreaties, he threw himself upon his bed, and, as Ihad some private business to settle, I left him to the care of ourofficious hostess, who was only too happy to find one on whom she coulddisplay her self-acquired knowledge of the healing art. 

'The next day, Arthur, though still feeble, was able to walk about hisapartments. Toward dusk, a letter arrived from Adéle. She announced hersafe arrival at Toluca, spoke in terms of praise of Pepito's devotionand attention, and expressed herself agreeably surprised at thehospitality she had received from his sister. The receipt of this letterproduced a marked improvement in my patient's health. In a postscript, reference was made to an accident which had happened to poor Pepito, whowas prevented from being the bearer of this letter, by having sprainedhis ankle. This would retard his return to the city for a day or two;nevertheless, she begged her 'dear Arthur' not to be uneasy, as eventhis delay, annoying as it was, might prove of advantage, as it wouldgive him time to recover from the effects of the excitement of the pastfew days. 

'After Adéle's departure, I again fastened up the door of communication, and although I saw him at least once every day, to some extent I carriedout my determination of ceasing to be on such intimate terms with Mr. Livermore. I fell back into my former course of life, and yet I felt acertain envy of the colossal fortune upon which he had, as it were, stumbled. Though I sincerely wished my poor sick neighbor might succeedin his enterprise, I gradually grew restless and morose. The opal-minebecame a painful and distasteful topic of conversation, and as Arthurinvariably adverted to it in some way or other, I by degrees made myvisits of shorter and shorter duration. 

'In vain I strove to divert my mind from this one absorbing idea. Ivisited the theatres, attended cock-pits and bull-fights, in the hopethat the excitement would afford me relief from the fascinating spell:but it was useless, I was a haunted man. 

'One night, returning from the opera, at about ten o'clock, I wasstopped by a large crowd at the corner of the Calle Plateros. From anofficer near me, I ascertained that a foreigner, believed to be aheretic, had been stabbed, and was either dead or dying. 

'The next morning, in the _Diario de Gobierno_, which Donna Teresabrought up with my chocolate, I learned that 'at about ten on theprevious night, an American, named Percival, recently arrived fromNew-Orleans, was murdered in the Calle Plateros. ' His watch and pursewere missing; it was therefore inferred that robbery and not revenge hadprompted the foul deed. 

'I instantly summoned Donna Teresa, and requested her to take the paper, which I marked, to Mr. Livermore; and as soon as my breakfast was over, I hastened to make my usual call. I found him looking very sombre. 

''God is my witness!' he exclaimed, the instant I entered the room, 'that I did not seek this poor unfortunate man's death; but it relievesAdéle from all fear. Have you heard any details of the event?'

''I have not; but assassination is not so rare here that you need beunder any fear about it. No suspicion can possibly attach to you. '

''I have no fear, for I know my own innocence; but it is inexplicable tome. Poor Percival! he could have had no enemy in the city. '

''Doubtless he was murdered for his money and his watch; but have youheard from Toluca?'

''Yes, and Adéle informs me that I may expect Pepito in the course ofthe day. So I shall not delay my departure beyond to-morrow, perhapsto-night. But there is some one at the door; doubtless it is Pepito. '

'Mr. Livermore opened the door; but instead of Pepito it was his friend, Pedro, who entered. 

''My presence surprises you, Caballero, ' said Pedro, drawing a longsigh; 'but alas! I have bad news. '

'What! bad news? speak, speak, quick!' exclaimed Arthur, turningdeadly pale. 

'Pedro, before deigning to answer, drew forth a very soiled rag, whichserved him as a handkerchief, and proceeded to rub his eyes with nolittle vigor, a pantomime which was intended no doubt to convey the ideaof tears having dimmed his eyes. 

''Alas! Excellency, ' said he at length, in a lugubrious tone; 'poorPepito is in sad trouble. '

''Have you been fighting again? Have you killed him?' I exclaimed. 

''Killed him? _I_ kill him!' he repeated indignantly; 'how can youimagine such an outrage, Caballero? Kill my best friend! No, Señor; butpoor Pepito has been pressed into a military company. To-morrow, theywill uniform him and march him off to some frontier regiment. '

''Is there no way of buying him off?' inquired Arthur. 

''Nothing more easy, Caballero. You have simply to write to the Generalwho commands the department, and state that Pepito is attached to yourperson, as a personal attendant, and that will suffice to set him atliberty. They never press people in service. '

'Mr. Livermore lost no time in following Pedro's advice. As soon as theletter was handed to him, the latter waved it in triumph over his head, and rushed forth to effect the deliverance of his dear compadre, Pepito. 

'The impressment of Pepito surprised me, for I had not heard of theirtaking any body who had reached the dignity of a pair of inexpressibles, and the luxury of a pair of shoes. The Indians in the neighborhood ofthe capital, besotted by drink and misery, almost naked, and living orrather burrowing in caves, were usually the only victims of therecruiting sergeant. However, as the letter given by Arthur to Pedrocould be of no use to the latter, I saw no reasonable ground to doubtthe story. 

'As it seemed probable that Mr. Livermore would shortly leave the city, I accepted his invitation, and promised to return and dine with him atfive o'clock, adding that I hoped then to meet Pepito, and receive fromhim a full account of his adventures since we had parted. 

XIII. 

'About three o'clock, I returned home. I had ensconced myself, book inhand, in my rocking-chair, when groans which seemed to proceed from Mr. Livermore's room, attracted my attention. I listened at the door, and myfears were realized. The groans were assuredly uttered by my neighbor. Irushed into his room, and as I crossed toward his bed, a fearfulspectacle met my gaze. 

'Lying across the bed, his face livid, every muscle in motion, a prey tothe most violent convulsions, I saw my unfortunate fellow-countryman. Nosooner, however, did the noise of my entrance fall upon his ear, than hesummoned strength enough to rise, and seizing a pistol that was besidehim, pointed it at me. 

''Ah! it is you?' said he, lowering his weapon, and falling back, 'youhave arrived just in time to see me die. '

''Take courage, my friend; for heaven's sake, be of good cheer. It isonly one of your usual attacks, and will pass off; there is no danger. '

''No danger!' repeated the unfortunate sufferer, biting the sheet andstriving to stifle the cry which agony drew from him; 'no danger? why, Iam poisoned!'

''Poisoned! you must be mad, ' I exclaimed: but without loss of time, Isummoned Donna Lopez, and sent instantly for a doctor, who fortunatelylived within a few doors of our house. 

'Once more alone with Arthur, I inquired, during a momentary cessationof his sufferings:

''What reason have you for thinking you are poisoned?'

''I am _sure_ of it, ' he replied. 'About an hour since, I received avisit from the Mexican General who is superintendent of the recruitingservice. He desired me to give him certain explanations relative toPepito, which, of course, I did. It was very warm, and he asked for aglass of iced water. I offered him some claret to mix with it, and, athis request, joined him in the drink. But a few moments elapsed after Ihad taken my draught, when I felt a weakness steal over me; my eyelidsgrew heavy, my knees gave way, and an intolerable heat burned my veins. I was compelled to sit down upon my bed. At that moment, the Generalchanged his tone, and imperiously demanded the key of my desk. 'I do notwant your money, ' he said, 'but I must have the papers relative to theopal-mine. ' I can not express the effect these words produced upon me. 'To deal frankly with you, ' continued the General, 'you are poisoned, and the Indian poison that is now coursing through your veins has noantidote. Ten minutes, and your strength will begin to fail; two hours, and your earthly career will end. If you do not at once give me yourkeys, I shall force the lock. ' These words, which he doubtless thoughtwould crush me, filled me with boundless rage, and for a few momentsrevived my sinking energies. I started to my feet, and seized myrevolver. '

'''The devil! it seems the dose was not strong enough, ' exclaimed myassassin, taking flight; 'but I will return, be sure of that. ''

'The doctor soon arrived. At the first glance at the patient, he knithis brow, and his countenance became overcast. 

''How long have you been ill?' he inquired. 

''I was poisoned, about an hour since. '

''Ah! you know you have been poisoned?'

''Yes, doctor, and also the man who poisoned me. Tell me, I beseech you, how long I have to live? Speak! you need have no fear; I am prepared forthe worst. '

'The doctor hesitated, and then said: 'I fear, my dear sir, another houris all you can hope for. '

''I thank you, doctor, for your frankness. No antidote, then, can saveme?'

''None. The poison you have taken, which the Indians call '_Leche depalo_, ' is deadly. Your present sufferings will soon cease, andgradually you will sink, peacefully and painlessly, into the sleep ofdeath. '

''Send instantly, then, for a magistrate. I at least will be revenged onmy murderer, ' said Arthur, 'let me at once make my statement. '

''You will only be wasting your dying moments, ' interposed the doctor;'day after day, I am called upon to witness the ravages of thisinsidious poison, but never yet has the scaffold punished the assassin. My dear friend, think not of your murderer; eternity is opening toreceive you; in its solemn presence, mere human vengeance shrinks intoutter nothingness. '

''Doctor, you speak wisely as well as kindly. Poor Adéle, ' murmuredArthur, and his eyes closed, though his lips still moved. 

'After the doctor's departure, I sent to the American Legation, urgentlyrequesting some official to return with my messenger. I took a chairbeside the bed, while Donna Teresa knelt in the adjoining room, andprayed and sobbed with much fervor. In a short while, Arthur ralliedfrom the stupor into which he had fallen. His features became calm, hisbreathing regular though feeble, and the tranquil, almost happy, expression of his eye made me for a time half doubt the fearfulprediction of the physician. 

''Do you feel better?' I inquired. 

''Much much; I am in no pain. '

''Let us hope, then, for the best. I will send for another doctor. '

''No, that would be useless. My lower extremities are swelling, and Ican feel the hand of death clutching at my vitals. The doctor wasright; death is not racking me with torture, it is gently embracing me. But I want your assistance; sit down. '

'I resumed my seat, and Arthur continued, in a feeble tone, butperfectly calm:

''How mean a thing is life! Good God! so mean, that at this moment I cannot explain to my own soul why man should cling to it. What do we meetduring our short career? Deceit, hypocrisy, and treachery. Ah! deathreveals the hollowness of life. '

''My dear friend, you are exhausting yourself. Did you not say you wantedmy assistance? Rely on my zeal, my fidelity, and my discretion. '

''Rely on you! How can I tell? You are only a man; perhaps avaricious andtreacherous as your fellow-mortals. No matter; though you shouldforswear yourself; I, at least, will do what is right. Feel beneath mypillow, there is a key; take it, open my desk. In the small drawer onthe left is a package of letters. Have you them? Good. Next to thatthere is a sealed letter. Now, read aloud the direction on each. '

''Papers to be burnt after my death, ' said I, obeying his injunction. 

''Well, what do you intend doing with them?'

''Can you for one moment doubt?' I replied. 

'What if I should tell you they contain the entire secret of myopal-mine!'

'I made no reply; but struck a match against the wall, and setting themon fire, resumed my seat. 

''I could hardly have believed it; but you still have Pepito; from himyou hope to learn the secret, ' said the dying man. 

''Shall I bind myself by an oath not to seek him?'

''No; I leave you at liberty. Act as you think best. I burned thosepapers because they were bought with blood, for no other reason. '

''Bought with blood?' I exclaimed. 

''Yes; ten months ago, General Ramiro died at New-Orleans, bypoison--poison administered by Adéle. Do you wonder life has lost allcharm for me? Oh! life is the bitterness, not death. '

'His voice momently grew fainter. I leaned closer, to catch his fadingtones, till he ceased to speak. I gazed intently at his glassy eyes; thelids closed for a moment, then partially opened, the jaw fell, and hewas no more. '

'I know not how long I had stood beside his lifeless body, ponderingover the uncertainty of life, and the mystery of death, and theconflicting presentiments he had uttered: that he should live to achievesuccess, yet die without again seeing her who had lured him to hiswretched end, when the door of the chamber suddenly opened, and five orsix dragoons entered, accompanied by an officer in undress uniform. 

''What! you here, General?' I exclaimed. 

''Why not?' was the cool reply, 'I am in search of a deserter namedPepito, who, I was informed, was concealed here. I see he is not here;but doubtless by searching among the papers contained in this desk, Ishall find some clue to him. '

''Your search, General, will be fruitless. The unfortunate young manwhose corpse lies here, instructed me, before he expired, to burn allthe papers in his possession, and I have obeyed his injunctions. '

''Curses on his infernal obstinacy!' exclaimed General Valiente, 'butlook you, Señor, I tell you I will search this desk. '

''By what right?'

''By the right of might. '

'Taking my stand in front of the desk, I was protesting against thelawless act of violence, when the Secretary of the American Legationfortunately arrived. Finding his plans defeated, Valiente, withcommendable prudence, decided on beating a retreat, and with hisfollowers, took rather an abrupt departure. 

'The ordinary formalities of attaching the seals of the Legation havingbeen performed, and having secured a faithful person to take charge ofthe remains of the unfortunate Livermore, I sallied forth to makearrangements to leave, as soon as possible, for Toluca. 

The first person I met was Pedro. It is impossible to express the horrorI felt of this villain. My hand was on my weapon before he had reachedmy side. 

''Have you heard the news, Caballero?' said he, in a low, mysterioustone. 

''No. '

''I was not fortunate enough to release Pepito; when I arrived with hismaster's letter, he had already escaped from the barracks. '

''Tell me frankly, Pedro, did not General Valiente send you, thismorning, for that letter?'

''Why? What makes you ask?' inquired Pedro, quite disconcerted by theabruptness of my question. 

''Because Señor Pride is dead, and General Valiente has twice been tohis rooms. '

''Dead! Señor Pride dead!' echoed Pedro, in unfeigned astonishment. 'Caballero, I must be off. ' And he instantly turned away, and was soonlost to my sight. 

'Before another hour had passed I was on horseback and on the way toToluca. The road was infested by gangs of robbers, but my pockets wereempty, and my brain was full, so I gave those gentry not even a passingthought. The evening was fast closing in, and as the shadows gatheredround me, the tragic event which I had just witnessed gradually recededfrom my mind. As I journeyed on, it grew more and more distant, until atlast it faded into a dim memory of the past; and through the long milesof my lonely ride there went before me the glorious vision of anopal-mine of untold wealth--an opal-mine without an owner--a countlessfortune, untold riches, waiting to fall into my hands. 

XIV. 

'It was past midnight when I reached Toluca. As it was too late to callon Adéle, I alighted at a tavern, where I passed the night, pacing mychamber, and not closing my eyes. Soon after daybreak I sought the houseof Pepito's sister; and notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, foundMrs. Percival standing at one of the windows. 

''You here, Mr. Rideau!' she exclaimed, with surprise, on seeing me. 'How did you find my retreat?'

''I was told of it by Mr. Livermore. '

''Ah! 'tis he who sent you. '

''Alas! not so, madame. '

''Alas!--you say, alas! What do you mean? Have you ill news?'

''I have, indeed, madame. '

''Arthur is dead!' she cried. 'I know he is dead! But, tell me, Ientreat you, tell me all. How--when did this happen?'

'I gave her a detailed account of Arthur's death, to which she listenedwith rapt attention. 

''This opal-mine, like the Golden Fleece, brings misfortune to all whoseek it, ' she said, when I had finished, 'Poor Arthur! I loved himfondly, devotedly; and his image will live forever in my heart. But atsuch a crisis it is worse than folly--it is madness to waste time bygiving way to grief. Reason teaches us to bow before the inevitable. Itis idle to repine at the decrees of Fate. I am alone, now--alone, without a friend or a protector. No matter; I have a stout heart, andthe mercy of Providence is above all. But to business: After the deathof Mr. Livermore, what became of the papers?'

''I burned them before his death, in obedience to his injunctions. '

''You burned them! I will not believe it!' she exclaimed, in a loudvoice, and with a penetrating glance. 

'I felt the blood rush to my face; she noticed my anger, and at onceadded, in milder tone:

''Pardon me! pardon me! I knew not what I said; I am well-nigh crazy; Ido believe you, I do indeed; forgive me, and think of the despair towhich the loss of those papers reduces me. I have no copy, and with themmy secret perishes. I am ruined--ruined irretrievably. The mine isknown now only to Pepito!'

''Then, madame, on him you must hereafter rely. '

''Explain to me, pray, how could Arthur, on his dying-bed, have beenguilty of so cruel, so mean an act? How could he despoil the woman whohad trusted him, and leave her not only forlorn, but destitute?'

'This question embarrassed me, and I was conning an answer, when Adéleresumed:

''Let no false delicacy restrain you; speak out, Mr. Rideau; adversityhas taught me endurance, if not courage. '

''Since, madame, you absolutely extort it from me, I must admit that afew moments before he expired, Mr. Livermore--'

''Speak out, plainly; I beg of you, conceal nothing. '

''Well, madame, the words he used were: 'I destroy these papers becausethey were bought with blood. Ten months ago General Ramiro died, atNew-Orleans, by poison--poison administered by Adéle!''

''Poor Arthur! what agony he must have suffered--he must have beendelirious. O Arthur! why was I not beside you? Poor Arthur!' As sheuttered these words, she raised her streaming eyes to heaven; her lipsmoved as if in prayer, and a deadly pallor overspread her countenance. 

'In a short time her fortitude returned, and turning toward me, shesaid, in a voice which betrayed no emotion:

''Let us turn from the past and look at the present. Difficultiessurround and threaten to overwhelm me. Before I can determine how theyare to be met, I have a proposition to make to you, Mr. Rideau, to whichI must have an immediate answer. Will you become my partner in thisbusiness?'

''Have you enough confidence in me?'

''I have; and for this reason: you have not sought to meddle in thismatter, but from the outset have striven to shun it; you have notobtruded yourself, but been drawn into it in spite of your wishes. Doyou accept my proposition? Yes, or no?'

''I accept, ' I replied, moderating my joyful feelings as well as Ipossibly could. 

''Such being your decision, what course do you advise?'

''Immediate action, for minutes are precious. '

''I foresee we shall agree perfectly. To-day my host purposes startingfor the capital; I shall accompany him. If you return without delay, theremainder of the day will suffice to prepare for the journey, andto-morrow we will start for the opal-mine. '

''But where shall I meet you, madame?'

''At the Hotel de las Diligencias. '

''And where shall I find Pepito?'

''At a tavern near the Barrier del Nino Perdido. But you will not, ifyou please, inform him of my address. For--well, it is an unpleasantmatter to mention--but this Pepito seems to be--'

''Desperately in love with you. '

''I hardly meant that--but his attentions are too oppressive to be quiteagreeable. '

''I fully understand you, madame. May I inquire if you have had anytidings of Mr. Percival?'

''Do not, I beg, Mr. Rideau, allude to that painful topic--all feelingsof resentment are hushed in the grave. '

''What! have you heard of his assassination?'

'' Yes; the news reached me yesterday; I read it in the newspaper. '

'I shortly afterward took my leave--the last words of my new copartnerbeing:

''At five, then, at the Hotel de las Diligencias. Be sure you arepunctual. '

'Arrived in Mexico, my first thought was to seek for Pepito. Followingthe directions given me by Mrs. Percival, I soon found him; andrepeating to him a portion of the interview I had with the lady, Ifinished by proposing to take the place of Mr. Livermore in the bargainthat had been made between them. 

''I ask nothing better, ' was the reply. 'Here are my terms--two thousanddollars the very day we return to Mexico, and I to hold the shells tillyou hand over the money. That is fair, is it not?'

''Quite. When shall I see you again?'

''At eight to-night, on the Cathedral steps. '

'Hastening home, I devoted the rest of the day to preparing for myjourney, and a little before five started for the Hotel de lasDiligencias. Mrs. Percival had not yet arrived. Twice again I called, but still in vain. The evening gradually wore away, and at eight I pacedthe Cathedral Square, and for an hour loitered around the steps; butPepito, also, failed to keep the rendezvous. 

'As the next day was Sunday, I felt assured the most likely place tofind Pepito, would be the bull-ring. On reaching it, I found a crowdassembled near one of the entrances, and pushing my way through, Ibeheld Pepito lying on the ground weltering in his blood. I rushed tohim, and kneeling down, raised him in my arms. 

''Ah! it is you, Señor, ' said he, in a feeble tone. 'This is Pedro'swork, but it was his last; for I have killed the traitor. '

''Pepito, tell me, for Heaven's sake, where did you find the shells?'Iinquired; for avarice and cupidity reigned, I am ashamed to own, paramount within my breast. 

''Those shells? In the plains of Chiapa--three days' journey from thesea--near the little river--in a brook--Ah! glory to God! here comes apriest!'

'At this moment a fat Franciscan friar pressed through the crowd. 

''Absolution, padre! absolution!' cried Pepito, to whom the sight of thefriar brought back new life. 

''Patience, my son, patience! I am very late--very late--and I must notbe detained. Wait a little--and after the sports of the day are over, Iwill return. '

''But, padre, I shall be dead!'

''Well, then, be quick!'

''I have only two sins on my conscience: I have not attended mass forthree weeks. '

''That is sad! very sad! Well, what next?'

''Three days ago I stabbed an Inglez--a heretic. '

''Well, my dear son, your sins are venial sins; I absolve you. '

''Pepito, how did that dagger come into your hands?' I exclaimed, for Iwas astonished to see in his belt the dagger I had lost on the nightwhen Adéle took refuge in my room. 

''From my dear--Adéle. '

''And the _Inglez_--the heretic you stabbed--who was he?'

''Her husband--she wished it--promised to be mine--and I obeyed. But, stand back--I want air--air. '

'I turned away my head, sickened at the fearful revelation. When I againlooked, my eyes fell on a corpse. I snatched the dagger, which was stillwet with Pedro's blood, from his belt, and hurried almost frantic to theHotel de las Diligencias. Mrs. Percival had been waiting for me abouttwo hours. 

'The violent emotions which raged within me must have been portrayed onmy countenance, for on my entering the apartment, she started back indismay. 

''Mrs. Percival, ' said I, striving to master the repulsive feeling whichthe mere sight of her excited, 'Pepito has, within the past hour, beenmurdered. '

''Murdered!' she repeated. 'And the secret--'

''Is dead--for _you_--forever! Madame, that infernal mine has for yearsbeen driving you to the blackest crime! It is time that the bait fellfrom the devil's hook. '

''What do you mean by this altered tone?'

''I mean, madame, that, thanks to Heaven, your crimes have been revealedto me. Shall I enumerate the list of your victims--General Ramiro, Arthur Livermore, Edward Percival, your husband, and last of all, Pepito? Your path, since you have sought this mine, is marked at everystep by treachery and crime. The boldest heart must shudder to look atthe ghastly procession led on by the General you poisoned. '

'''Tis false! God help me, 'tis false!'

''False--_is_ it false--that three days since your husband was murderedat your instigation, by Pepito? Stay--hear me! Look at this dagger! didyou not steal it from my room and give it to Pepito to perpetrate thecrime? Madame, pause, ere you dare to swear it is false. '

'She trembled, and falling on her knees, exclaimed:

''My God! my God! forgive me!'

''It is not, madame, for erring man to limit the infinite mercy ofHeaven; but for such crimes as yours there must be a fearfulretribution. Farewell; may you go and sin no more. '

'I left the room, but in a few moments heard a piercing shriek; andrushing back, found the wretched woman extended on the floor in theagonies of death. She had picked up the dagger which I had thrown away, and stabbed herself to the heart. 

 * * * * *

'And the opal-mine?'

'I meant, at first, to leave the Nibelungen Hoard alone; but time tamesall things except the love of gold. I went there; it was rich, but notinexhaustible. You have all had proof that I am neither poor norparsimonious; but neither am I extravagant. I have all that I want--acottage at Newport, a neat house in the Rue de la Paix, stocks, and realestate. The opal-mine started me; I have kept myself going very wellever since. 

'Gentlemen, my tale is ended. I am sorry it has proved so long, and amgrateful to you all for the attentive hearing you have given me. I havebeen constantly looking round expecting to detect some one of youfalling into a gentle slumber; I therefore feel really flattered atfinding you all still awake. '

'But what became of the child that Percival was seeking?' shouted one. 

'Did you ever find out any thing about Adéle's previous history?' askedanother. 

'And look here, Rideau, what did you--?'

'Gentlemen, take pity on me; while I have been spinning this long yarn, you have been smoking and imbibing; I am very willing to join you inboth; but to-night I am tired out. The next time we meet, I shall bedelighted to tell you what particulars I learned on my return to NewOrleans, relative to Adéle and her poor orphan child; but no moreto-night. '

_THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE. _

 Red was the lightning's flashing, And down through the driving rain, We saw the red eyes dashing Of the merciless midnight train; Soon many crowded together, Under the lamp's red glow, But I saw one figure only-- Ah! why did I tremble so? The eyes that gazed in the darkness After the midnight train, Are red with watching and weeping, For it brings none back again. Clouds hang in the west like banners, Red banners of war unfurled, And the prairie sod is crimson With the best blood of the world. 

 White faces are pressed to the window, Watching the sun go down, Looking out to the coming darkness, That covers the noisy town. White are the hands, too, and quiet, Over the pulseless breast; No more will the vision of parting Disturb the white sleeper's rest. Over sleeper, and grave, and tombstone, Like a pitying mantle spread, The snow comes down in the night-time, With a shy and noiseless tread. 

 Blue smoke rolls away on the north-wind, Blue skies grow dusk in the din, Blue waters look dark with the shadow That gathers the world within. Rigid and blue are the fingers That clutch at the fading sky; Blue lips in their agony mutter: 'O God! let this cup pass by. ' Blue eyes grow weary with watching; Strong hands with waiting to do; While brave hearts echo the watchword: 'Hurrah! for the Red, White, and Blue. '

_MACCARONI AND CANVAS. _

IV. 

THE FAIR AT GROTTO FERRATA. 

No matter how well and hearty you may be, if you are in Rome, in summer, when the _scirócco_ blows, you will feel as if convalescent from somedebilitating fever; in winter, however, this gentle-breathing south-eastwind will act more mildly; it will woo you to the country, induce you tosit down in a shady place, smoke, and 'muse. ' That incarnate essence ofenterprise, business, industry, economy, sharpness, shrewdness, andkeenness--that Prometheus whose liver was torn by the vulture of centper cent--eternally tossing, restless DOOLITTLE, was one day seenasleep, during bank hours, on a seat in the Villa Madama. The _scirócco_blew that day: Doolittle fell. 

At breakfast, one morning in the latter part of the month of March, Caper proposed to Roejean and another artist named Bagswell, to attendthe fair held that day at Grotto Ferrata. 

'What will you find there?' asked Roejean. 

'Find?--I remember, in the _Bohemian Girl_, a song that will answeryou, ' replied Caper; 'the words were composed by the theatrical poetBunn':

 'Rank, in its halls, may not find The calm of a happy mind; So repair To the Fair, And they may be met with there. '

'Unsatisfactory, both the grammar and the sentiment, ' said Bagswell; 'itwon't work; it's all wrong. In the first place, rank, in its hauls, _may_ find the calm of a happy mind: for instance, the captain of aherring-smack may find the calm of a very happy mind in his hauls of No. 1 Digbys; more joy even than the fair could afford him. Let us go!'

Bagswell was a 'funny' Englishman. 

They went--taking the railroad. Dashing out of the station, thelocomotive carried them, in half an hour, to the station at Frascati, whirling them across the Campagna, past long lines of ruined orhalf-ruined and repaired aqueducts; past Roman tombs; past _RomaVecchia_, the name given to the ruins of an immense villa; landing themat the first slope of the mountains, covered at their base withvineyards, olive and fruit-trees, and corn-fields, while high over themgleamed glistening white snow-peaks. 

The walk from Frascati to the Grotto, about three miles, was beautiful, winding over hills through a fine wood of huge old elms and plane-trees. In the warm sun-light, the butterflies were flitting, while theroad-side was purple with violets, and white and blue with littleflowers. From time to time, our three artists had glimpses of theCampagna, rolling away like the ocean, to dash on Rome, crowned by St. Peter's; the dome of which church towers above the surrounding country, so that it can be seen, far and wide, for thirty miles or more. The roadwas alive with walkers and riders; here a dashing, open carriage, filledwith rosy English; there a _contadino_, donkey-back, dressed inholiday-suit, with short-clothes of blue woolen, a scarlet waistcoat, his coarse blue-cloth jacket worn on one shoulder, and in his brown, conical-shaped hat, a large carnation-pink. Then came more of thecountry-people, almost always called _villani_, (hence our word, villains!) These poor villains had sacks on their backs, or werecarrying in their hands--if women, on their heads--loads of bacon, sidesof bacon, flitches of bacon, hams, loaves of bread, cheese, and veryloud-smelling _mortadella_; which they had bought and were bringing awayfrom the fair. 

'There was one task, ' said Roejean, 'that Hercules declined, and thatwas eating that vile _mortadella_. He was a strong man; but that wasstronger. Wait a moment, till I fill a pipe with caporal, and have asmoke; for if I meet another man with that delicacy, I shall have togive up the Grotto--unless I have a pipe under my nose, ascounter-irritant. '

The three artists tramped along gayly, until they approached the town, when they assumed the proud, disdainful mood, assuring spectators thatthey who wear it are of gentle blood, and are tired of life and weary oftraveling around with pockets filled with gold. They only looked coldlyat the pens filled with cattle for sale; long-horned, mouse-colored oxenwere there; groups of patient donkeys, or the rough-maned, shaggy-fetlocked, bright-eyed small horses of the Campagna; countlesspigs, many goats; while above all, the loud-singing jackasses wereperforming at the top of their lungs. Here were knots of country-people, buying provisions or clothing; there were groups of carriages from Rome, which had rolled out the wealthy _forestieri_ or strangers, drawn up bythe way-side, in the midst of all sorts and kinds of hucksters. The roadleading to the church, shaded by trees, was crowded with country-people, in picturesque costumes, busily engaged in buying and selling hams, bacon, bacon and hams, and a few more hams. Here and there, acheese-stand languished, for pork flourished. Now a copper-smith exposedhis wares, chief among which were the graceful-shaped _conche_ orwater-vessels, the same you see so carefully poised on the heads of somany black-eyed Italian girls, going to or coming from so manypicturesque fountains, in--paintings, and all wearing such brilliantcostumes, as you find at--Gigi's costume-class. Then came an ironmonger, whose wares were all made by hand, even the smallest nails; formachinery, as yet, is in its first infancy around Rome. At this stand, Roejean stopped to purchase a pallet-knife; not one of the regular, artist-made tools, but a thin, pliable piece of steel, without handle, which experience taught him was well adapted to his work. As usual, theiron-man asked twice as much as he intended to take, and after a sharpbargain, Roejean conquered. Then they came to a stand where there werepiles of coarse crockery, and some of a better kind, of classical shape. 

Caper particularly admired a beautiful white jug, intended for awater-pitcher, and holding about two gallons. After asking its price, heoffered a quarter of the money for it; to Bagswell's horror, thecrockery-man took it, and Caper, passing his arm through the handle, wasproceeding up the road, when Bagswell energetically asked him what hewas going to do with it. 

'Enter Rome with it, like Titus with the _spolia opima_, ' replied Caper. 

'Oh! I say, now, ' said the former, who was an Englishman and anhistorical painter; 'you aren't going to trot all over the fair withthat old crockery on your arm. Why, God bless me, they'll swear we aredrunk. There comes the Duchess of Brodneck; what the deuce will shesay?'

'Say?' said Caper, 'why, I'll go and ask her; this is not court-day. '

Without another word, with water-pitcher on arm, he walked toward theDuchess. Saluting her with marked politeness, he said:

'A countryman of yours, madame, has objected to my carrying this _objetde fantaisie_, assuring me that it would occasion remarks from theDuchess of Brodneck. May I have the good fortune to know what she saysof it?'

'She says, ' replied the lady, smiling and speaking slowly and quietly;'that a young man who has independence enough to carry it, hasconfidence enough to--fill it. ' She bowed, and passed on, Caper politelyraising his hat, in acknowledgment of the well-rounded sentence. When hereturned to Bagswell, he found the historical painter with eyes the sizeof grape-shot, at the sublime impudence of the man. He told him whatshe had said. 

'Upon my honor, you Americans have a face of brass; to address a duchessyou don't know, and ask her a question like that!'

'That's nothing, ' said Caper, 'a little experience has taught me thatthe higher you fly, in England, the nearer you approach true politenessand courtesy. Believe me, I should never have asked that question of anyEnglishwoman whose social position did not assure me she wascosmopolitan. '

'Come, ' said Bagswell, 'come, after such an adventure, if there is onedrop of any thing fit to drink in this town, we'll all go and getlushy. '

They went. They found a door over which hung a green branch. Good wineneeds no bush, therefore Italian wine-shops hang it out; for the winethere is not over good. But as luck was with our three artists, in theshop over the door of which hung the green bough, they found that the_padrone_ was an old acquaintance of Roejean; he had married and movedto Grotto Ferrata. He had a barrel of Frascati wine, which was bright, sparkling, sweet, and not watered. This the _padrone_ tapped in honor ofhis guests, and at their urgent request, sat down and helped empty acouple of bottles. Moreover, he told them that as the town wasovercrowded, they would find it difficult to get a good dinner, unlessthey would come and dine with him, at his private table, and be hisguests; which invitation Roejean accepted, to the tavern-keeper's greatjoy, promising to be back at the appointed time. 

Our trio then sauntered forth to see the fair. Wandering among thecrowded booths, they came suddenly on a collection of _Zingare_, lookinglike their Spanish cousins, the _Gitañas_. Wild black eyes, coarse blacklocks of hair, brown as Indians, small hands, small feet--the Gipsies, children of the storm--my Rommani pals, what are you doing here? Onlyone woman among them was noticeable. Her face was startlingly handsome, with an aquiline nose, thin nostrils, beautifully-arched eyebrows, andeyes like an eagle. She was tall, straight, with exquisitely-roundedfigure, and the full drapery of white around her bosom fell from theshoulders in large hanging sleeves; over her head was thrown a crimsonand green shawl, folded like the _pane_ of the _ciociare_, and settingoff her raven-black hair and rich red and swarthy complexion. 

Roejean stood entranced, and Caper, noticing his rapt air, forborebreaking silence; while the gipsy, who knew that she was the admirationof the _forestieri_, stood immovable as a statue, looking steadily atthem, without changing a feature. 

'_Piu bellisima che la madonna!_' said Roejean, loud enough for her tohear. Then turning to Caper, 'Let's _andiammo_, ' (travel, ) said he, 'that woman's face will haunt me for a month. I've seen it before; yes, seen her shut up in the Vatican, immortal on an old Etruscan vase. Egypt, Etruria, the Saracen hordes who once overrun all this SouthernItaly, I find, every hour, among live people, some trace of you all; butof the old Roman, nothing!'

'You find the old Roman cropping out in these church processions, festivals, shrines, and superstitions, don't you?' asked Caper. 

'No! something of those who made the seal, nothing of the impression onthe wax remains for me. Before Rome was, the great East was, and shallbe. The Germans are right to call the East the Morning-Land; thence camelight.... The longer you live along the wave-washed shore of theMediterranean, the more you will see what a deep hold the East once hadon the people of the coast. The Romans, after all, were only opulenttradesmen, who could buy luxuries without having the education toappreciate them. So utterly did they ignore the Etruscans, who made themwhat they were, that you seek in vain to find in Roman history any thingbut the barest outline of the origin of a people so graceful andrefined that the Roman citizen was a boot-black in comparison to one ofthem. The Saracens flashed light and life, in later days, once more intothe Roman leaven. What a dirty, filthy page the whole Gothic middle-ageis at best! It lies like a huge body struck with apoplexy, and onlyrestored to its sensual life by the sharp lancet, bringing blood, ofthese same infidels, these stinging Saracens. Go into the mountains backof us, hunt up the costumes that still remain, and see where they allcome from--the East. Look at the crescent earrings and graceful twistedgold-work, from--the East. All the commonest household ware, theagricultural implements, the manner of cooking their food, and all thatis picturesque in life and religion--all from the East. '

'Strikes me, ' quoth Caper, 'that this question of food touches myweakest point; therefore, let us go and dine, and continue the lectureat a more un-hungry period. But where is Bagswell?'

'He is seeking adventures, of course. '

'Oh! yes, I sec him down there among the billy-goats; let's go and pickhim up, and then for mine host of the Green Bough. '

Having found Bagswell, our trio at once marched to the Green Bough, which they saw was filled to overflowing with country-people, eating anddrinking, sitting on rough benches, and stowing away food and wine as ifin expectation of being very soon shipwrecked on a desert island, wherethere would be nothing but hard-shell clams and lemons to eat. Thelandlord at once took the trio up-stairs, where, at a large table, werehalf-a-dozen of his friends, all of the cleanly order of country-people, stout, and having a well-to-do look that deprecated any thing likefamine. A young lady of twenty and two hundred, as Caper summed up herage and weight, was evidently the cynosure of all eyes; two othergood-natured women, of a few more years and a very little less weight, and three men, made up the table. Any amount of compliments, as usual, passed between the first six and the last three comers, prefacing everything with desires that they would act without ceremony; but Caper andRoejean were on a high horse, and they fairly pumped the spring ofItalian compliments so dry, that Bagswell could only make a squeakingnoise when he tried the handle. This verbifuge of our three artists puttheir host into an ecstasy of delight, and he circulated all round, rubbing his hands and telling his six friends that his three friendswere _milordi_, in very audible whispers, _milordi_ of the most genial, courtly, polite, complimentary, cosmopolitan, and exquisite description. 

After all this, down sat our trio, and for the sake of future ages whichwill live on steam-bread, electrical beef, and magnetic fish, let usgive them the bill of fare set before them:

ALL THE WINE THEY COULD DRINK. 

Maccaroni (_fettucia_) a la Milanese--dish two feet in diameter, onefoot and a half high. 

Mutton-chops, with tomato-sauce, (_pomo d'oro. _)

Stewed celery, with Parmesan cheese. 

Stewed chickens. 

Mutton-chops, bird-fashion, (_Uccélli di Castrato. _ They are made ofpieces of mutton rolled into a shape like a bird, and cooked, several ata time, on a wooden spit. They are the _kibaubs_ of the East. )

Baked pie of cocks' combs and giblets. 

Roasted pig, a twelve-pounder. 

Roast squashes, stuffed with minced veal. 

Apples, oranges, figs, and _finocchio_. 

_Crostata di visciola_, or wild-cherry pie, served on an iron plate thesize of a Roman warrior's shield; the dish evidently having been oneformerly. 

MORE WINE!

The stout young lady rejoicing in the name of Angelucia, or large angel, was fascinated by Roejean's conversational powers and Caper'sattentions; the rest of the company, perfectly at ease on finding outthat the _milordi_ were not French--Roejean turning American to betterplease them--and that they were moreover full of fun, talked and laughedas if they were brother Italians. A jollier dinner Caper acknowledged hehad never known. One of the Italians was farmer-general for one of theRoman princes; he was a man of broad views, and having traveled to Parisand London, came home with ultra-liberal sentiments, and to Bagswell'sastonishment, spoke his mind so clearly on the Roman rulers, that ourEnglishman's eyes were slightly opened at the by no means complimentaryexpressions used toward the wire-workers of the Papal government. OneItaly, and Rome its capital, was the only platform our princely farmerwould take, and he was willing to stake his fortune, a cool one hundredthousand scudi, on regenerated Italy. 

Conversation then fell on the fair; and one of the Italians told severalstories which were broad enough to have shoved the generality of Englishand American ladies out of the window of the room. But Angelucia and thetwo wives of the stout gentlemen never winked; they had probably been toconfession that morning, had cleared out their old sins, and were nowready to take in a new cargo. In a little while Roejean sent the waiterout to a café, and he soon returned with coffee for the party, uponwhich Caper, who had the day before bought some Havana cigars of the manin the Twelve Apostles, in the piazza Dódici Apostoli, where there is agovernment cigar-store for the sale of them, passed them around, andthey were thoroughly appreciated by the diners. The farmer-general gaveour three artists a hearty invitation to visit him, promising them allthe horses they could ride, all the wine they could drink, and all themaccaroni they could eat. The last clause was inserted for Roejean'sbenefit, who had played a noble game with the grand dish they had hadfor dinner, and at which Angelucia had made great fun, assuring Roejeanhe was Italian to the heart, _e piu basso_. 

Then came good-by, and our artists were off--slowly, meditatively, andextremely happy, but, so far, quite steady. They walked to thecastellated monastery of San Basilio, where in the chapel of Saint Nilusthey saw the celebrated frescoes of Domenichino, and gazed at themtranquilly and not quite so appreciatingly as they would have donebefore dinner. Then they came out from the gloom and the air heavy withincense of the chapel to the bright light and lively scenes of the fair, with renewed pleasure. They noticed that every one wore in the hat or inthe lappel of the coat, if men--in their hair or in their bosom, ifwomen, artificial roses; and presently coming to a stand where suchflowers were for sale, our trio bought half-a-dozen each, and thenturned to where the crowd was thickest and the noise greatest. Three orfour donkeys loaded with tin-ware were standing near the crowd, when oneof them, ambitious of distinction, began clambering over the tops of theothers in an insane attempt to get at some greens, temptingly displayedbefore him. Rattle, bang! right and left went the tins, and in rushedmen and women with cudgels; but donkey was not to be stopped, and forfour or five minutes the whole fair seemed gathered around the scene, cheering and laughing, with a spirit that set Caper wild withexcitement, and induced him to work his way through the crowd andpresent one old woman who had finally conquered the donkey, with twolarge roses, an action which was enthusiastically applauded by theentire assembly. 

'Bravo! bravo! well done, O Englishman!' went up the shout. 

A little farther on they came to a large traveling van, one end of whichwas arranged as a platform in the open air. Here a female dentist, in asea-green dress, with her sleeves rolled up and a gold bracelet on herright arm, held in both hands a tooth-extractor, bound round with awhite handkerchief--to keep her steady, as Caper explained, while shepulled a tooth from the head of a young man who was down in front ofher on his knees. Her assistant, a good-looking young man, in very whiteteeth and livery, sold some patent toothache drops: _Solo cinquebaiocchi il fiasco, S'gnore_. 

Caper having seen the tooth extracted, cried, '_Bravissima!_' as if hehad been at the opera, and threw some roses at the _prima donnadentista_, who acknowledged the applause with a bow, and requested theSignore to step up and let her draw him out. This he declined, pleadingthe fact that he had sound teeth. The _dentista_ congratulated him, inspite of his teeth. 

'But come!' said Bagswell; 'look at that group of men and women inAlbano costume; there is a chance to make a deuced good sketch. '

Two men and three women were seated in a circle; they were laughing andtalking, and cutting and eating large slices of raw ham and bread, whilethey passed from one to another a three-gallon keg of wine, and drankout of the bung. As one of the hearty, laughing, jolly, brown-eyed girlslifted up the keg, Caper pulled out sketch-book and pencil to catch anoutline sketch--of her head thrown back, her fine full throat and breastheaving as the red wine ran out of the barrel, and the half-closed, dreamy eyes, and pleasure in the face as the wine slowly trickled downher throat. One of the men noted the artist making a _ritratto_, andlaughing heartily, cried out: 'Oh! but you'll have to pay us well fortaking our portraits!' And the girl, slowly finishing her longdraught, looked merrily round, shook her finger at the artist, laughed, and--the sketch was finished. Then Caper taking Roejean's roses, wentlaughingly up to the girl with brown eyes and fine throat, in Albanocostume, and begged that she would take the poor flowers, and puttingthem next her heart, keep them where it is forever warm--'as the youngman on your left knows very well!' he concluded. This speech wasreceived amid loud applause and cheers, and thanks for the roses and aninvitation to take a pull at the barrel. Caper waved them _Adio_, and asour trio turned Rome-ward from the fair, the last things he saw as heturned his head to take a farewell look, were the roses that the Italiangirl had placed next her heart. 

THE TOMBOLA. 

The exceedingly interesting amusement known as the Tombola is nothingmore than the game of Loto, or _Lótto_, 'Brobdignagified, ' and played inthe open air of the Papal States, in Rome on Sundays, and in theCampagna on certain saints' days, come they when they may. 

The English have made holiday from holy day, and call the Lord's daySunday; while the Italians call Sunday Lord's day, or _Domenica_. Theirway of keeping it holy, however, with tombolas, horse-races, andfire-works, strikes a heretic, to say the least, oddly. 

The Roman tombola should be seen in the Piazza Navona democratically; inthe Villa Borghese, if not aristocratically at least middleclassically, or bourgeois-istically. 

In the month of November, when the English drown themselves, and theItalians sit in the sun and smile, our friend Caper, one Sunday morning, putting his watch and purse where pick-pockets could not reach them, walked with two or three friends down to the Piazza Navona, stopping, ashe went along, at the entrance of a small street leading into it, topurchase a tombola-ticket. The ticket-seller, seated behind a smalltable, a blank-book, and piles of blank tickets, charged eleven_baiocchi_ (cents) for a ticket, including one _baioccho_ forregistering it. We give below a copy of Caper's ticket:

 No. 17 D'ORDINE, LETTERA C. 

 CARTELLA DA RITENERSI DAL GIUOCATORE. 

 8 12 32 87 60 20 4 76 30 11 45 3 90 55 63

The numbers on this ticket the registrar filled up, after which it washis duty to copy them in his book, and thus verify the ticket should itdraw a prize. 

The total amount to be played for that day, the tombola being for thebenefit of the Cholera Orphans, was one thousand scudi, and was dividedas follows:

 Terno, .................... $50 Quaterno, ................. 100 Cinquina, ................. 200 Tombola, .................. 650 ------- $1000

How many tickets were issued, Caper was never able to find out; but hewas told that for a one thousand dollar tombola the number was limitedto ninety thousand. 

The tickets, as will be seen above, are divided into three lines, withfive divisions in each line, and you can fill up the fifteen divisionswith any numbers running from one to ninety, that you may see fit. Ninety tickets, with numbers from one to ninety, are put in a revolvingglass barrel, and after being well shaken up, some one draws out onenumber at random, (the slips of paper being rolled up in such mannerthat the numbers on them can not be seen. ) It is passed to the judges, and is then read aloud, and exposed to view, in conspicuous figures, ona stand or stands; and so on until the tombola is won or the numbers alldrawn. 

Whoever has three consecutive figures on a line, beginning from lefthand to right, wins the _Terno_; if four consecutive figures, the_Quaterno_; if five figures, or a full line, the _Cinquina_; and whoeverhas all fifteen figures, wins the Tombola. It often happens that severalpersons win the _Terno_, etc. , at the same time, in which case theamount of the _Terno_, etc. , is equally divided among them. These publictombolas are like too many thimble-rig tables, ostensibly started forcharitable objects, and it is popularly whispered that the Romannobility and heads of the Church purchase vast numbers of these tickets, and never fill them up; but then again, they are not large enough forshaving, and are too small for curl-papers; besides, six hundred andfifty _scudi_! Whew!

The Piazza Navona, bearing on its face, on week-days, the most terribleeruptions of piles of old iron, rags, paintings, books, boots, vegetables, crockery, jackdaws, contadini, and occasional dead cats, wore on the Sunday of the tombola--it was Advent Sunday--a clean, bright, and even joyful look. From many windows hung gay cloths andbanners; the three fountains were making Roman pearls and diamonds ofthe first water; the entire length (seven hundred and fifty feet) andbreadth of the square was filled with the Roman people; three bands ofmilitary music played uncensurable airs, since the public censorpermitted them; and several companies of soldiers, with loaded guns, stood all ready to slaughter the _plebe_. It was a sublime spectacle. 

But the curtain rose; that is to say, the tombola commenced. At a raisedplatform, a small boy, dressed in black, popularly supposed to be acholera orphan, rolled back his shirt-cuffs--he had a shirt--plunged hishand into the glass barrel, and produced a slip of paper; an assistantcarried it to the judges--one resembled Mr. Pecksniff--and then thecrier announced the number, and, presto! on a large blackboard thenumber appeared, so that every one could see it. 

Caper found the number on his ticket, and was marking it off, when acountryman at his side asked him if he would see if the number was onhis ticket, as he could not read figures. Caper accordingly looked itover, and finding that it was there, marked it off for him. 

'_Padrone mio_, thank you, ' said the man, evidently determined, since hehad found out a scholar, to keep close by him. 

'Seventeen!' called out the tombola-crier. 

'C----o!' said the contadino, with joy in his face; 'seventeen is alwaysmy lucky number. My wife was seventeen years old when I married her. Mydonkey was killed by the railroad cars the other day, and he gave justseventeen groans before he died. I shall have luck to-day. '

We refrain from writing the exclamation the contadino prefaced hisremarks with, for fear the reader might have a good Italiandictionary--an article, by the way, the writer has never yet seen. Suffice it to say, that the exclamations made use of by the Romans, menand women, not only of the lower but even the middling class, are of anature exceedingly natural, and plainly point to Bacchic and Phallicsources. The _bestémmia_ of the Romans is viler than the blasphemy ofEnglish or Americans. 

It happened that the countryman had a seventeen on his ticket, and Capermarked it off, at the same time asking him how much he would take forhis pantaloons. These pantaloons were made of a goat's skin; the longwhite wool, inches in length, left on and hanging down below the kneesof the man, gave him a Pan-like look, and with the word tombola, suggested the lines of that good old song--save the maledictory part ofit:

 'Tombolin had no breeches to wear, So he bought him a goat's skin, to make him a pair. '

These breeches were not for sale; they were evidently the joy and thepride of the countryman, who had no heart for trade, having by this timetwo numbers in one line marked off, only wanting an adjoining one to winthe _terno_. 

'If you were to win the _terno_, what would you do with it?' Caper askedhim. 

'_Accidente!_ I'd buy a barrel of wine, and a hog, and a--'

'Thirty-two!' shouted the crier. 

'It's on your paper, ' said Caper to him, marking it off; 'and you've wonthe _terno_!'

The eyes of the man gleamed wildly; he crossed himself, grasped thepaper, and the next thing Caper saw was the crowd dividing right andleft, as the excited owner of the goat-skin breeches made his way to theplatform. When he had climbed up, and stepping forward, stood ready toreceive the _terno_, the crowd jeered and cheered the _villano_, makingfine fun of his goat-skin, and not a little jealous that a _contadino_should take the money out of the city. 

'It's always so, ' said a fat man next to Caper, 'these _villani_ takethe bread out of our mouths; but _ecco_! there is another one who hasthe _terno_; blessed be the Madonna, there is a third! Oh! _diavolo_, the _villano_ will only have one third of the _terno_; and may he die ofapoplexy!'

A vender of refreshments passing along, the fat man stopped him, andpurchased a _baioccho's_ worth of--what?

Pumpkin-seeds! These are extensively eaten in Rome, as well as the seedsof pine-cones, acorns, and round yellow chick-peas; these supply theplace occupied by ground-nuts in our more favored land. 

There is this excitement about the tombolas in the Piazza Navona, thatoccasionally a panic seizes the crowd, and in the rush of people toescape from the square, some have their pockets picked, and some aretrampled down, never to rise again. Fortunately for Caper, no stampedetook place on Advent Sunday, so that he lived to attend another grandtombola in the Villa Borghese. 

This was held in the spring-time, and the promise of the ascension of aballoon added to the attractions of the lottery. To enter the Villa, youhad to purchase a tombola-ticket, whereas, in the Piazza Navona, thiswas unnecessary. At one end of the amphitheatre of the villa, under theshade of the ilex-trees, a platform was erected, where the numbers werecalled out and the awards given. 

Caper, Roejean, and another French artist, not of the French Academy, named Achille Légume, assisted at this entertainment. Légume was a verypleasant companion, lively, good-natured, with a decided penchant forthe pretty side of humanity, and continually haunted with the idea thata princess was to carry him off from his mistress in spectacles, MadameArt, and convey him to the land of Cocaigne, where they never make, onlybuy, paintings--of which articles, in parenthesis, Monsieur Achille hada number for sale. 

'Roejean, ' said Légume, 'do you notice that distinguished lady on theplatform; isn't she the Princess Faniente? She certainly looked at _me_very peculiarly a few minutes since. '

'It is the Princess, ' answered Roejean, 'and I also noticed, a fewminutes since, when I was on the other side of the circus, that shelooked at ME with an air. '

'Don't quarrel, ' spoke Caper, 'she probably regards you both equally, for--she squints. '

This answer capsized Achille, who having a small red rose-bud in hisbutton-hole, hoped that at a distance he might pass for a chevalier ofthe Legion of Honor, and had conquered something, say something noble. 

A wandering cigar-seller, with _zigarri scelti_, next demanded theirattention, and Roejean commenced an inspection of the selected cigars, which are made by government, and sold at the fixed price of one and ahalf _baiocchi_ each; even at this low price, the stock of thetobacco-factory paid thirteen per cent under Antonelli's direction. 

'Antonelli makes a pretty fair cigar, ' said, 'but I wish he would wrapthe ends a little tighter. I'm sorry to hear he is going out of thebusiness. '

'Why, he would stay in, ' answered Caper, 'but what with baking all thebread for Rome, and attending to all the fire-wood sold, and trying tomake Ostia a seaport, and having to fight Monsieur About, and lookingafter his lotteries and big pawnbroker's shop, and balancing himself onthe end of a very sharp French bayonet, his time is so occupied, he cannot roll these cigars so well as they ought to be rolled.... But theyhave called out number forty-nine; you've got it, Légume, I remember youwrote it down. Yes, there it is. '

'Forty-nine!'

'I wonder they dare call out '49 in this villa; or have the peopleforgotten the revolution already, forgotten that this spot was madeready for a battleground for liberty. The public censor knows hisbusiness; give the Romans bread, and the circus or tombola, they will becontent--forever?'

'_Au diable_ with politics, ' interrupted Achille; 'what a very prettygirl that is alongside you, Caper. Look at her; how nicely that costumefits her, the red boddice especially. Where, except in Italy, do youever see such fine black eyes, and such a splendid head of coal-blackhair? This way of having Italian nurses dressed in the Albano costume isvery fine. That little boy with her is English, certainly. '

'Och! master Jamey, come in out of that grane grass; d'yiz want terdirty the clane pinafore I've put on yiz this blissed afthernoon?' spokethe nurse. 

'In the name of all that's awful, what kind of Italian is she speaking?'asked Légume of Caper. 

'Irish-English, ' he answered; 'she is not the first woman out of OldIreland masquerading as an Albanian nurse. She probably belongs to someEnglish family who have pretensions. '

'Ah bah!' said Légume, 'it's monstrous, perfectly atrocious, ugh! Let usmake a little tour of a walk. The tombola is finished. An Irish dressedup as an Italian--execrable!'

_EN AVANT!_

 O GOD! let us not live these days in vain, This variegated life of doubt and hope; And though, as day leads night, so joy leads pain, Let it be symbol of a broader scope. 

 God! make us serve the monitor within; Cast off the trammels that bow manhood down, Of form or custom, appetite or sin, The care for folly's smile or envy's frown. 

 Oh! that true nobleness that rises up, And teaches man his kindredship to Thee; Which wakes the slaveling from the poison cup Of passion, bidding him be grandly free:

 May it be ours, in these the evil days, That fall upon our nation like a pall; May we have power each one himself to raise, And place God's signet on the brow of all!

 Not race nor color is the badge of slaves; 'Tis manhood, after all, that makes men free; Weakness is slavery; 'tis but mind that saves God's glorious image as he willed it be. 

 Out of the shadows thick, will coming day Send Peace and Plenty smiling o'er our land; And the events that fill us with dismay, Are but the implements in God's right hand. 

 Where patriot blood is poured as cheap as rain, A newer freedom, phoenix-like, will spring; Our Father never asks for us in vain: From noble seed comes noble harvesting. 

 Then let, to-day, true nobleness be ours; That we be worthy of the day of bliss, When truth's, and love's, and freedom's allied powers Shall bind all nations with fraternal kiss. 

 Would we might see, as did the saint of old, The heavens opening, and the starry throng Listening to have our tale of peace be told, That they may hymn man's resurrection song!

_DESPERATION AND COLONIZATION. _

As the war rolls on, and as the prospects of Federal victory increase, the greater becomes the anxiety to know what must be done to secure ourconquests. How shall we reestablish the Union in its early strength? Howshall we definitely crush the possibility of renewed rebellion? Thetremendous taxation which hangs over us gives fearful meaning to thesequestions. And they must be answered promptly and practically. 

The impossibility of Southern independence was from the first a foregoneconclusion to all who impartially studied the geography of this countryand the social progress of its inhabitants. The West, with its growingmillions vigorously working out the problem of free labor, and ofRepublicanism, will _inevitably_ control the Mississippi river andmaster the destinies of all soil above the so-called isothermal line, and probably of much below it. The cotton States, making comparativelyalmost no increase in population, receiving no foreign immigration, anddesiring none, have precipitated, by war, their destined inferiority tothe North. It has been from the beginning, only a question of time, whenthey should become the weaker, and goaded by this consciousness, theyhave set their all upon a throw, by appeal to wager of battle, and arelosing. It is not a question of abolitionism, for it would have beenbrought on without abolition. It is not a question of Southern wrongs, for the South never had a _right_ disturbed; and in addition tocontrolling our Government for years, and directly injuring ourmanufactures, it long swallowed a disproportionably great share ofgovernment appointments, offices, and emoluments. It is simply the lastillustration in history of a smaller and rebellious portion of acommunity forced by the onward march of civilization into subordinationto the greater. The men of the South were first to preach ManifestDestiny and the subjugation of Cuba and Mexico--forgetting that asregarded civilization, they themselves, on an average, only filled anintermediate station between the Spanish Creole and the truly _white_man of the North. Before manifest destiny can overtake the Mexican, itmust first overtake the Southerner. 

Despite all its external show of elan, courtesy, and chivalry, 'theSouth, ' as it exists, is and ever must be, in the very great aggregate, inferior to the North in the elements of progress, and in nearly allthat constitutes true superiority. They boast incessantly of theirsuperior education and culture; but what literature or art has thiseducation produced amid their thousands of ladies and gentlemen of tasteand of leisure? The Northern editor of any literary magazine who has hadany experience in by-gone days with the manuscripts of the chivalry, will shrug his shoulders with a smile as he recalls the reams ofreechoes of Northern writers, and not unfrequently of mere 'sensation'third-rate writers at that, which he was wont to receive from Dixie. Andamid all his vaunts and taunts, the consciousness of this intellectualinferiority never left the Southerner. It stimulated his hatred--itrankled in his heart. He might boast or lie--and his chief statistician, De Bow, was so notoriously convicted of falsifying facts and figuresthat the assertion, as applied to him, is merely historical--but it wasof no avail. The Northern school and the Northern college continued tobe the great fountain of North-American intellect, and the Southernerfound himself year by year falling behind-hand intellectually andsocially as well as numerically. As a last resort, despairing of victoryin the _real_, he plunged after the wild chivalric dream ofindependence; of Mexican and Cuban conquest; of an endless realm and areopened slave-trade--or at least of holding the cotton mart of theworld. It is all in vain. We of the same continent recognize no right ina very few millions to seize on the land which belongs as much to ourdescendants and to the labor of all Europe and of the world as it doesto them. They have _no right_ to exclude white labor by slaves. ADoughface press may cry, Compromise; and try to restore the _status quoante bellum_, but all in vain. The best that can be hoped for, is someingenious temporary arrangement to break the fall of their oldslaveholding friends. It is not as _we_ will, or as _we_ or _you_ would_like_, that what the Southerners themselves term a conflict of races, can be settled. People who burn their own cities and fire their owncrops are going to the dire and bitter end; and the Might which underGod's providence is generally found in the long run of history to be theRight--will triumph at last. 

As has been intimated in the foregoing passages, the antipathy of theSouth to the North is deeply seated, springing from such rancor as canonly be bred between a claim to social superiority mingled with a bitterconsciousness of inferiority in nearly all which the spirit of the agedeclares constitutes true greatness. It is almost needless to say, thatwith such motives goading them on, with an ignorant, unthinking mass forsoldiers, and with unprincipled politicians who have to a want ofprinciple added the newly acquired lust for blood, any prospect ofconciliation becomes extremely remote. We may hope for it--we may andshould proceed cautiously, so that no possible opportunity of restoringpeace may be lost; but it is of the utmost importance that we be blindto no facts; and every fact developed as the war advances seems toindicate that we have to deal with a most intractable, crafty, andferocious enemy, whom to trust is to be deceived. 

There can be no doubt that the ultimatum of the South is secession ordeath. We of the North can not contemplate such a picture with calmness, and therefore evade it as amiably as we can. We say, it stands to reasonthat very few men will burn their own homes and crops, yet every mailtells us of tremendous suicidal sacrifices of this description. The ruinand misery which the South is preparing for itself in every way isincalculable and incredible, and yet there is no diminution ofdesperation. The prosperity which made a mock of honest poverty is now, as by the retributive judgment of God, sinking itself into penury, andthe planter who spoke of the Northern serf as a creature just one removeabove the brute, is himself learning by bitter experience to be amud-sill. Verily the cause of the poor and lowly is being avenged. Yetwith all this there is no hint or hope of compromise; repeated defeatsare, so far, of little avail. The Northern Doughfaces tell us over andover again, that if we will 'only leave the slave question untouched, 'all will yet be right. 'Only spare them the negro, and they, seeing thatwe do not intend to interfere with their rights, will eventually settledown into the Union. ' But what is there to guarantee this assertion?What _proof_ have we that the South can be in this manner conciliated?None--positively none. 

There is nothing which the Southern press, and, so far as we can learn, the Southern people, have so consistently and thoroughly disavowed sincethe war began, as the assertion that a restoration of the Union may beeffected on the basis of undisturbed slavery. They have ridiculed theDemocrats of the North with as great contempt and as bitter sarcasm aswere ever awarded of old to Abolitionists, for continually urging thisworn-out folly; for now that the mask is finally thrown off, they makeno secret of their scorn for their old tools and dupes. Slavery is nolonger the primary object; they are quite willing to give up slavery ifthe growing prosperity of the South should require it; their emissariesabroad in every _salon_ have been vowing that manumission of theirslaves would soon follow recognition; and it was their rage at failureafter such wretched abasement and unprincipled inconsistency which, verynaturally, provoked the present ire of the South against England andFrance. They, the proud, chivalrous Southrons, who had daringly rushedto battle as slave lords, after eating abundant dirt as prospectiveAbolitionists, after promising any thing and every thing for arecognition, received the cold shoulder. No wonder that ill-will toEngland is openly avowed by the Richmond press as one of the reasons forburning the cotton as the Northern armies advance. 

The only basis of peace with the North, as the South declares, isDisunion; and they do most certainly mean it. No giving up the slavequestion, no enforcing of fugitive slave laws; no, not the hanging ofMessrs. Garrison and Phillips, or any other punishment of allEmancipationists--as clamored for by thousands of tremblingcowards--would be of any avail. It is disunion or nothing--and disunionthey can not have. There shall be no disunion, no settlement of anything on _any_ basis but the Union. Richmond papers, after the battle ofPittsburgh Landing, proposed peace and separation. They do not know us. The North was never so determined to push on as now; never so eager forbattle or for sacrifices. If the South is in earnest, so are we; if theyhave deaths to avenge, so have we; if they cry for war to the knife, sosurely as God lives they can have it in full measure. For thirty yearsthe blazing straw of Southern insult has been heaped on the Northernsteel; and now that the latter is red-hot, it shall scorch and sear ereit cools, and they who heated it shall feel it. 

We may as well make up our minds to it first as last, that we must atevery effort and at _any_ cost, conquer this rebellion. There is noalternative. This done, the great question which remains to settle, is, how shall we manage the conquered provinces? There are fearful obstaclesin the way; great difficulties, such as no one has as yet calmlyrealized; difficulties at home and abroad. We have a fierce anddiscontented population to keep under; increased expenses in everydepartment of government; but it is needless to sum them up. The firstand most apparent difficulty is that involved in the form of governmentto be adopted. As the rebellious States have, by the mere act ofsecession, forfeited all State rights, and thereby reduced themselves toterritories, this question would seem to settle itself withoutdifficulty, were it not that a vast body of the ever-mischief-making, ever-meddling, and never-contented politicians (who continue to believethat the millennium would at once arrive were Emancipation onlyextinguished) cry out against this measure as an infringement of thoseSouthern rights which are so dear to them. They argue and hope in vain. Never more will the South come back to be served and toadied to by themas of old; never more will they receive contemptuous patronage anddishonorable honors. It is all passed. Those who look deepest into thisbattle, and into the future, see a resistance, grim and terrible, to thedeath; and one which will call for the strictest and sternest watch andward. It will only be by putting fresh life and fresh blood intoSecessia, that union can be practically realized. Out of the oldSouthern stock but little can be made. A great portion must be keptunder by the strong hand; a part may be induced to consult its owninterests, and reform. But the great future of the South, and the greathope of a revived and improved Union will be found in colonizing certainportions of the conquered territory with free white labor. 

A more important topic, and one so deeply concerning the most vitalprosperity of the United States, was never before submitted to theconsideration of her citizens. If entertained by Government and thepeople on a great, enterprising, and vigorous scale, as such schemeswere planned and executed by the giant minds of antiquity, it may bemade productive of such vast benefits, that in a few years at most, themillions of Americans may look back to this war as one of the greatestblessings that ever befell humanity, and Jefferson Davis and hiscoadjutors be regarded as the blind implements by which God advancedhuman progress, as it had never before advanced at one stride. But toeffect this, it should be planned and executed as a great, harmonious, and centrally powerful scheme, not be tinkered over and frittered awayby all the petty doughfaces in every village. In great emergencies, great acts are required. 

It is evident that the only certain road to Union-izing the South is, toplant in it colonies of Northern men. Thousands, hundreds of thousandsnow in the army, would gladly remain in the land of tobacco or ofcotton, if Government would only provide them with the land whereon tolive. Were they thus settled, and were every slave in the Southemancipated by the chances of war, there would be no danger to apprehendas to the future of the latter. Give a Yankee a fat farm in Dixie, andwe may rely upon it that although a Southern nabob may not know how toget work out of a 'free nigger', the Northerner will contrive topersuade Cuffy to become industrious. We have somewhere heard of aVermonter, who taught ground-hogs or 'wood-chucks' to plant corn forhim; the story has its application. Were Cuffy ten times as lazy as heis, the free farmer would contrive to get him to work. And in view ofthis, I am not sorry that the Legislatures of the border wheat Statesare passing laws to prevent slaves from entering their territories. Themission of the black is to labor as a free man in the South, under thefarmer, until capable of being a farmer on his own account. 

The manner and method of colonizing free labor in the South deservesvery serious consideration, and is, it may be presumed, receiving it atthe hands of Government, in anticipation of further developments in thisdirection. We trust, however, that the Administration will _lead_, asrapidly as possible, in this matter, and that the President will soonmake it the subject of a Message as significant and as noble as thatwherein this country first stood committed by its chief officer toEmancipation, the noblest document which ever passed from president orpotentate to the people; a paper which, in the eyes of future ages, willcast Magna Charta itself into the shade, and rank with the gloriousmanumission of the Emperor of Russia. 

The primary question would be, whether it were more expedient to scatterfree labor all over the South, or simply form large colonies at suchpoints as might serve to effectually break up and surround theconfederacy. Without venturing to decide on the final merit of eitherplan, we would suggest that the latter would be, for a beginning, probably most feasible. Should Virginia, certain points on the Atlanticcoast, embracing the larger cities and vicinity of forts, and Texas, belargely or strongly occupied by free men, we should at once throw achain around the vanquished foe, whose links would grow stronger everyyear. With slavery abolished--and it is at present abolishing itselfwith such rapidity that it is almost time lost to discuss thesubject--immigration from Europe would stream in at an unprecedentedrate, and in a few years, all the old Southern system become entirely atradition of the past, like that of the feudal chivalry which thepresent chivalry so fondly ape. 

The enormous internal resources of Eastern Virginia, her proximity tofree soil, the arrogance and insubordination of her inhabitants, renderher peculiarly fitted for colonization. Not less attractive is Texas--aState which, be it remembered, is capable of raising six times as muchcotton as is now raised in the whole South, and which, if only settledand railroaded-ed, would, in a few years, become the wealthiestagricultural State in America. But let our army once settle in theSouth, there will be little danger of its not retaining its possessions. He who can win can wear. 

The country has thus far treated very gingerly the question ofconfiscation, which is, however, destined to thrust itself veryprominently forward among the great issues of the day, and which isclosely allied to colonization. That the South, after forcing upon ussuch a war as this, with its enormous losses and expenses, should besubjected to no penalty, is preposterous. Confiscation there mustbe--not urged inhumanly on a wholesale scale, but in such a manner as toproperly punish those who were forward in aiding rebellion. When thiswar broke out, the South was unanimous in crying for plunder, inspeaking of wasting our commerce and our cities on a grand scale. But itis needless to point out that punishment of the most guilty alone wouldof itself half cover the expenses of the war. 

It may be observed that already, since the decree of emancipation in theDistrict of Columbia, a fresh spirit of enterprise has manifested itselfthere. Within a few days after the signature of the President to thatact, Northern men began to prepare for renewed industry and action inthe old slave field. The tide of free labor which will rush intoVirginia, after the chances of war or other action shall haveemancipated that State, will be incalculable. Its worn-out plantationswill become thriving farms, its mines and inexhaustible water-powerswill call into play the incessant demand and supply of vigorous industryand active capital. We may hasten the movement or we may not, by directlegislation. For the present, it seems advisable to await the rapidlydeveloping chances of war and their results; but the great rush of freelabor will come, and that rapidly, and Virginia, disenthralled, become, in all probability, once more the first among the States. 

We have spoken of the desperation of the rebels, and of the idleness ofexpecting from them any peaceable compromise. Those who, in the South, will take the oath of allegiance, and who have probably acted only undercompulsion, should be spared. But there is a vast number who are as yetunder the dominion of a madness, for which nothing but the most vigorousmeasures can be of any avail. It is evident that at present, every whereexcept in Halleck's department, government is too indulgent. Traitorsflaunt and boast openly in the border States, and publicly scheme withtheir doughface allies, to defeat the Union cause in every possible way, too often with signal success. The more mercy they receive, the moreinsolent do they become, and yet every effort has been made, and ismaking, 'to conciliate. ' Let Government be vigorous, and rely only onits strong hand, so far as the management of avowed traitors isconcerned; such men hold to no faith, and keep no oaths. With such, athreat of confiscation will be found of more avail than all the lenityin the world. 

We may quote, in this connection, from a letter to the Salem _Register_, from Captain Driver, who hoisted 'Old Glory' at Nashville, when ourtroops took possession of that city. After speaking of the immenseamount of property being destroyed through the State, he asks:

 'Is there one man North, who now expects to make peace, based on compromise with such men as lead here? Is there one who expects a lasting peace in this land, until the armed heel of freedom's soldiers marks every inch of slave soil? If there is, he knows little of the South or Southern men and women. One defeat of the Federal forces, and madness would be rampant here. In the hour of victory, they would destroy every Union family in the South. We live on a volcanic mass, which at any moment may upheave and blow us to glory without the benefit of the clergy, the most of whom are in the army of Dixie. 

 'Our enemy is as bitter as death, as implacable as the savage of the forest; he will do any thing to gain his end. Twice has the 'Black Flag' been flaunted in our faces, and cheered by a portion of our citizens. Our women are more bitter than the men, and our children are taught to hate the North, in church, in school, and at the fireside. Our city still presents a sullen, silent front; it will take as long time to root treason out of Nashville us it did the household sins of Egypt out of Israel. 

 'Had I my way, I would confiscate the property of all traitors, work the slaves three or four years under overseers, on the land of their masters, sell the crops thus raised, and pay the war debt; this would save the people from taxation. The fifth year's crop give to the slaves, and send them to Texas or elsewhere; give them a governance, buy up the slaves of the loyal men, and let them be sent to their brethren. The land confiscated, I would divide among the soldiers of the North and the widows and orphans of those deluded poor men of the South who fell victims to false notions of 'Southern Rights;' compel the Northern man to settle on his grant, or to send a settler of true, industrious habits, and give him no power to alienate his title for ten or more years. This will insure an industrious, worthy, patriotic people for the South. One man will make one bale of cotton, others ten; your spindles and looms will be kept running by free men, and slavery will cease forever, as it should do. Slavery is a curse, a crime, a mildew, and must end, or war will blast our fair heritage for all time to come. '

Such are the views of one who seems to know what a realSouthern-sympathizing secessionist is made of. Let it not be forgottenthat there are thousands of native Tennesseeans, as of other borderersof intelligence, character, and influence, who have offered to raiseregiments to fight for the Union; and this fact is urged by thedoughface democrats as a reason for increased leniency to traitors. Weconfess we do not see what connection exists between the two. If theseloyal borderers are sincere in their professions, they have certainly nosympathy for the wretches around them, who visit with death or pillageevery friend of the Union. But it is idle to argue with traitors. Eitherwe are at war, or we are not; and if the history of the past eighteenmonths has not taught the country the folly of procrastinating, nothingwill do it. 'When you feel the knife in your heart, _then_ wish that youhad fought!'

_THE EDUCATION TO BE. _

II. 

A right intellectual education presupposes three essential features: theselection of the most suitable subjects for study; the properpresentation of these, in the order of their dependence, and in view ofthe gradual growth of the pupil's powers of comprehension; and, not lessimportant than either of these, the finding out and following of thebest method and order of presenting the truths belonging to each subjectto be studied. These are the problems with which, as something apartfrom Metaphysics or Logic, the possible but yet unachieved pedagogicalscience has to deal. To the first of these questions, What shall weteach? or, as he phrases it, 'What knowledge is of most worth?' Mr. Spencer (presuming the child already supplied with his bare implements, reading, spelling, and penmanship) is led, after a long discussion, toconclude that 'the uniform reply is, Science. ' The 'counts' on which hebases this verdict, are, the purposes of self-preservation; the gainingof a livelihood; the due discharge of parental functions; qualificationfor political responsibilities; the production and enjoyment of art; anddiscipline, whether intellectual, moral, or religious. Taken at his ownshowing, Mr. Spencer seems to contemplate, as his model of an educatedman, a prodigiously capable and efficient mute. But can he deny that theability _to express_ what one may know, and in speech, as well as inproduction, is at once the final proof, and in a very real sense theindispensable consummation of such knowing? _Language_ is thecounterpart and complement of _Science_. The two are but two sides, andeither separately an incomplete one, of one thing; that one thing we mayname _definite and practical knowledge_; and it is the only sort ofknowledge that has real value. Language is yet larger than all thesciences proper which it embodies, namely, those clustering aboutPhilology, Grammar, and Rhetoric. Of these, all deal with words, orthose larger words--sentences; but under these forms they deal, inreality, with the objective world as perceived or apprehended by us, andas named and uttered in accordance with subjective aptitudes and laws. In language, then, there stands revealed, in the degree in which we canascend to it, all that is yet known of the external world, and all thathas yet evolved itself of the human mind. Can we decry the study of thatwhich, whether as articulate breath, or through a symbolism of visibleforms, mirrors to us at once all of nature and all of humanity? But ifwe yield this claim in behalf of language, noting meanwhile that themathematics are already well represented in our courses of instruction, then much of Mr. Spencer's eloquent appeal is simply wasted bymisdirection. All that he had really to claim is, that adisproportionate time is now surrendered to the studies of the symbols, as such, and too often to characteristics of them not yet brought in anyway into scientific coördination, nor of a kind having practical orpeculiarly disciplinary value. If Mr. Spencer had insisted on a morejust division of the school studies between the mathematical, physical, biological, and linguistic sciences, he would have struck a chordyielding no uncertain sound, and one finding response in a multitude ofadvanced and liberal minds. If he had gone yet deeper, and disclosed tohis readers the fact that the fundamental need is, not that we studywhat in the more restricted sense is known as _Science_, but that webegin to study all proper and profitable subjects, as we now do hardlyany of them, _in the true scientific spirit and method_, he would notmerely seem to have said, but would have succeeded in saying, somethingof the deepest and most pressing import to all educators. 

The volume of republished papers from Mr. Barnard's able _Journal ofEducation_--the first of a series of five under the general title of'Papers for the Teacher'--will afford to those desirous of investigatingthe second of the problems above proposed, some useful material andhints. Especially will this be true, we think, of the first series ofarticles, by Mr. William Russell, on the 'Cultivation of the Perceptive, Expressive, and Reflective Faculties;' and of the second, by Rev. Dr. Hill, now President of Antioch College, upon the 'True Order ofStudies. ' In the outset of his first essay, (which appeared in March, 1859, ) Dr. Hill takes it '_for granted_ [postulating, we think, a prettylarge ground, and one that analysis and proof would better havebefitted] that there is a rational order of development in the course ofthe sciences, and that it ought to be followed in common education. ' Theorder he finds is that of five great studies, Mathesis, [mathematics;]Physics, or Natural History; History; Psychology; and Theology. 'We alsotake it for granted, ' he continues, 'that there is a natural order ofdevelopment in the human powers, and that studies should be so arrangedas to develop the powers in this order. ' Here two very difficultproblems are undertaken--the hierarchy of the sciences, and the analysisof the intellect--and though we seem to find in the elucidation of thesubject traces of that 'harmony of results of the two lines of inquiry, 'on which the author relies as one source of confirmation of the resultsthemselves, yet we can not admit that the solutions given us remove all, nor even all the main difficulties of the case. While we regard themathematics, physics, psychology, and theology as quite wellindividualized and distinct lines of scientific research, we can nothelp feeling that the day has hardly come for embracing _physiology_under either physics or psychology; the forming of the bile and thegrowing and waste of brain are yet, to our apprehension, too far removedfrom the gravitation of planets or the oxidation of phosphorus, on theone hand, as they are from the scintillations of wit or the severe marchof reason on the other, for ready affiliation with either. We questiondecidedly whether Theology proper can, at the most, be more than a veryrestricted subject; and quite as decidedly whether the heterogeneousmatters grouped under History, namely, Agriculture, Trade, Manufactures, the Fine Arts, Language, Education, Politics, and Political Economy, areor can be shown to be linked by any principle of essential unity. Mostof these have their historical side; but their unhistorical andscientific side most interests the great body of learners. And thislatter aspect of some of them, Education and Politics especially, belongs after, not before Psychology. Then, the great fact ofexpression--Language--has not adequate justice done it by the positionit is here placed in. Want of space is the least among our reasons forforbearing to attempt here a classification of the sciences--a workwhich Ramus, D'Alembert, Stewart, Bentham, and Ampère successivelyessayed and left unfinished. But the principle that the faculties intheir order are called out by the branches named in their order, isquite given up as the writer proceeds, and distinctly so in his TabularView of the studies adapted to successive ages. In actual life, usuallythe first set teaching the infant receives is in language; and eventhough it previously is and should be getting its ideas of forms, colors, and other qualities, in the concrete, yet it remains far fromtrue that we should 'pay our earliest attention to the development ofthe child's power to grasp the truths of space and time. ' Dr. Hill has, however, taken in these papers a step in a needful direction; andperhaps the best we could at first expect, are hints and anapproximation toward a much desired result. 

We may fairly assume that Mr. Willson's answer to the question, What toteach? is in some good degree embodied in his elaborate series of'School and Family Readers, ' of which the first six of the eightcontemplated volumes have already appeared. These Readers aim to replacein a good degree the more purely literary materials of most of theirpredecessors, with a somewhat systematic and complete view of the moregenerally useful branches of human knowledge. They begin, where thechild is sure to be interested, with studies of animals, illustratedwith good and often spirited drawings, and proceed through Physiology, Botany, Architecture, Physical Geography, Chemistry, etc. , up at last, as is promised, to Mental and Moral Philosophy, Natural Theology, Rhetoric, Criticism, Logic, the Fine Arts, including that one of thosearts, as we presume we may class it, with which pupils of the ruralschools will have best cause to become acquainted, namely, Gardening!Readers on this plan have long been known in the schools of Prussia andHolland, and are even lately well received in England, in the form ofMr. Constable's popular series; though apparently, when finished, theAmerican series will be more full and complete in topics and treatmentof them than any preceding one. Of course, restricted space, and therange of maturity of talents addressed, compel the presentation insimplified form of scarcely more than 'a little learning' under theseveral heads; and the compiler sensibly tells us his aim is not to givea full exposition of any theme, but rather, 'to present a _pleasingintroduction_ to science. ' We may grant, in the outset, that most pupilswill really comprehend, in and through the reading of it, but a modicumof all the high and large fields of knowledge here intimated to them;but who that can now look on his school-days as in the past, does notremember how many grandiose sentences he was then called on to utter incadence duly swelling or pathetic, but of the meaning of which he hadnot the most distant approach to a true comprehension? It was _ours_once to be of a class whose enunciative powers were disciplined byrepeated goings 'through' of the 'Old English Reader, ' and well do weremember how the accidental omission of the full pause after 'shows' inthe quotation ending the piece entitled 'Excellency of the HolyScriptures, ' caused a certain teacher to understand(!) and direct us toread the whole sentence thus: 'Compared, indeed, with this, all othermoral and theological wisdom

 'Loses, discountenanced, and like folly shows' BEATTIE. '

Now, it is true, the whole sentence, in its best state, would have shownto our green understandings like enough to 'folly, ' if we had once madethe effort to find meaning of any sort in it; nor can it be consideredthe most profitable use of school time, thus to 'like folly show' tounknit juvenile brains the abstract and high thought of mature and greatminds, who uttered them with no foolishness or frivolity in theirintentions! We see reasons to expect substantial advantages from Mr. Willson's books; and we believe teachers will appreciate and use them. We could wish they had not gone so far to mechanicalize the pupil'senunciation; by too freely introducing throughout the points ofinflection; but it is safe to predict that most pupils will take up withinterest the simplified readings in science; that they will comprehendand remember a useful portion of what they read; that the lessons willafford both them and the teachers points of suggestion from which themind can profitably be led out to other knowledge and its connections;and that they who go through the series can at least leave school withsome more distinct ideas as to what the fields of human knowledge are, and what they embrace, than was ever possible under the _régime_ ofmerely fine writing, of pathetic, poetic, and generally miscellaneousselections. 

The educational interest that grew up in our country between the years1810 and 1828, about the year 1835 gave place to a stagnation that hasmarked nearly the whole of the period intervening between the last-namedand the present date. In the year 1858, the _New-York Teacher_ was madethe first medium of some thoughts in substance agreeing with those setforth in the earlier part of this paper, claiming the indispensablenessto true education of a more true and liberal _work_ on the part of thelearner's intellectual faculties, and of a more true and logical_consecution_ than has yet been attained, and one corresponding to thenatural order of the intellectual operations, in the books and lessonsthrough which the usual school studies are to be mastered. 'Make'--saidthe first of the articles setting forth this thought--'the [form of the]facts and principles of any branch of study as simple as you choose, andunless the order of their presentation be natural--be that order, fromobservation to laws and causes, in which the mind naturally moves, whenever it moves surely and successfully--the child, except in the rarecase of prodigies that find a pleasure in unraveling complexity, willstill turn from the book with loathing. He will do so because he must. It is not in his nature to violate his nature for the sake of acquiringknowledge, however great the incentives or threatenings attending theprocess. ' 'The child's mind ... With reference to all unacquiredknowledge ... Stands in precisely the attitude of the experimenters anddiscoverers of riper years. It is to come to results not only previouslyunknown, but not even conceived of. Because their nature and facultiesare identical, the law of their intellectual action must be the same. ''Study is research. ' In subsequent articles, it was claimed that the lawhere indicated is for intellectual education, the one true andcomprehensive law; and it was expressed more fully in the words: 'Alltrue study is investigation; all true learning is discovery. '

We say, now, that when the first of these articles appeared, the leadingthought it contained, namely, that our pupils can and should learn by aprocess of _re-discovery_, in the subjects they pursue, had not indistinct nor in substantial statement in any way appeared in theeducational treatises or journals; and further, that it was not, so faras their uttered or published expressions show, previously occupying theattention of teachers or of educational writers, nor was it the subjector substance of remarks, speeches, or debates, in the meetings ofTeachers' Associations. We say further, and because history and justicerequire it, that in our country, especially in the educational movementsin the State of New-York, and in the several national associations ofeducators, a marked change and revolution in the course of much of thethought and discussion touching matters of education has, since the year1858, become apparent, and that to the most casual participant orobserver, and in the precise direction in which the thought abovereferred to points. The essential issue itself--the practicability anddesirableness of casting our studies into the form of courses ofre-discovery is somewhat distantly and delicately approached, incorporated into speeches by an allusion or in the way of _apercû_, orthrown out as a suggestion of a partial or auxiliary method with theyounger learners, all which is of a fashion highly patronizing to thethought, spite of the scruples about confessing who was the suggester ofit. But other questions, which spring up in the train of this, which bythemselves had received attention long since, but had been mainlydropped and unheard of among us during the past twenty-five years, havecome again into full and unconcealed prominence. Such are the questionsabout the natural order of appearance of the faculties in childhood, asto what are the elementary faculties of the mind, as to the adaptationof the kinds and order of studies to these, etc. And thus, all at once, is disclosed that Education itself, which many had thought quite a'finished' thing, well and happily disposed of, or at least so farperfected as to leave no work further save upon the veriest outskirts ofdetails, is in truth a giant superstructure with foundations in sand, orso almost visibly lacking underneath it, that it threatens to fall. For, in the name of the simplest of all common sense, how are we to educateto the best, _not yet knowing_--and that is now acknowledged--_what arethe_ FACULTIES _of the very minds we are dealing with, nor what are the_PROCESSES _by which those minds begin and keep up their advance inknowledge?_ So, also, those who in the most charitable mood could see ineducation only something too hum-drum and narrow for their betterfancies, find it now rising and expanding into a new and large field forintellectual effort, full of interesting problems, and fraught withrealizations as yet undreamed of. 

It may be said, that the young mind had always learned what it didlearn, by discoveries; we answer, our methods and our books have not inany sufficient degree recognized the fact, provided for it, nor takenadvantage of it. It may be said, that writers had previouslyacknowledged that the mind learns well--some of them even, that itlearns best--when it discovers: we answer, that nevertheless, no one hadrecorded it as a well-grounded, universal conclusion and positive law, that the mind only can learn, in all strictly scientific matters, as itdiscovers, and that hence, the canons of the method of discovery becomerules for directing, in studies of this character, the education of theyoung. Aristotle and Bacon have recognized and enforced upon the adultmind its two master methods of advance by reasoning. But our childrenhave their knowing also to attain to, their discoveries to make, theirlogic of proof, on occasions, to employ. Shall we lavish all thetreasures of method on those who have passed the formative stage ofmind, and acquired the bent of its activities? Rather, we think, thetrue intellectual method--combining both Baconian _induction_ andAristotelian _deduction_--yet waits to realize some of the best of theapplication and work for which its joint originators and theirco-workers have been preparing it; and that perhaps one of the highestconsummations of this one method of thought may yet appear in thecarrying forward, with more of certainty, pleasure, and success in theirattaining of knowledge, the lisping philosophers of our school-rooms andour firesides. 

From one source, disconnected latterly from those to which I have thusfar called attention, there has arisen a decidedly progressive movementin the direction of right teaching, and one that, at least ingeographical studies, promises soon to result in a consummation of greatimportance. Though Pestalozzianism, as further developed by the Prussianeducators and schools, has never yet realized the completely inductiveand consecutive character here contended for, it has been tending in adegree toward such a result; and this is perhaps seen in the most markedway in the method of teaching geography developed by Humboldt andRitter, and represented in this country by their distinguished pupil, Professor Guyot. This method subordinates political to physicalgeography, proceeding from facts to laws, and by setting out with thegrand natural features of the globe, leads the learner to comprehend notonly the existence, boundaries, capitals, and strength of nations, butthe reasons why these have come to be what they are. As tending in thesame true direction, we should not fail to mention also thefaithfully-executed series of raised or embossed maps of the late Mr. Schroeter, presenting not only the profile but the comparativeelevations of the land-surfaces or continents and islands, and, indetail, of the several political divisions of the globe, thus at oncemaking the ocular study of geography _real_, and not as formerly, leaving the right conception of the land-surfaces to the pupil's unaidedimagination. 

Among the decisive and important steps marking the revival ofeducational interest among us, is that looking to the introduction intoour primary schools of the simple lessons for what is called the'education of the senses, ' and what is in fact the solicitation of theperceptive faculties, and the storing of them, with their proper ideas, through the avenues of sense. When employed about observing or findingand naming the parts or qualities and uses of objects, as _glass, leather, milk, wood, a tree, the human body_, etc. , this sort ofteaching takes the name of 'Object Lessons;' when it rises tophilosophizing in the more obvious and easy stages about naturalphenomena, as _rain, snow, _ etc. , or about parts of the system ofnature, as _oceans, mountains, stars, _ etc. , it is sometimes termed'Lessons in Common Things. ' In the year 1860, Mr. E. A. Sheldon, theenterprising superintendent of the schools of that city, firstintroduced with some degree of completeness and system, this sort ofteaching into the primary schools of Oswego. In March, 1861, under theleadership also, as we infer, of their superintendent, Mr. William H. Wells, the Educational Board of the city of Chicago adopted a still moreminutely systematized and more extensive course of instruction of thissort, arranged in ten successive grades, and intended to advance fromthe simple study of objects, forms, colors, etc. , gradually to theprosecution of the regular and higher studies. The greater naturalness, life-likeness, and interest of this kind of mental occupation for younglearners, over the old plan of restricting them mainly to the barealphabet, with barren spelling, reading, definitions, and so on, is atonce obvious in principle and confirmed by the facts; and for theyounger classes--a stage of the utmost delicacy and importance to thefuture habits of the learner--the fruits must appear in increasedreadiness of thought and fullness of ideas, and in a preparation formore true and enlarged subsequent comprehension of the proper branchesof study; provided, we must add, that these also, when reached, betaught by a method best suited to their subject-matter and to the higherrange of mental activity required to deal with it. Whether, now, theobject-lesson system and plan is the one competent to carry on thelearner through those later studies, is another and larger question, andone to which we shall presently recur. 

Under the recall of the minds of educators among us to fundamentalprinciples of methods and tendencies in teaching, which we have pointedout, it was but natural to expect attempts to be made toward remedyingthe defects and supplying the needs that could not fail to be detectedin our teaching processes. Naturally, too, such attempts would result inthe bringing forward, sooner or later, of novelties in the topics andform of the school-books. What the pen--which, in the outset, proposedthe necessity of molding the school-work into a course of re-discoveriesof the scientific truths--should reasonably be expected to do towardsupplying the want it had indicated; or what it may, in the interim, have actually accomplished toward furnishing the working implementsrequisite to realizing in practice the possible results foreshadowed bythe best educational theories, it may be neither in place nor needfulthat we should here intimate. Sometimes, indeed, there is in our socialmovements evidence of a singular sort of intellectual _catalysis;_ and amute fact, so it _be_ a fact, and even under enforced continuance ofmuteness, through influence of temporary and extraneous circumstances, may yet, like the innocent _platinum_ in a mixture of certain gases, orthe equally innocent _yeast-plant_ vegetating in the 'lump' of dough, take effect in a variety of ways, as if by mere presence. 

We shall remember how even Virgil had to write:

 'Hos ego versiculos scripsi: tulit alter honores!'

And the veriest bumpkin knows the force of the adage about one's shakingthe tree, for another to gather up the fruit. But Virgil was patient, and did well at the last; though the chronicles do not tell us how manypears ever came to the teeth of him that did the tree-shaking. At allevents, it is satisfying to know that time spins a long yarn, and comesto the end of it leisurely and at his own wise motion!

The English object-lesson system being now fairly and successfullydomesticated among us, and to such an extent as to call for theinvitation and temporary residence among us, in the city of Oswego, of adistinguished lady-teacher from the English Training Schools, it isagain but natural that the system should call forth books adapted to itspurposes; and it was scarcely possible, under the circumstances we havenow shown to exist, that such books should come forth without presentinga more conscious aim toward embodying something of the principle andorder of _discovery_ than has marked even their English prototypes. These anticipations we find exactly realized in the first book of thenew pattern that has yet made its appearance--the 'PrimaryObject-Lessons' of Mr. Calkins. Of this book, issued June, 1861, theauthor thus states the motive: 'With an earnest desire to contributesomething toward a general radical change in the system of primaryeducation in this country--a change from the plan of exercising thememory chiefly to that of developing the observing powers--a change froman artificial to a natural plan, one in accordance with the philosophyof mind and its laws of development, the author commenced the followingpages. '

Acknowledging his indebtedness to the manuals of Wilderspin, Stow, Currie, the Home and Colonial School Society, and other sources, theauthor tells us that the plan of developing the lessons 'correspondsmore nearly to that given in Miss Mayo's works than to either of theother systems;' and we understand him to claim (and the feature is avaluable one) that in this book, which is not a text-book, but one ofsuggestive or pattern lessons for teachers, he directs the teacher toproceed less by telling the child what is before it and to be seen, andmore by requiring the child to find for itself what is present. Again, an important circumstance, the purpose of the book does not terminate indescribing right processes of teaching, but on the contrary, _'intelling what ought to be done, it proceeds to show how to do it byillustrative examples, ' (sic. )_ Now, spite of some liberties with thePresident's English, which may properly be screened by the author'sproviso that he does not seek 'to produce a faultless composition, ' somuch as to afford simple and clear examples for the teacher's use, weare compelled to inquire, especially as this is matter addressed tomature and not to immature minds, which it is the author really meant usto understand; that is, whether, in fact, the book 'proceeds to show_how to do it by_ illustrative examples;' or whether, in reality, itdoes not aim _to show by illustrative examples how to do it_--that, namely, which ought to be done. If we still find Mr. Calkins'sphilosophy somewhat more faultless than his practice, perhaps that isbut one of the necessary incidents of all human effort; and we can saywith sincerity that, in some of its features, we believe this a bookbetter adapted to its intended uses--the age it is designed to meetbeing that of the lowest classes in the primary schools, or say fromfour to seven or eight years--than any of its predecessors. It will not, we hope, therefore, be understood as in a captious spirit, that we takeexception to certain details. 

The author is clearly right in his principle that 'The chief object ofprimary education is the development of the faculties;' though doubtlessit would have been better to say, _to begin_ the development of thefaculties; but then, he recognizes, as the faculties specially active inchildren, those of 'sensation, perception, observation, and simplememory, ' adding, for mature years, those of 'abstraction, the higherpowers of reason, imagination, philosophical memory, generalization, 'etc. But that any one of all these is in the true psychological sense, a_faculty_--save, it may be, in the single instance of imagination--weshall decidedly question; and Mr. Calkins will see by the intent of hisvery lessons, that he does not contemplate any such thing as 'sensation'or 'observation, ' as being a faculty: but, on the other hand, that he isso regarding certain individual powers of mind, by which we know innature Color and Form and Number and Change and so on. 

We must question whether 'in the natural order of the development of thehuman faculties, the mind of the child takes cognizance first of the_forms_ of objects. ' Form is a result of particular _extensions:_evidently, extension must be known before form can be. But again, visibly, form is revealed through kinds and degrees of light and shade;in one word, through _color_. Evidently, then, color also must beappreciated before visible form can be. But this 'natural order of thedevelopment of the human faculties, ' is a seductive thing. In phrase, itis mellifluous; in idea, impressively philosophical. It would be well ifthis book, while cautiously applying developing processes to the littlelearner, were to _dogmatise_ less to the teacher. But when thedevelopment-idea is carried into the titles of the sections, it becomes, we think, yet more questionable. Thus, a section is headed, 'To developthe idea of straight lines. ' First, would not the idea of _a straightline_ come nearer to the thing actually had in view? Again, 'To developthe idea of right, acute, and obtuse angles. ' 'The idea, ' taking in allthese things, must be most mixed and multifarious; it could not be_clear_, though that is a quality mainly to be sought. Is not theintention rather, to develop _ideas_ of _the right, the acute, _ and _theobtuse angle?_ Instances of this sort, which we can not understandotherwise than as showing a loose way of thinking, are numerous. Butthen, again, it is assumed that the lessons _develop_ all the ideassuccessively discoursed about. Far otherwise, in fact. In manyinstances, of course, a sharper, better idea of the object or qualitydiscussed will be elicited in the course of the lesson. This is, atbest, only a sort of quasi-development, individualizing an idea byturning it on all sides, comparing with others, and sweeping away therubbish that partly obscured it. In others of the topics, the learnerhas the ideas before we begin our developing operations. But the greatmisfortune of the usage of the term here is, that _develop_ properlyimplies to _unroll, uncover, or disclose_ something that is infolded, complicate, or hidden away; but mark, something that is always THEREbefore the developing begins, and that by it is only brought into light, freedom, or activity! Thus, we may develop faculties, for they werethere before we began; but we simply can not develop _objective ideas_, such as this book deals with, but must impart them, or rather, give themind the opportunity to get them. First, then, this term thus employedis needlessly pretentious; secondly, it is totally misapplied. Would itnot help both teacher and pupil, then, if we were to leave this stiltedform of expression, and set forth the actual thing the lessonsundertake, by using such caption as for for example, _To give the idea, of a triangle, _ or to insure, or _to furnish the idea of a curve?_ Wethink the misnomer yet greater and worse, when we come to such captionsas 'To develop the idea of God, as a kind Father;' especially when theamount of the development is this: 'Now, children, listen veryattentively to what I say, and I will _tell you_ about a Friend that_you all have_, one who is kind to all of you, one who _loves youbetter_ than your father or your mother does, ' and so on. All this, andwhat precedes and follows, is 'telling, ' as the author acknowledges; ofcourse, then, it is not developing. How is the child here made to _find_and _know_ that it has such a Friend?--that this Friend _is_ kind toall?--that this Friend loves it better than do parents, or, in fact, atall? This is the way the nursery develops this and kindred ideas, and ifthe child be yet too young for its own comprehension of the most obvioustruths of Natural Theology, then better defer the subject, or at leastcease to call the nursery method by too swelling a name!

As to arrangement of topics, though the geographical lessons properlycome late, as they stand, the idea of _place_, as well as those of_weight and size_, all belong earlier than the positions they are foundin; and _number_, later. Such mental anachronisms as talking of _solids_before the attempt has been made to impart or insure the idea of asolid, should, where practicable, be avoided; and more notably, such asbringing a subsequent and complex idea, like that of 'square measure, 'before scarcely any one of the elementary ideas it involves, such as_measure, standard_, or even _length or size_, is presented. As to thesubstance of the teaching, we will indicate a few points that raise aquestion on perusal of them. What will the little learner gain, if theteacher follows the book in this instance? 'Where is the skin of theapple? _On_ its surface. '' This is in the lesson for 'developing theidea' of surface. When, by and by, the young mathematician gets the trueidea of a surface, as extension in two dimensions only, hence, withoutthickness, then will follow this surprising result, that the wholethickness of the apple-skin is _on_--outside--the apple's surface, andhence, is nowhere: a singular converse of the teaching of those smartgentlemen who waste reams of good paper in establishing, to their ownsatisfaction, that even the mathematical surface itself has thickness!In the lesson on 'perpendicular and horizontal, ' the definition ofperpendicular is correct; but all the developing, before and after, unfortunately confounds the _perpendicular_ with the _vertical_--a badway toward future accuracy of thought, or toward making scientificideas, as they should be, definite as well as practically useful. If wejudge by the brevity and incompleteness of the lesson on 'Developingideas of Drawing'(!), ideas of that particular 'stripe' must be scarce. The Object Lessons at the close of the book we find generally very goodmodels of such exercises, clear and to the purpose. Once in a whilethere is a _lapsus_, as in this: The criterion of a _liquid_ ispresented as being in the circumstances that it does not '_holdtogether_' when poured from a vessel, but 'forms drops. ' Now, since itforms drops, it _has cohesion_, and the criterion is wrongly taken; Infact, the same thing appears in that the liquid, even in pouring out, does hold together in a stream, and a stream that experiments withliquid jets show it really requires considerable force to break up. 

Finally, Mr. Calkins's book, in the bands of discerning and skillfulteachers, can be made the instrument of a great deal of right andvaluable discipline for primary classes; but without some guarding andhelp from the teacher's own thought, it will not always do the bestwork, nor in the best way. It is an approach to a good book for earlymental development; but it is not the consummation to be desired. Manyof its suggestions and patterns of lessons are excellent; but there istoo large a lack of true consecution of topics, of accuracy ofexpression, and of really natural method of handling the subjects. Wesay this with no unkindly feeling toward the attempt or the author, butbecause, though no matter by how fortuitous circumstances, it comes tous as in this country the _first effort_ toward a certain new style ofbooks and subjects, and certain more rational teaching; and we hold it, as being the privilege of teachers whose time may be too much consumedin applying, to criticise minutely, as no less our right and duty, andthat of every independent man, to recognize and point out wherein thisnew venture meets, or fails to meet, the new and positive demand of thepupils and the teachers in our time. If, in a degree, the working outshows defects such as we have named, is it not yet a question, whetherwe have in the book an illustration 'how this system of training may beapplied to the entire course of common school education'?--to saynothing now of the question whether, even in its best form, it is asystem that ought to be so applied. 

After the author of a book for young learners is sure of thecomprehensibility of his subjects, and the accuracy of his ideas andexpressions of them, the highest need--and one the lack of which isfatal to true educative value--is that of a natural and true synthesisand consecution of the successive steps of fact and principle that areto be presented. We would not be understood that every successive lessonand every act of voluntary thinking must thus be consecutive: to saythis, would be to confine the mind to one study, and to make us dreadeven relaxation, lest it break the precious and fragile chain ofthought. Our growth in knowledge is not after that narrow pattern. Wetake food at one time, work at another, and sleep at a third: and so, the mind too has its variations of employment, and best grows by a likeperiodicity in them. This is our point--that it is a peculiarity and lawof mind, growing out of the very nature of mind and of its knowings, that no truth or knowledge which is in its nature a _consequent_ on someother truths or knowledge, can by any possibility be in reality attainedby any mind until after that mind has first secured and rightlyappreciated those _antecedent_ truths or knowings. No later or morecomplex knowledge is ever comprehensible or acquirable, until after theelements of knowledge constituting or involved in it have first beendefinitely secured. To suppose otherwise, is precisely like supposing avigorously nourishing foliage and head of a tree with neither roots norstem under it; it is to suppose a majestic river, that had neithersufficient springs nor tributaries. Now, for the pupil, the text-bookmaker, the educator, no truth is more positive or profoundly importantthan this. He who fails of it, by just so much as he does so, fails toeducate. Let the pupil, as he must, alternately study and not study--goeven on the same day from one study to a second, though seldom to morethan a third or fourth. By all this he need lose nothing; and he willtax and rest certain faculties in turn. But then, insist that eachsubject shall recur frequently enough to perpetuate a healthy activityand growth of the faculties it exercises, usually, daily for five daysin a week, or every other day at farthest; that each shall recur at astated period, so that a habit of mind running its daily, steady andproductive round with the sun may be formed; and that in and along thematerial of every subject pursued, whether it be arithmetic, or grammar, or chemistry, or an ancient or modern language, the mind shall so beenabled to advance consecutively, clearly and firmly from step tostep--from observation to law, from law to application, from analysis tobroader generalization, and its application, and so on--that every newstep shall just have been prepared for by the conceptions, the mentalsusceptibility and fibre, gotten during the preceding ones, and thatthus, every new step shall be one forward upon new and yet sure ground, a source of intellectual delight, and a further intellectual gain andtriumph. Need we say, this is the _ideal_? Practice must fall somewhatshort of it; but Practice must first aim at it; and as yet she hasscarcely conceived about the thing, or begun to attempt it. In truth, Practice is very busy, dashing on without a due amount of consideration, striving to project in young minds noble rivers of knowledge withouttheir fountains; and building up therein grand trees of science, ofwhich either the roots are wanting, or all parts come together too muchin confusion. 

First, then, we are not to make the presentation of any topic or lesson, even to the youngest learner, needlessly inconsecutive; but with themore advanced learners--with those in the academic and collegiatecourses--we should insist on the display, and in so doing best insurethe increase of the true _robur_ of the intellect, by positiverequirement that all the topics shall be developed logically; thatsufficient facts shall come before all conclusions; and rigid, sharp, and satisfactory analysis before every generalization or othersynthesis. So, the more advanced mind would learn induction, and logic, and method, by use of them upon all topics; it would know by experiencetheir possibilities, requirements, and special advantages; and it wouldbe able to recognize their principles, when formally studied, as but thereflex and expression of its own acquired habitudes. Such a mind, we maysafely say, would be _educated_. But secondly, the foregoingconsiderations show that we are not unnecessarily to jumble together thetopics and lessons; to vacillate from one line of study to another; towander, truant-like, among all sorts of good things--exploiting, now, a_color_; then _milk_; then in due time _gratitude_ and _the pyramids_;then _leather_, (for, though 'there's nothing like leather, ' it may bewisest to keep it in its place;) then _sponge_, and _duty to parents, lying_, the _points of compass_, etc. ! And here, for all ages above nineor ten years, is a real drawback, or at the least, a positive danger, ofthe Object-Lesson and Common-Things teaching. Just here is shadowedforth a real peril that threatens the brains of the men and women ofthe--we may say, 'rising' generation, through this fresh accession ofthe object-lesson interest in our country. _Objects_, now, areunquestionably good things; and yet, even objects can be 'run into theground. '

We had put the essential thought here insisted on into words, beforeobject-lessons had acquired the impetus of the last and current year. 

 'The 'object lessons' of Pestalozzi and his numerous followers, had, in a good degree, one needed element--they required WORK of the pupil's own mind, not mere recipiency. But they have [almost] wholly lacked another element, just as important--that of CONSECUTION in the steps and results dealt with. In most of the schools in our country--in a degree, in all of them--these two fundamental elements of all right education, namely, true work of the learner's mind, and a natural and true consecution in not only the processes of each day or lesson, but of one day on another, and of each term on the preceding, are things quite overlooked, and undreamed of, or, at the best, imperfectly and fragmentarily attempted. But these, in so far as, he can secure their benefits, are just the elements that make the thinker, the scholar, the man of real learning or intellectual power in any pursuit. --_New-York Teacher, December, _ 1859. 

A like view begins to show itself in the writings of some of the Englisheducationists. The object-teaching is recognized as being, in mostinstances, at least, too promiscuous and disorderly for the ends of atrue discipline and development, and certainly, therefore, even forsecuring the largest amount of information. It too much excludes thelater, systematic study of the indispensable branches, and supplants thedue exercise of the reasoning powers, by too habitual restriction of themind's activities to the channels of sense and perception. Isaac Taylor, in his _Home Education_, admits the benefits of this teaching for themere outset of the pupil's course, but adds: 'For the rest, that is tosay, whatever _reaches its end in the bodily perceptions_, I think wecan go but a very little way without so giving the mind a bent _towardthe lower faculties as must divert it from the exercise of the higher. _'This thought is no mere fancy. It rests on a great law of _derivation_, true in mind as in the body; that inanition and comparative loss of oneset of powers necessarily follows a too habitual activity of a differentset. Thus it is that, in the body, over-use of the nervous, saps themuscular energies, and excessive muscular exertion detracts from thevivacity of the mind. Logically, then, when carried to any excess overjust sufficient to secure the needed clear perceptions and thecorresponding names for material objects and qualities, theobject-lesson system at once becomes the special and fitting educationfor the ditcher, the 'hewer of wood, ' the mere human machine in anyemployment or station in life, where a quick and right taking to thework at the hand is desirable, and any thing higher is commonly thoughtto be in the way; but it is not the complete education for theindependent mind, the clear judgment and good taste, which must grow outof habits of weighing and appreciating also thousands of _non_-materialconsiderations; and which are characteristics indispensable in all themore responsible positions of life, and that in reality may adorn andhelp even in the humblest. In a recently published report or address ona recommendation respecting the teaching of Sciences, made by theEnglish 'Committee of Council on Education, ' in 1859, Mr. Buckmastersays:

 'The object-lessons given in some schools are so vague and unsystematic, that I doubt very much if they have any educational or practical value. I have copied the following lessons from the outline of a large elementary school; Monday, twenty minutes past nine to ten, Oral Lesson--_The Tower of Babel_; Tuesday, _The Senses_; Wednesday, _Noah's Ark_; Thursday, _Fire_; Friday, _The Collect for Sunday_. What can come of this kind of teaching, I am at a loss to understand. Now, a connected and systematic course of lessons on any of the natural sciences, or on the specimens contained in one of Mr. Dexter's cabinets, would have been of far greater educational value, and more interesting to the children. _This loose and desultory habit of teaching encourages a loose and desultory habit of thought_; it is for this reason that I attach great value to _consecutive courses_ of instruction. I think, it will not be difficult to show that the study of _almost any branch of elementary science_ not only has a direct bearing on many of the practical affairs of every-day life, but also _supplies all the conditions necessary to stimulate and strengthen the intellectual faculties in a much greater degree_ than many of the subjects now taught in our elementary schools. '

All the lines of our investigation, as well as the most competenttestimony, thus converge in showing that the object-lesson andcommon-things teaching is but a partial and preliminary resource in thebusiness of education; that, to avoid working positive harm, it must berestricted within due limits of age, capacity, and subject; that it isnot, therefore, the real and total present desideratum of our schools;and that, subsequently to the completion of the more purely sensuous andpercipient phase of the mind, and to the acquirement of the store ofsimpler ideas and information, and the degree of capacity, that ought tobe secured during that period--hence, from an age not later than eleven, or according as circumstances may determine, thirteen years--all thetrue and desirable ends of education, whether they be right mentalhabits and tastes, discipline and power of the faculties, or a largeinformation and practical command of the acquisitions made--all theseends, we say, are thenceforward most certainly secured by the systematicprosecution, in a proper method, of the usually recognized distinctbranches or departments of scientific knowledge. Let then, 'commonthings, ' _et id genus omne_, early enough give place to thorough-goingstudy of the elements of Geometry, of Geography, Arithmetic, Language, (including Grammar, ) of Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, Botany, Physiology, and something of their derivations and applications. Thusshall our schools produce a race not of mere curious _gazers_, but ofconscious and purposive investigators; not a generation of intellectualtruants and vagabonds, but one of definitely skilled cultivators ofdefinite domains in handicraft, art, or science. 

We are compelled to take issue, therefore, with Mr. Spencer'srecommendation, indorsed in the Chicago Report, to the effect thatobject-lessons should, after a 'different fashion, ' 'be extended to arange of things far wider, and continued to a period far later thannow. ' Not so: after any possible fashion. But let us, as early as thechild's capacity and preparation will allow, have the individualized, consecutive studies, and the very manner of studying which shall be madeto do _for the higher and the lower intellectual faculties together, what well-conducted object-lessons can and now do perform, mainly forthe lower_. Of all school-method, this we conceive to be the true endand consummation. This would be the ultimate fruitage of the Baconianphilosophy, and of philosophy larger than the Baconian--by as much asthe whole is greater than any part--in the school-life and work of everyboy and girl admitted to the benefits of our courses of instruction. 

Thus we have endeavored, with some particularity of examination anddetail, to find and state not only what _are_, but what _should be_, thetendencies of educational thought and effort in our country and times. And we seem to find that those tendencies _are_, in spite of astand-still conservatism or perplexed doubt in some quarters, and of aconflict of views and practices in others, largely in the direction inwhich the ends to be sought show that they _should be_. The _Educationto be_, as far as the intellectual being is concerned, when time andstudy shall better have determined the conditions, and furnished theworking instrumentalities, is to be, not in name merely, but in fact, aneducation by simply natural employment and development of all theperceiving, reasoning, originative, and productive faculties of themind. It is to be such, because it is to insist on proceeding, afterproper age, and then upon every suitable topic, by observation andinvestigation, and so, by discovery of the principles and results themind is desired to attain; because it will be an education by rigidlyconsecutive, comprehended and firm lines of advance, employing processesanalytic and synthetic, inductive and deductive, each in its requisiteplace and in accordance with the nature and stage of the topics underinvestigation. For the like reasons, it will have become, what we havelong foreseen and desired that education should be, rightly progressivein form, and in character such as must develop, strengthen, and storethe mind; such as must best fit, so far as the merely scholasticeducation can do this, for practical expression and use of what islearned, showing all our acquired knowledge in the light of its actualand various relationships, and conferring true serviceableness and thelargest value, whether for enjoyment or execution. 

Such an education would be _real_ in its method as well as in itssubstance. We have fairly entered upon the era in which education mustbe, and, spite of any temporary recoil of timorous despotisms, mustcontinue to be, popular and universal. But many are too apt to forgetthat, upon our planet, this thing of popular and universal education iscomparatively a new and untried experience; that, so far as its mode andsubstance are concerned, it is, in truth, still in course of experiment. There is at present a very general and but too just complaint of thepopular education, as tending to inflate rather than to inform; asprompting large numbers of young men especially to aim at scaling topositions above those in which the school found them, a thing that wouldbe well enough were it not inevitable that, in the general scramble, thepositions aspired to are at the same time too frequently those abovetheir capabilities, and quite too full without them: as, in few words, inspiring youth with a disrelish for those less responsible pursuits towhich a large majority should devote their lives, rather than with adesire to qualify themselves for their proper work. The tendency isadmitted; and it has become, in overcrowded professions and commercialpursuits, the fruitful source of superficiality, of charlatanry, ofpoverty at once of pocket and of honor, of empty speculations, and ofthe worst crimes. 

But, appreciating the unquestionable fact that universal education is tobe henceforth the rule in the most advanced nations, and that, in spiteof its apparent consequences or our fears, and remembering also that theexperience is, for the world, a new one, is there not some hope left usin the thought that possibly the alarmists have been attributing to the_fact_ of popular education itself what in truth is only a temporaryconsequence of a false, an abnormally-educating _method and procedure_on the part of our schools? Nay, more; does not the latter afford thetrue solution of the evil? We believe it has been shown that ourteaching methods not only fail in great part, but in a degree positivelymis-educate; that the very 'head and front' of this failure andnon-developing appears in the want of bringing into just prominence thediscriminating and the applicative powers of the mind, the judgment, andreason; in a word, the thinking as distinguished from the merelyreceptive and retentive powers. Now, what are we to expect from a peopletoo many of whom are put in possession of stores of fact quite beyondthe degree in which their capacities to discriminate clearly, to judgewisely, and to draw conclusions rationally have been strengthened andfurnished with the requisite guiding principles? What but a shallowshrewdness that should run into all the evils we have above named? Butdiscipline all to think and reason more and more justly and assuredlyupon their facts, and to men so educated, the very thought of aninordinate crowding of the so-called genteeler avocations, to theneglect of the more substantial, _becomes appreciated in its true light, as absurd and unfortunate in every way, and, in all its bearings uponthe individual as well as the social welfare_. 

So, let us have popular education; and let a due proportion of fit mindsenter the professions, the posts of office, and commercial pursuits; leta few even live by mere work of thought; but let all enjoy the luxury ofa degree of thought and rationality that shall forbid their richestblessing turning to their rankest curse. That such must be the result ofa _true_ education, our faith in a wise Providence forbids us to doubt. Such an education being _real_, and appealing to all the faculties, doesnot eventuate in vain aspirings; but fits each for his place andwork--fits for making that great and happy discovery, that the besttalents and the most complete cultivation of them can not only find inevery employment scope for real exercise, but in the commonest andsimplest occupations will be more expert and successful than unculturedignorance can possibly be. In this view, the true education tends not to_level_ but to utilize, to make the most of every man's specialaptitudes for his special field. Such an education monarchy andaristocracy might dread, and reäctive tendencies have already, indeed, blighted the once pattern school-system of Prussia, while they arebelieved to threaten a like step in England. But the idea of such aneducation as we have striven to portray, harmonizes with the spirit andobjects of a commonwealth, and if we mistake not, to the perpetuity andperfection of free institutions it may yet be found the conditionprecedent. 

_TRAVEL-PICTURES. _

A QUIET COURT IN PARIS. 

No lodging on a village street could be quieter than my room in Paris, and yet the court it opened upon was not more than an easy stone's throwfrom the gayest part of the Boulevards. Once within the great woodengate and up the narrow lane conducting to the court, and you seemed tohave left the great world as completely behind you as if it had been adream. It was one of the smallest of Parisian courts, and--to me itschief recommendation--one of the neatest. With its two or three smallstuccoed houses built around, it reminded one rather of inclosures thatyou see in provincial towns in France than of the damp, high-walledcourts, so common in the capital. In one of these small houses, lookingout upon the sunny, cheerful yard, I had my room, and as I often sat atthe window, I began by degrees to take some interest in the movements ofmy neighbors, as we can hardly help doing when the same persons pass inand out before our eyes for many days in succession. The house wasrented or owned by an elderly lady, who, with her niece and an oldservant-woman, seemed to be its only occupants, with the exception oftwo American boys, attending school by day at one of the large_Pensions_ so numerous in Paris. Kinder people can not be found anywhere, and fortunate indeed is the sojourner in a strange land who fallsin with such good hearts. Their history was a singular one, and I didnot really learn it till my return to Paris, after a long absence. Theyinterested me very much, from the first day. The lady and her niece hadseen better days, and were notable partisans of the Orleans family, whose memory they deeply reverenced. Politics, indeed, could make butlittle difference to them, passing, as they did, most of their lives intheir quiet rooms; but such interest as they had in it clung to whatthey considered the model royal family of Europe, a family that carriedits affections and virtues equally through the saddest and most splendidexperiences. They could not sympathize with the oppressive and militarycharacter of the present dynasty and the crowd of time-servingadventurers that swarmed around it. The life of the younger lady wasdevoted to her aunt, and all the spare hours that remained to her fromthose occupied by the lessons she was compelled to give, to increasetheir scanty income, were passed in her society. I have seldom seen alife of such entire self-denial as that led by this refined and delicatewoman. The third figure of this family group, the old servant, Marie, was a character peculiar to France. She seemed rather a companion than aservant, though she performed all the duties of the latter, keeping therooms in neatest order, and making better coffee than I found at themost splendid restaurants. She had a clear blue eye, with one of themost faithful expressions I ever saw on human face, and seemed to takeas much interest in me and the two American boys as if we had been herchildren. She was the housekeeper, buying all their little supplies; butwhen her labors were over, passing her leisure hours in the society ofthe ladies she had so long served. I soon saw that the connectionbetween these three beings would be terminated only by death. The chiefdifference in the two ladies and their faithful old _bonne_, beyond thecircumstance of better education and greater refinement, was that forthe former the outer world no longer had much interest, while the oldMarie still seemed to retain a keen relish for what was going on aroundher, and often amused me by the eagerness with which she would enterinto trifling details of gossip and general news. After sight-seeing allday, and the experiences of a stranger in Paris, I was often glad tojoin the trio in their little parlor, and talk over the Paris of formerdays, during its revolutions and _fétes_, or answer their questionsabout my every-day ramblings or my American home. I felt, during theseevenings, a relief from the general routine of places of amusement, enjoyed their home-like quiet, and knew I could always give pleasure byvarying the monotony of these ladies' every-day life. So the three, sodevoted to each other, lived quietly on, winning my respect andsympathy. I left them, with many regrets on their part and my own, andon my return, after an absence of nearly a year, one of my first visitswas to these kind-hearted people. To my sorrow, I learned that death hadremoved the elder lady some months before. I could hardly imagine adeath that would longer or more painfully affect a family group thanthis, for they had so few outward circumstances to distract theirthoughts. They received me cordially; but grief for their irreparableloss was always visible in every subsequent interview I had with them. Meeting again one of the school-boys who had lodged there, he told methe following circumstances of the death of the lady, and of therelationship existing between them, which was so different from what Ihad always imagined. Madame de B---- was the widow of a French officerof high rank, during whose life she had been in affluent circumstances;but through various causes, she had lost most of the property left herat his death, and retained at last only enough to keep them in thehumble style I have described. The manner of her death was verysingular. In her better days, she had lived with her husband in ahandsome house near the Champs Elyseés. On the day of her death, she waswalking with a gentleman from Boston, a friend of the two pupils I havementioned, and was speaking to him of her more affluent days, when, asthey were near the house where she had once lived, she proposed to walkon a little further, that she might point it out. He consented, and asthey drew near to it, she exclaimed, '_Ah! nous l'apercevons_, ' and, without another word, fell suddenly in a sort of apoplectic fit, notliving more than half an hour longer. The circumstance of this ladydying suddenly so near the place where she had once lived, and which sheso seldom visited, was certainly very singular. To my surprise, Ilearned that the younger lady was the daughter of old Marie, having beenadopted and educated by the person she had always supposed to be heraunt; she having no children of her own. What made it more singular was, that the younger lady had herself been in possession of this familysecret only a few years. It reminded me somewhat of Tennyson's LadyClare, though in this case no one had been kept out of an estate by thefiction. It was merely to give the young lady the advantage of thesupposed relationship. This, then, accounted for the strong affectionexisting between them, and lest any reader might think this conductstrange, I must again bear witness to the kindness and true affectionalways displayed toward the real mother. I would not narrate this truestory, did I not feel how little chance there is of my humble penwriting any thing that would reach the ears of this family, living soobscurely in the great world of Paris. 

Just opposite us, in the court, lived another lady, who has played manyfictitious parts, as well as a somewhat prominent one, on the stage ofreal life. This was Madame George, the once celebrated actress; in heryounger days, a famous beauty, and at one time mistress of the greatNapoleon. Though long retired from regular connection with the stage, she still makes an occasional appearance upon it, almost always drawinga full audience, collected principally from curiosity to see so noted apersonage, or to remark what portion of her once great dramatic powertime has still left her. One of these appearances was made at the Odéon, while we were in Paris. Marie informed us of the coming event before itwas announced on the bills, and seemed to take as much interest in it asif it had been the _débût_ of a near relative. We had sometimes caught aglimpse of the great actress, tending her geraniums and roses at thewindow, or going out to drive. On the evening in question, a very largeaudience greeted the tragedienne, and she was received, with muchenthusiasm. She appeared in a tragedy of Racine, in which she had oncebeen preëminently distinguished. Magnificently dressed, and adorned withsplendid jewels, trophies of her younger days, when her favors weresought by those who could afford to bestow such gifts, she did not lookover thirty-five, though now more than twice that age. I am no admirerof French tragedy, but I certainly thought Madame George still showedthe remains of a great actress, and in some passages produced a decidedimpression. Her tall, commanding figure, expressive eyes, and featuresof perfect regularity, must have given her every natural requisite forthe higher walks of her profession. As I watched her moving withmajestic grace across the stage, irrepressible though trite reflectionsupon her early career passed through my mind. What audiences she hasplayed before, in the days of the first empire! How many soldiers andstatesmen, now numbered with the not-to-be-forgotten dead, haveapplauded her delivery of the same lines that we applaud to-night. Napoleon and his brilliant military court, the ministers of foreignnations, students such as are here this evening, themselves sincedistinguished in various walks of life, have passed across the stage, and made their final exit, leaving Madame George still upon it. And thenot irreproachable old character herself--what piquant anecdotes shecould favor us with, would she but draw some memory-pictures for us!Women in Europe, in losing virtue, do not always lose worldly prudence, as with us, and go down to infamy and a miserable old age. Better, however, make allowance for the manners of the time--French manners atthat--and contemplate the old lady from an historical point of view, regarding her with interest, as I could not help doing, as one of thefew remaining links connecting the old Napoleon dynasty with the new. How strange the closing of a life like hers! Except for the occasionalreäppearance on the scene of her old triumphs, not oftener than once ortwice a year, how quiet the life she now leads! what a contrast to theexcitement and brilliancy that mark the career of a leading actress inthe zenith of her reputation! _Then_, from the theatre she would drivein her splendid equipage through streets illuminated perhaps for somefresh victory gained by the invincible battalions of her imperial lover. _Now_, in a retired house, she probably sometimes muses over the past, pronouncing, as few with better reason can, 'all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players, ' such changes has shewitnessed in the fortunes of the great actors by whom she was oncesurrounded. So here were the histories of two of the occupants of ourcourt. The others may have had experiences no less strange; and in manyanother court in this great city, from the stately inclosures of the Ruede Lille to the squalid dens of the Faubourg St. Antoine, (if the nameshave not escaped me, ) lives well worth the telling are passing away. Such is a great city. 

THE COUNTRY OF EUGENE ARAM

There is a little river in England called the Nidd, and on its highbanks stand the ruins of a castle. There is much in this part of it toremind one of the Rhine; the banks rise up in bold, picturesque form;the river just here is broad and deep, and the castle enough of a ruinto lead us to invest it with some legend, such as belongs to everyrobber's nest on that famous river. No hawk-eyed baron ready to pounceon the traveler, is recorded as having lived here; all that seems to beremembered of it is, that the murderers of Thomas À Becket lay secretedhere for a time after that deed of blood, ere they ventured forth ontheir pilgrimage, haunted by the accursed memory of it all their lives. This is something, to be sure, in the way of historic incident, but thereal interest of this immediate region arises from the fact of its beingthe home and haunt of Eugene Aram. A great English novelist has wovensuch a spell of enchantment around the history of this celebratedcriminal, that I could not help devoting a day to the environs of thelittle town of Knaresboro', in and around which the most eventfulportion of Aram's life was passed. A famous dropping-well, whose waterspossess the power of rapidly petrifying every object exposed to them, isone of the most noticeable things in the neighborhood. There are alsoone or two curious rockcut cells, high up on precipitous slopes, whichwere inhabited years ago by pious recluses who had withdrawn from thevanities of the world. Some were highly esteemed here in their lives, and here their bones reposed; and the fact of their remainingundiscovered sometimes for many years, was ingeniously used by Aram inhis defense, to account for the discovery of the bones of his victim inthe neighboring cave of St. Robert. This latter is one of the few placesconnected with Aram's history that can be pointed out with certainty. Itlies about two miles below the castle before mentioned. It is even now aplace that a careless pedestrian might easily pass without remarking, notwithstanding that its entrance is worn by many curious feet. Theentrance is very narrow, and the cavern, like caverns in general, exceedingly dark. The river flows by more rapidly here than above; thegrass grows long and wild, and there is a gloomy air about it that wouldmake it an unpleasant place for a night rendezvous even without thehorrid associations connected with it. The exact place where Clark'shones were discovered is pointed out, and probably correctly, as thespace is too narrow to admit of much choice. Here they lay buried foryears, while according to Bulwer, this most refined of murderers wasbuilding up a high name as a scholar and a stainless reputation as aman. A field not far off is pointed out as the place where were foundthe bones which led to the detection of Aram. Though but few places cannow be indicated with certainty in connection with his tragic story, avague outline of the character of the man before the discovery of hiscrime, is preserved in the neighborhood. As we read the true story ofEugene Aram, lately published by an apparently reliable person, oursense of the poetic is somewhat blunted; we feel that the loftycharacter drawn by Bulwer is in many respects a creation of thenovelist, while the whole story of his love is demolished by the sternfact of his having a wife, of no reputable character, with whom he livedunhappily; but he was still a man of talent, of great mental, if notmoral refinement, and of indomitable ardor in the pursuit of learning. The chief fault of his character until his one great crime wasdiscovered, seems to have been recklessness in pecuniary transactions, by which he was often involved in petty difficulties. He seems to havehad a tenderness amounting to acute sensibility, for dumb animals, andto have dreaded killing a fly more than many a man who could not, likehim, be brought to kill a fellow-being His mental acquirements, thoughremarkable for an unaided man of obscure origin, would not probably haveattracted wide attention, had it not been for the notoriety caused bythe detection of his crime. How many fair girls have shed tears over'his ill-starred love' and melancholy fate, who little dreamed that hewas a husband, in a very humble rank of life. Bulwer speaks of hisfavorite walks with Madeline, and of a rustic seat still called 'TheLovers' Scat. ' It is not, I think, now pointed out, nor is the accountof his love probably more than an imaginary one, but it may be foundedupon fact, and some high-souled English girl may really, in his earlylife, or when separated as he was for a long time from his wife, havecalled forth all his better feelings and revealed glimpses of the beautyof the life of two affectionate and pure beings keeping no secrets ofthe heart from each other. How it must have tortured him to think thatsuch a life never could be his, well fitted for it as in some respectshe was, and ever haunted by the fear that the poor sham by which he wasconcealed must some day be torn away, and an ignominious fate beapportioned him! No situation can be more deplorable than that of a manof refined and lofty nature, who has made one fatal mistake connectinghim with men far worse than himself, who are masters of his secret andever ready to use it for their own base purposes. Are there not many menso situated--men near us now, who walk through life haunted by thedreadful spectres of past misdeeds hastily committed, bitterlyrepented--a phantom that can blast every joy, and from whose presencedeath comes as a friendly deliverer?

THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. 

We reached the Hospice about an hour after dark, somewhat stiff, andvery wet from the rain and snow that commenced falling as we entered theregion of clouds. We had passed unpleasantly near some very considerableprecipices, and though unable to distinguish the ground below, knew theywere deep enough to occasion us decided 'inconvenience' had we gone overthem. The long, low, substantial-looking building finally loomed throughthe mist, and alighting, we were shown into a room with a cheerful fireblazing on the hearth, and were soon joined by a priest of cordial, gentlemanly manners and agreeable conversation. So this was the famousmonastery of St. Bernard, which we had read of all our lives, and thestories of whose sagacious dogs had delighted our childish minds. Asubstantial supper was provided for us, to which was added someexcellent wine, made in the valley below. Conversation was prettygeneral in French, and somewhat exclusive in Latin; two of our partyunderstanding the dead language, but ignorant of the living, framed withgreat difficulty ponderous but by no means Ciceronian sentences, whichthey launched at our host, who replied with great fluency, showing thatfor conversational purposes, at least, his command of the language wasmuch better than theirs. Being anxious to attend the early mass in themorning, and tired from our ride, we were soon shown to our rooms. Walking along the passages and viewing the different apartments, we sawthe house would accommodate a great number of persons. The rooms werelong and narrow, many of them containing a number of beds; but in thisbracing mountain air there is no fear of bad ventilation. No crack of mywindow was open, but the wind blew furiously outside, and there was adecidedly 'healthy coolness' about the apartment. The room wasuncarpeted and scantily furnished, but every thing was spotlessly clean, and in pleasant contrast with the dirty luxury of some of theContinental inns. A few small pictures of saints and representations ofscriptural subjects graced the white walls and constituted the onlyornaments of the room. Looking from my window I saw that the clouds hadblown away, and the brilliant moon shone on the sharp crags of the hillsand on the patches of snow that lay scattered about on the ground. Thescene was beautiful, but very cold; the wind howled around the house, and yet this was a balmy night compared with most they have here. Ithought of merciless snow-drifts overtaking the poor blinded traveler, benumbed, fainting, and uncertain of his path; of the terrors of such asituation, and then glancing around the plain but comfortable room, Icould not but feel grateful to the pious founders of this venerableinstitution. Long may it stand a monument of their benevolence and ofthe shelter that poor wayfarers have so often found within itshospitable walls!

At daybreak we made our way to the chapel, a large and beautiful roomwith many pictures and rich ornaments, gifts of persons who have sharedthe hospitality of the place. At the altar the brother who had welcomedus on our arrival was officiating in his priestly robes, assisted byseveral others. A few persons, servants of the establishment andpeasants stopping for the night, with ourselves, composed thecongregation. Two of the women present, we were told, were penitents; weasked no further of their history, but at this remote place the incidentgave us cause for reflection and surmise. Heaven grant that in thissublime solitude their souls may have found the peace arising from theconsciousness of forgiveness. I have never been more impressed with theCatholic service than I was this morning, when the voices of the priestsblending with the organ, rose on the stillness of that early hour in oneof the familiar chants of the Church. It seemed, indeed, like heavenlymusic. Here with the first dawn of morning on these lofty mountaintops, where returning day is welcomed earlier than in the great world below, men had assembled to pour forth their worship to God, here so manifestin his mighty works. The ever-burning lamp swung in the dim chapel, andit seemed a beautiful idea that morning after morning on these greatmountains, the song of gratitude and praise should ascend to Him whofashioned them; that so it has been for years, while successive wintershave beat in fury on this house, and the snows have again and again shutout all signs of life from nature. As my heart filled with emotion, Icould not but think of the aptness to the present scene of thosebeautiful lines of our poet:

 'At break of day as heavenward The pious monks of St. Bernard Chanted the oft-repeated prayer. '

Time and place were the same, and the service seemed as beautiful andsolemn as might have been that chanted over the stiff, frozen body ofthe high-souled but too aspiring boy. The service ended, and we wereleft alone in the chapel. In one corner of it is the box in which thosewho can, leave a contribution for the support of the establishment. Noregular charge is made, but probably most persons leave more than theywould at a hotel--and our party certainly did. I believe that the moneyis well applied; at any rate, for years the hospice afforded shelterbefore travel became a fashionable summer amusement, and in those daysit expended far more than it received. 

Our breakfast was very simple, and the Superior of the establishmentconfined himself to a small cup of coffee and morsel of bread. They havebut one substantial meal a day. I was interested in observing our host. His appearance and manner were prepossessing and agreeable, but thismorning something seemed to weigh anxiously on his mind. He wasabstracted in manner, and once as I looked up suddenly, his lips weremoving, and he half checked himself in an involuntary gesture. Had theconfession of the penitents, perhaps, troubled him? I believe he was asincere, self-sacrificing man, and I have often thought of his mannerthat morning. 

We were, of course, very anxious to see the dogs, but were told they arenow becoming exceedingly scarce. They can not be kept very long in thepiercing air of the mountains, its rarefaction being as injurious tothem as to human beings. Most of them are therefore kept at Martigny, orsome other place below. We were told, however, that two 'pups' were nowat the hospice; and as we sallied out for a walk over the hills, weheard a violent scratching at an adjoining door, which being opened, outburst the pups. They were perfect monsters, though very young, with hugepaws, lithe and graceful but compact forms, full of life and activity, and faces beaming with instinct. Darting out with us, they seemedfrantic with joy, snuffed the keen air as they rushed about, sometimestumbling over each other, and at times bursting against us with a forcethat nearly knocked us down. They reminded me of two young tigers attheir gambols. I have never seen nobler-looking brutes. What fine, honest, expressive countenances they had! At times a peculiar sort offrown would ruffle the skin around their eyes, their ears would prickup, and every nerve seem to be quickened. The face of a noble dogappears to me to be capable of almost as great a variety of expressionas the human countenance, and these changes are sometimes more rapid. The inquisitive and chagrined look when baffled in pursuit of prey, thekeen relish of joy, the look of supplication for food, of consciousguilt for misdemeanor, the eyes beaming with intense affection for amaster, and whining sorrow for his absence, the meek look of endurancein sickness, the feeble, listless air, the resigned expression of theglassy eye at the approach of death, blending even then with indicationsof gratitude for kindness shown! These dumb brutes can often teach uslessons of meek endurance and resignation as well as courage, and fewthings call forth more just indignation than to see them abused by menfar more brutish than they. 

Accompanying one of the younger brethren on an errand to the valleybelow, we watched them dashing along till the intervening rocks hid themfrom our view. In the extensive museum of the Monastery we found much tointerest us. Many of the curiosities are gifts of former travelers, andsome of them are of great value. There is also a small collection ofantiquities found in the immediate neighborhood, where, I believe, arestill traces of an ancient temple. The St. Bernard has been a favoritepass with armies, and is thought by many to have been that chosen byHannibal. 

Not very far from the house is the 'morgue' so often noticed bytravelers, containing numerous bodies, which, though they have notdecayed, are nevertheless repulsive to look upon. The well-known figuresof the woman and her babe show that for once the warm refuge of amother's breast chilled and fainted in the pitiless storm. 

After cordial well--wishes from the brethren, we left the hospice, bringing away remembrances of it as one of the most interesting placesit has been our privilege to visit. It has, of course, changed characterwithin half a century, and there is now less necessity for it thanformerly. Many travelers complain of it as now wearing too much theappearance of a hotel; but we were there too late in the season to findit so; and even if true at other times, the associations with theMonastery and the Pass are so interesting, the scenery so bold, and thewelcome one meets with so cordial, that he who regrets having made theascent must have had a very different experience from ourselves. 

A few hours' ride brought us to the valley, where we met peasantsdriving carts and bearing baskets piled up with luscious grapes. Atrifle that the poorest traveler could have spared, procured us an amplesupply. 

THE HUGUENOTS OF STATEN ISLAND. 

Staten Island, that enchanting sea-girt spot in the beautiful Bay ofNew-York, early became a favorite resort with the French Protestants. Itshould be called the Huguenot Island; and for fine scenery, inland andwater, natural beauties, hill, dale, and streams, with a bracing, healthful climate, it strongly reminds the traveler of some regions inFrance. No wonder that Frenchmen should select such a spot in a newland, for their quiet homes. The very earliest settlers on its shoreswere men of religious principles. Hudson, the great navigator, discovered the Island, in 1609, when he first entered the noble riverwhich bears his undying name. It was called by its Indian owners, _Aquehioneja, Manackong_, or _Eghquaous_, which, translated, means theplace of _Bad Woods_, referring, probably, to the character of itsoriginal savage inhabitants. Among the very earliest patents granted forlands in New-Netherland, we find one of June 19th, 1642, to CorneliusMelyn, a Dutch burgomaster. He thus became a Patroon of Staten Island, and subsequently a few others obtained the same honor and privileges. They were all connected with the Dutch Reformed Church, in Holland; andwhen they emigrated to New-Netherland, always brought with them theirBibles and the '_Kranek-besoecker_, ' or 'Comforter of the Sick, ' whosupplied the place of a regular clergyman. Twice were the earliestsettlers dispersed by the Raritan Indians, but they rallied again, untiltheir progress became uninterrupted and permanent. 

Between the Hollanders and the French Refugees, there existed an old andintimate friendship. Holland, from the beginning of the Middle Ages, hadbeen the asylum for all the religious out-laws from all parts of Europe. But especially the persecuting wars and troubles of the sixteenth andseventeenth centuries, brought hither crowds of exiles. Not less thanthirty thousand English, who had embraced the Reformed faith, found herea shelter during the reign of Mary Tudor. Hosts of Germans, during the'Thirty Years' War, ' obtained on the banks of the Amstel and the Rhine, that religious liberty, which they had in vain claimed in their owncountry. But the greatest emigration was that of the _Walloons_, fromthe bloody tyranny of the Duke of Alba, and the Count of Parma. For along period the Reformed faith had found adherents in the Provinces ofthe Low Countries. Here the first churches were _under the Cross_, or_in the Secret_, as it was styled, and they concealed themselves fromthe raging persecution, by hiding, as it were, their faith, under mysticnames, the sense of which believers only knew. We will mention only afew. That of Tournay, '_The Palm-Tree_;' Antwerp, '_The Vine_;' Mons, '_The Olive_;' Lille, '_The Rose_;' Douay, '_The Wheat-Sheaf_;' and theChurch of Arras had for its symbol '_The Hearts-Ease_. ' In 1561, theypublished in French, their Confession of Faith, and in 1563, theirDeputies, from the Reformed Communities of Flanders, Brabant, Artois, and Hainault, united in a single body, holding the first Synod of whichwe have any account. These regions were an old part of the FrenchNetherlands, or Low Countries; and a small section of Brabant was called_Walloon_; and here were found innumerable advocates of the Reformedfaith. The whole country would probably have become the most Protestantof all Europe, were it not for the torrents of blood poured out for themaintenance of the Roman religion by the Duke of Alba. 

Welcomed by the States General, Walloon Colonies were formed from theyear 1578 to 1589, at Amsterdam, Harlaem, Leyden, Utrecht, and otherplaces. But new persecutions arising, the Reformed French retired toHolland, where new churches arose at Rotterdam, in 1605, Nimeguen, 1621, and Tholen, in 1658. It was natural, therefore, that the Huguenots ofFrance should afterward settle in a country of so much sympathy for theWalloon refugees, whom they regarded as their brethren. When Henry III. Commanded them to be converted to the Romish Church or to leave thekingdom in six months, many of them repairing to Holland, joined theWalloon communities, whose language and creed were their own. After thefall of La Rochelle, this emigration recommenced, and was doubled underLouis XIV. , when he promulgated his first wicked and insane edictagainst his Protestant subjects. From that unfortunate period, during acentury, the Western Provinces of France depopulated themselves to thebenefit of the Dutch Republic. Many learned men and preachers visitedthese Walloon churches, while endeavoring to escape the persecutingperils of every kind, to which they were exposed. Among the ministers wemay mention the names of Basnage, Claude, Benoit, and Saurin, whosurpassed them all, by the superiority of his genius, who was thepatriarch of 'The Refuge, ' and contributed more than all the rest toprevail on the Huguenots to leave France. 

During the last twenty years of the seventeenth century, the FrenchProtestant emigration into Holland rose to a political event, and thefirst '_Dragonades_' gave the signal in 1681. The Burgomasters ofAmsterdam soon perceived the golden advantages which the Hollanderswould derive from the fatal policy of Louis XIV. The city of Amsterdamannounced to the refugees all the rights of citizenship, with anexemption from taxes for three years. The States of Holland soonfollowed the example of Amsterdam, and by a public declaration, discharged all refugees who should settle there, from all taxes fortwelve years. In less than eight days all the Protestants of France wereinformed of this favorable proclamation, which gave impulse to newemigration. In all the Dutch provinces and towns collections were takenup for the benefit of the French refugees, and a general fast proclaimedfor Wednesday, November 21st, 1685, and all Protestants were invited tothank God for the grace he gave them to worship Him in liberty, and toentreat him to touch the heart of the French King, who had inflictedsuch cruel persecutions on true believers. 

The Prince of Orange attached two preachers to his person from thechurch of Paris, and the Huguenot ladies found a noble protectress inthe Princess of Orange. Thanks to her most generous care, more than onehundred ladies of noble birth, who had lost all they possessed inFrance, and had seen their husbands or fathers thrown into dungeons, nowfound comfortable homes at Harlaem, Delft, and the Hague. At the Hague, the old convent of preaching monks was turned into an establishment forFrench women. At Nort, a boarding-house for young ladies of qualityreceived an annual benefaction of two thousand florins from her liberalhands. Nor did she forget these pious asylums, after the BritishParliament had decreed her the crown. Most of the refugees came from theSouthern provinces--brave officers, rich merchants of Amiens, Rouen, Bourdeaux, and Nantes, artisans of Brittany and Normandy, withagriculturists from Provence, the shores of Languedoc, Roussillon, andLa Guienne. Thus were transported into hospitable Holland, gentlemen andladies of noble birth, with polished minds and refined manners, simplemechanics and ministers of high renown, and all more valuable than thegolden mines of India or Peru. Thus Holland, of all lands, received mostof the French refugees, and Bayle calls it 'the grand ark of therefugees. ' No documents exist, by which their numbers can be correctlycomputed, but they have been estimated from fifty-five to seventy-fivethousand souls, and the greatest number were to be found at Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague. In 1686, there were not less than _sixteen_French pastors to the Walloon churches at Amsterdam. 

Thus intimately, by a common faith, friendship, and interest, did theHuguenots unite themselves with the people of Holland, who, about thisperiod, commenced the establishment of New-Netherland in America. Wehave traced this union the more fully for the better understanding ofour general subject. The Walloons and Huguenots were, in fact, the samepeople--oppressed and persecuted French Protestants. Of the former, asearly as the year 1622, several Walloon families from the frontier, between Belgium and France, turned their attention to America. Theyapplied to Sir Dudley Carleton, for permission to settle in the colonyof Virginia, with the privilege of erecting a town and governingthemselves, by magistrates of their own election. The application wasreferred to the Virginia Company, [1] but its conditions seem to havebeen too republican, and many of these Walloons looked, towardNew-Netherland, where some arrived in 1624, with the Dutch Director, Minuit. 

[1: Lond. Doc. 1, 24. ]

At first, they settled on Staten Island, (1624, ) but afterward removedto _Wahle Bocht_ or the 'Bay of Foreigners, ' which has since beencorrupted into Wallabout. This settlement extended subsequently toward'Breukelen, ' named after an ancient Dutch village on the river Veght, inthe province of Utrecht; so that Staten Island has the honor of havingpresented the first safe home, in America, and on her beautiful shores, to the Walloons or Huguenots. The name of Walloon itself is said to bederived either from Wall, (water or sea, ) or more probably, the oldGerman word _Wahle_, signifying a foreigner. It must be remembered thatthis is a part of the earliest chapter in the history of New-Netherland, which the 'West-India Company' now resolved to erect into a province. Tothe Chamber of Amsterdam the superintendence of this new and extensivecountry was committed, and this body, during the previous year, had sentout an expedition, in a vessel called the 'New-Netherland, ' 'whereofCornelius Jacobs of Hoorn was skipper, _with thirty families, mostlyWalloons, to plant a colony there_. ' They arrived in the beginning ofMay, (1623, ) and the old document, from which we quote, adds:

 'God be praised, it hath so prospered, that the honorable Lords Directors of the West-India Company have, with the consent of the noble, high, and mighty Lords States General, undertaken to plant some colonies, '[2] ... 'The Honorable _Daniel Van Kriecke-beeck_, for brevity called _Beeck_, was commissary here, and so did his duty that he was thanked. '

 [2: Wassemaer's Historie Van Europa, Amsterdam, 1621-1628. ]

In 1625, three ships and a yacht arrived at Manhattan, with morefamilies, farming implements, and one hundred and three head of cattle. Hitherto the government of the settlement had been simple, but now, affairs assuming more permanency, a proper 'Director' from Holland wasappointed, and Peter Minuit, then in the office, was instructed toorganize a provincial government. He arrived in May, 1626, and to hisunfading honor be it recorded, that his first official act was to securepossession of Manhattan Island, by fair and lawful purchase of theIndians. It was estimated to contain twenty-two thousand acres, and wasbought for the sum of sixty guilders, or twenty-four dollars! Lands werecheap then, where our proud and princely metropolis now stands, with hermillions, her churches, palatial stores, residences, and shipping. 

As yet there was no clergyman in the colony, but two visitors of thesick, Sebastian Jansen Keol and Jan Huyck, were appointed for thisimportant duty, and also to read the Scriptures, on Sundays, to thepeople. Thus was laid, more than two hundred years ago, the corner-stoneof the Empire State, on the firm foundation of justice, morality, andreligion. This historical fact places the character of the Dutch andFrench settlers in a most honorable light. They enjoy the illustriousdistinction of fair, honest dealing with the aborigines, the naturalowners of the lands. 

The purchase of Manhattan, in 1626, was only imitated when William Penn, fifty-six years afterward, purchased the site of Philadelphia from theIndians, under the famous Elm Tree. The Dutch and Huguenot settlers ofNew-Netherland were grave, firm, persevering men, who brought with themthe simplicity, industry, integrity, economy, and bravery of theirBelgic sires, and to these eminent virtues were added the light of thecivil law and the purity of the Protestant faith. To such we can pointwith gratitude and respect, for the beginnings of our westernmetropolis, and the works of our American forefathers. 

The Rev. Joannes Megapolensis, as early as the year 1642, took charge ofthe Dutch Reformed Church in Albany, under the patronage of the Patroonof Renssaelaerwick, and five years afterward became 'Domine' atManhattan. In 1652, he selected for a colleague, Samuel Drissius, onaccount of his knowledge of French and English, and from his letters welearn that he went, once a month, to preach to the French Protestants onStaten Island. These were Vaudois or Waldenses, who had fled to Hollandfrom severe persecutions in Piedmont, and by the liberality of the cityof Amsterdam, were forwarded to settle in New-Netherland. We wish thatmore materials could be gathered to describe the history of thisminister and his early Huguenot flock upon Staten Island. His ministrycontinued from 1652 to 1671, and I have recorded all that I can findrespecting him and his people. About the year 1690, the New-YorkConsistory invited the Rev. Peter Daille, who had ministered among theMassachusetts Huguenots, to preach occasionally on Staten Island. 

In August, 1661, a number of Dutch and French emigrants from thePalatinate obtained grants of land on the south side of Staten Island, where a site for a village was surveyed. In a short time its populationincreased to twelve or fourteen families, and to protect them from theIndians, a block-house was erected and garrisoned with three guns andten soldiers. Domine Drissius visited them, and from a letter of his tothe Classis of Amsterdam, we learn the names of these early emigrants, and some are familiar ones[3], Jan Classen, Johannes Christoffels, RykHendricks, Meyndert Evertsen, Gerrit Cornelissen, Capt. Post, GovertLockermans, Wynant Peertersen, etc. , etc. Previous to this period, theisland had been twice overrun by the savages and its populationscattered; but now its progress became uninterrupted and onward. Crowdsof people from Germany, Norway, Austria, and Westphalia had fled toHolland, and their number was increased by the religious troubles of theWaldenses and Huguenots. Several families of the latter requestedpermission to emigrate with the Dutch farmers to New-Netherland, attheir own expense. They only asked protection for a year or two from theIndians; and the English, now in possession of the New-York colony, weremost favorably disposed toward them. This transfer from the Dutch to theBritish rule took place in 1664. Fort Amsterdam became Fort James, andthe city took its present name, imposed as it was upon its rightfulowners. Staten Island was called Richmond County, and the province ofNew-Netherland New-York, the name of one known only in history as atyrant and a bigot, the enemy of both political and religious freedom. 

 [3: Alb. Rec. Xviii. ]

From 1656 to 1663, some Protestant emigrants from Savoy came to StatenIsland, and a large body of Rochelle Huguenots also reached New-Yorkduring the latter year. This fertile and beautiful spot, with its gentlehills and wide-spread surrounding waters, became a favorite asylum forthe French refugees, and they arrived in considerable numbers about theyear 1675, with a pastor, and erected a church near Richmond village. Ihave visited the place, but all that remains to mark the venerable andsacred spot is a single dilapidated grave-stone! The building, it issaid, was burned down, and none of its records have been discovered. Atthat period, there were only five or six congregations in the provinceof New-York, and this must have been one of them. The Rev. DavidBonrepos accompanied some of the French Protestants in their flight fromFrance to this country, and in an early description of New-York, theRev. John Miller says: 'There is a meeting-house at Richmond, StatenIsland, of which Dr. Bonrepos is the minister. There are forty English, forty-four Dutch, and thirty-six French families. ' In 1695-1696, lettersof denization were granted to David Bonrepos and others. Among myautographs is a copy of his; he wrote a fair, clear hand. 

Under the tolerant rule of 'Good Queen Anne, ' many French refugeesobtained peaceful abodes in Richmond county. In their escape from theirown land, multitudes had been kindly received in England, and afterwardaccepted a permanent and safe shelter in the Province of New-York. Whata noble origin had the Staten Island Christian refugees! Theirancestors, the Waldenses, resided several centuries, as a whole people, in the South of France, and like the ancient Israelites of the land ofGoshen, enjoyed the pure light of sacred truth, while Egyptian darknessspread its gloom on every side. In vain have historians endeavored totrace correctly their origin and progress. All, however, allow them avery high antiquity, with what is far better, an uncontaminated, purefaith. A very ancient record gives a beautiful picture of their simplemanners and devotions:

 'They, kneeling on their knees, or leaning against some bank or stay, do continue in their prayers with silence, as long as a man may say thirty or forty _paternosters_. This they do every day, with great reverence, being among themselves. Before meat, they say, '_Benedicite_. ' etc. Then the elders, in their own tongue, repeat: 'God, which blessed the five loaves and two fishes, bless this table and what is set upon it. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. ' After meat, they say: 'Blessing, and worship, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, honor, virtue, and strength, to God alone, for ever and ever. Amen. The Lord which has given us corporeal feeding, grant, us his spiritual life; and God be with us, and we always with him. Amen. ' Thus saying grace, they hold their hands upward, looking up to heaven; and afterward they teach and exhort among themselves. '

To Staten Islanders it must be a pleasant reminiscence, that among theirearliest settlers were these pious Waldenses. 

Like their brethren in Utrecht, the descendants of the Huguenots on theIsland sometimes occupy the same farms which their pious ancestorsobtained more than a century and a half ago. The Disosways, the Guions, the Seguines, on its beautiful winding shores, are well-known examplesof this kind. The Hollanders, Walloons, Waldenses, and the Huguenotshere all intermarried, and the noble, spiritual races thus combined, ever have formed a most excellent, industrious, and influentialpopulation. Judges, Assemblymen, members of Congress, and ministers, again and again, in Richmond county, have been selected from theseunions. During the Revolutionary struggle, the husband of Mrs. ColonelDisosway had fallen into the hands of the common enemy; she was thesister of the well-known and brave Captain Fitz-Randolph, or Randell, ascommonly called, who had greatly annoyed the British. When one of theirofficers had consented to procure her husband's release, if she wouldpersuade her brother to quit the American ranks, she indignantlyreplied: 'If I could act so dastardly a part, think you that GeneralWashington has but one Captain Randolph in his army?'

The early history of some of the emigrants is almost the reality ofromance. Henri de La Tourette fled from La Vendee, after the Revolution, and to avoid suspicion, gave a large entertainment. While the guestswere assembled at his house, he suddenly left, with his wife, for thesea-coast. This was not far off, and reaching it, he escaped on board avessel bound for Charleston. The ship was either cast away upon theshores of Staten Island, or made a harbor in distress. Here La Tourettelanded, and a long list of exemplary, virtuous people trace their originto this source, and one of them has been pastor to the 'Huguenot, ' aDutch Reformed church on the Island, and is now a useful minister amongthe Episcopalians of the Western States. A branch of this family stillexists at the chateau of La Tourette, in France, and some years since, one of them visited this country to obtain the 'Old Family Bible. ' Buthe was unsuccessful, as the holy and venerable volume had been sent longbefore to a French refugee in Germany. But few of such holy books cannow be found, printed in French, and very scarce; wherever met with, they should he carefully perused and preserved. 

Dr. Channing Moore for a long time was the faithful pastor of St. Andrew's, the Episcopal Church at Richmond. Afterward he was consecratedthe Bishop of Virginia. He was connected by marriage with an oldHuguenot family of the Island, and his son, the Rev. David Moore, D. D. , succeeded him here, living and dying, a striking example of fidelity tohis most important duties. That eloquent divine, the late Rev. Dr. Bedell, of Philadelphia, was a Staten Islander by birth, and of the sameFrench origin on the maternal side. 

His son is the present Bishop Bedell of Ohio. There are scarcely any ofthe original Richmond county families but claim relationship to theFrench Protestants either on the father or mother's side. In all theofficial records are to be found such names as Disosway, Fontaine, (Fountain, ) Reseau, Bedell, Rutan, Poillon, Mercereau, La Conte, Britten, Maney, Perrin, (Perrine, ) Larselene, Curse, De Puy, (Depuy, )Corssen, Martineau, Morgane, (Morgan, ) Le Guine, (Leguine, ) Journey, Teunise, Guion, Dubois, Andronette, Winant, Totten, La Farge, Martling, De Decker, (Decker very numerous, ) Barton, Ryers, Menell, Hillyer, DeGroot, Garretson, Vanderbilt, etc. , etc. 

Few communities are blest with a better population than Richmond county, moral, industrious, thrifty, and religious, and they should ever cherishthe remembrance of their virtuous and noble origin. The island is notmore than twelve or fourteen miles long, and about three wide, with somethirty thousand inhabitants; and within these small limits there areover thirty churches, of various denominations, each having a regularpastor; and most of the official members in these congregations arelineal branches of the first settlers, the French Protestants. What arich and glorious, harvest, since the handful of Holland, Walloon, Waldenses, and Huguenot emigrants, two centuries and a half ago, firstlanded upon the wilderness shores of Staten Island!

_RECOLLECTIONS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. _

BY ONE OF HIS FRIENDS. 

The appearance of the first volume of the long-expected _Life ofWashington Irving_ has excited an interest which will not be satisfieduntil the whole work shall have been completed. Its author, Pierre M. Irving, sets forth with the announcement that his plan is to make thepatriarch of American literature his own biographer. It is nothing newthat this branch of letters is beset with peculiar difficulties. Somemen suffer sadly at the hand of their chronicler. Scott misrepresentsNapoleon, and Southey fails equally in his Memoirs of Cowper and of theWesleys. Friendship's colors are too bright for correct portraiture, andprejudice equally forbids acuracy. Mr. Pierre M. Irving, though anadmirer of his distinguished kinsman, (and who that knew him could failof admiration?) avoids the character of a mere eulogist, while at thesame time he exhibits none of the obsequiousness of a Boswell, fluttering like a moth about a huge candle. Being a man of independentmind and of high culture, he brings out the character he portrays inaspects true to life, and not exaggerated by excess of tone, while hefully exhibits its exquisite finish. 

Among the many incidents of deep interest which are contained in thisvolume, the episode of Matilda Hoffman stands forth in most strikingrelief. While lifting the veil which for a half-century covered the mostpathetic event in Irving's life, his biographer touches with ascrupulous delicacy a theme so sacredly enshrined in a life-long memory. In referring to this affair, which gave a tender aspect to Irving'ssubsequent career, and in fact changed its whole tenor, we may remarkthat the loves of literary men form a most interesting and, in somecases, moving history. Some, like Petrarch, Earl Surrey, Burns, andByron, have embalmed the objects of their affection in the effusions oftheir muse, while others have bequeathed that duty to others. Shakspearesays but little about his sweetheart, while Milton, who was decidedlyunsuccessful in matters of the heart, seems to have acted on the motto, 'The least said, the soonest mended. ' Poor Pope, miserable invalidthough he was, nervous, irritable, and full of hate and spleen, was notbeyond the power of the tender passion, and confessed the charms of thelonely Martha Blount, who held the wretched genius among her conquests. Swift, although an ogre at heart, had his chapter of love matters, whichnever fail to give us the horrors when we bring them to mind, and theepisodes of Stella and Vanessa are among the minor tragedies in life'sgreat drama. Johnson had a great heart, and was born to love, though, like the lion, he needed to have his claws pared, to fit him for femalesociety. What a tender attachment was that which he bore 'Tetty, ' andwith what solemn remembrance he preserved her as his own, even afterdeath had robbed him of her presence!

The loves of these men exercised the strongest influence on theirdestinies, while, on the other hand, disappointment and consequentcelibacy have done the same to their victims. To the bachelor list ofmodern days, which can boast of Charles Lamb and Macaulay, America addsthe proud name of Washington Irving, whose early disappointment made himan author. 

My impressions of Irving's boyhood and youth are alive with thefreshness of an early memory, which conserves along with him theCrugers, Clintons, Livingstons, Ogdens, and other old and honored namesof New-York. The biography which inspires this reminiscence gives asketch of the early history of the family, and as its author has thusopened the subject, it will not, we presume, be considered an intrusionif I pursue the thread of domestic incident a little farther than he hasdone. 

The Irving homestead, in William street, was, in its day, a place ofsome pretension, when contrasted with the humble dwellings whichsurrounded it. The street on which it stood was miserably built, buthere, in the suburb of the city, was a house whose appearancecorresponded with the solid and high-toned character of its owner. OldMr. Irving was, at the time to which I refer, a hale citizen of aboutthree-score and ten, of grave and majestic bearing, and a form andexpression which, when once fixed in the mind, could not easily beforgotten. As I remember him, his countenance was cast in that strongmould which characterized the land of his birth, but the features wereoften mellowed by a quiet smile. He was a man of deep piety, and wasesteemed a pillar in the Brick Church, then the leading Presbyterianchurch of the city. 

His mode of conducting family worship was peculiarly beautiful, and evento his last days he maintained this service. On such occasions, it was amost touching spectacle to see the majestic old man, bowed and hoarywith extreme age, leaning upon his staff, as he stood among his familyand sung a closing hymn, generally one appropriate to his condition, while tears of emotion ran down his checks. One of these hymns we wellremember. It runs in these lines, 'Death may dissolve my body now, And bear my spirit home;Why do my moments move so slow, Nor my salvation come?

'With heavenly weapons I have fought The battles of my Lord;Finished my course, and kept the faith, And wait the sure reward. '

In a few years, the words of this exquisite hymn were fulfilled; the oldman fell asleep, full of years and of honors, going to the grave like ashock of corn in its season. His funeral was one of imposing simplicity, and he was buried just at the entrance of that church where he had beenso long a faithful attendant. 

Mrs. Irving, who survived him several years, was of a different type ofcharacter, which, by its peculiar contrast, seemed to perfect theharmony of a well-matched union. She was of elegant shape, with largeEnglish features, which were permeated by an indescribable life andbeauty. Her manners were full of action, and her conversational powerswere of a high order. All of these graces appeared in the children, andwere united with the vigor of intellect which marked the character ofthe father. 

It would have been surprising if the offspring of such a union shouldnot have been distinguished, and it is only the peculiar relation whichthe biographer sustains to it which prevents him from bringing thisfeature out more prominently. 

It was, however, acknowledged, at an early day, that the family ofWilliam Irving had no equal in the city, and when we consider itsnumber, its personal beauty, its moral excellence, its varied talents, without a single deficient or unworthy member, we can not wonder at thegeneral admiration which it commanded. From the eldest son, William, andAnn, the eldest daughter, whom her father fondly termed Nancy, toWashington, the youngest, all were endowed with beauty, grace, amiability, and talent, yet in the latter they seemed to effloresce withculminating fullness. Nancy Irving was the cynosure of William street, concerning whose future destiny many a youth might have confessed animpassioned interest. Her brother William had become connectedcommercially with a young revolutionary soldier, (General Dodge, ) whohad opened a trading-station on the Mohawk frontier, and the latter boreaway the sister as his bride. The union was one of happiness, and lastedtwenty years, when it was terminated by her death. Of this, Washingtonthus speaks, in a letter in 1808: 'On the road, as I was traveling inhigh spirits, with the idea of home to inspire me, I had the shock ofreading an account of my dear sister's death, and never was a blowstruck so near my heart before.... One more heart lies cold and stillthat ever beat toward me with the warmest affection, for she was thetenderest, best of sisters, and a woman of whom a brother might beproud. ' Little did the author of this letter then dream of that morecrushing blow which within one year was to fall upon him, and from whoseweight he was never wholly to recover. 

William Irving, the brother of the biographer, was a model of manlybeauty, and early remarkable for a brilliant and sparkling intellect, which overflowed in conversation, and often bordered on eloquence. Hadhe been bred to the law, he would have shone among its brightest stars;but those gifts, which so many envied, were buried in trade, and thoughhe became one of the merchant-princes of the city, even this successcould not compensate for so great a burial of gifts. As one of thecontributors to _Salmagundi_, he exhibits the keenness of a flashingwit, while, in subsequent years, he represented New-York in Congress, when such an office was a distinction. 

Peter Irving, like his brother, united personal elegance with talents, and conducted the _Morning Chronicle_, amid the boisterous storms ofearly politics. This journal favored the interests of Burr; but it mustbe remembered that at that time Burr's name was free from infamy, andthat, as a leader, he enjoyed the highest prestige, being the centre ofthe Democracy of New-York. Burr's powers of fascination were peculiarlygreat, and he had surrounded himself with a circle of enthusiasticadmirers. Indeed, such was his skill in politics, that in 1800 he upsetthe Federalists, after a pitched battle of three days, (the old durationof an election, ) which was one of the most exciting scenes I everwitnessed. Horatio Gates, of Saratoga fame, was one of his nominees forthe State Legislature, (Gates was then enjoying those undeserved laurelswhich posterity has since taken away, ) and it was surprising to see theveterans of the Revolution abandoning their party to vote for their oldcomrade and leader. The result was, that the Federalists were mostthoroughly worsted, and the party never recovered from the blow. Suchwere the exciting events which identified the young politicians of themetropolis, and which inspired their speeches and their press. Burr'sheadquarters were at Martling's Tavern, 87 Nassau street. On being torndown, the business was removed to Tammany Hall, which has inherited apolitical character from its predecessor. Besides this, he used to meethis friends in more select numbers at a Coffee-house in Maiden Lane. Hisoffice was Number 30 Partition street, (now Fulton, ) and his residencewas at Richmond Hill. This place has lately been pulled down; it stoodfar away from the city, in a wild, secluded neighborhood, and in badgoing was quite an out of the way spot, though now it would be in thedensest part of the city. As there were no public vehicles plying inthis direction, except the Chelsea (Twenty-eighth street) stage, whichwas very unreliable, one either had to hire a coach or else be subjectedto a walk of two miles. But such as had the _entrée_ of thisestablishment would be well rewarded, even for these difficulties, by aninterview with Theodosia Burr, the most charming creature of her day. She was married early, and we saw but little of her. From the interestwhich the Irvings felt in Burr's fortunes, it might have been expectedthat they should sympathize with him in his subsequent reverses. 

The biographer presents Washington Irving as an attendant at the famoustrial at Richmond, where his indignation at some of Burr's privationsare expressed in a most interesting letter. This sympathy is the moretouching from the fact that Washington was a Federalist, and in thisrespect differed from his brothers. We have an idea that his youthfulpolitics were in no small degree influenced by those of thatillustrious personage for whom he was named. Another of the sons wasJohn T. , who became a successful and wealthy jurist, and for many yearspresided at New-York Common Pleas, while Ebenezer was established intrade at an early day. Such was the development of that family, which inrosy childhood followed William Irving to the old Brick Church, andwhose early progress he was permitted to witness. The biographer passeslightly over the scenes of boyhood, and there was hardly any need forhis expatiating on that idolatry which surrounded the youngest. He wasno doubt the first child ever named after the father of his country, andthe touching incident of Lizzie's presenting the chubby, bright-eyed boyto Washington, is hit off in a few touches. It was, however, in itself asublime thing. Nearly seventy years afterward, that child, still feelingthe hand of benediction resting upon him, concludes his _Life ofWashington_ by a description of his reception in New-York, of which hehad been a witness. Why does he not (it would have been a mostpardonable allusion) bring in the incident referred to above? Ah!modesty forbade; yet, as he penned that description, his heart must haverejoiced at the boldness of the servant who broke through the crowd andpresented to the General a boy honored with his name. Glorious incidentindeed!

As the family grew up, the young men took to their differentprofessions, which we have briefly designated. Peter read medicine, andhence received the title of 'doctor;' though he hated and finallyabjured it, yet, as early as 1794, he had opened an office at 208Broadway. This, however, was more a resort for the muses than forHygeia, notwithstanding its sign, 'Peter Irving, M. D. ' In 1796, WilliamIrving, who had been clerk in the loan office, established himself intrade in Pearl--near Partition--street, and from his energy and eleganceof manners, he became immediately successful, while farther up thestreet, near Old Slip, John T. Opened a law office, which wassubsequently removed to Wall street, near Broadway. We mention thesefacts to show that Irving entered life surrounded by protectinginfluences, and that the kindness which sheltered him from the world'sgreat battle had a tendency to increase his natural delicacy and toexpose him to more intense suffering, when the hand of misfortune shouldvisit him. One who had 'roughed it' with the world would have betterborne the killing disappointment of his affections; but he was renderedpeculiarly sensitive to suffering by his genial surroundings. 

This fact sets off in remarkable contrast, the noble resolution withwhich such an one as he, when he had buried all the world held in thetomb with the dead form of his beloved, rose above his sorrows. It iswell observed by his biographer, that 'it is an affecting evidence howlittle Mr. Irving was ever disposed to cultivate or encourage sadness, that he should be engaged during this period of sorrow and seclusion inrevising and giving additional touches to his _History of New-York_. 'Those who may smile at the elegant humor which pervades the pages ofthat history, will be surprised to learn that they were nearly complete, yet their final revision and preparation for the press was by one whowas almost broken of heart, and who thus cultivated a spirit ofcheerfulness, lest he should become a burden to himself and others. Ashe writes to Mrs. Hoffman: 'By constantly exercising my mind, neversuffering it to prey upon itself, and resolutely determining to becheerful, I have, in a manner, worked myself into a very enviable stateof serenity and self-possession. '

How truly has Wordsworth expressed this idea:

 'If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. '

We are glad to know that in time Irving sought a better consolation. 

But to return from this digression, or rather anticipation of oursubject. At the time of which we now write, New-York was comparatively asmall town; true, it was the chief commercial city in America, and yetits limits proper could be described by a line drawn across the islandsome distance below Canal street. Yet even then New-York was full oflife, and seemed to feel the promise of subsequent greatness. Herstreets echoed to the footsteps of men whom the present generation, withall its progress, can not surpass. At Number 26 Broadway, might havebeen daily seen the light-built but martial and elegant form ofAlexander Hamilton, while his mortal foe, Aaron Burr, as we have stated, held his office in Partition street. John Jacob Astor was just becomingan established and solid business man, and dwelt at 223 Broadway, thepresent site of the Astor House, and which was one of the earliestpurchases which led to the greatest landed estate in America. RobertLenox lived in Broadway, near Trinity Church, and was building up thatsplendid commerce which has made his son one of the chief citycapitalists. De Witt Clinton was a young and ambitious lawyer, full ofpromise, whose office (he was just elected Mayor) was Number 1 Broadway. Cadwallader D. Colden was pursuing his brilliant career, and might befound immersed in law at Number 59 Wall street. Such were the legal andpolitical magnates of the day; while to slake the thirst of theirexcited followers, Medcef Eden brewed ale in Gold street, and Janewaycarried on the same business in Magazine street; and his emptyestablishment became notorious, in later years, as the 'Old Brewery. '

About this time young Irving was developing as one of the mostinteresting youth of the city. His manners were soft without beingeffeminate, his form finely molded, and his countenance singularlybeautiful. To this might be added the general opinion that he wasconsiderably gifted in the use of the pen. Yet with all these promisingfeatures, the future was clothed with shadows, for his health wasfailing, and his friends considered him too lovely a flower to last. Little did his brothers and sisters think that that delicate youthwould, with one exception, outlive the whole family. It was at this timethat he first went abroad; and his experiences of travel are given byPierre Irving in the sparkling letters which he wrote to his brothers. 

In 1807 I used to meet him once more in social gatherings in the city, for he had returned in full restoration of health, his mind expanded, and his manners improved by intercourse with the European world, while_Salmagundi_ had electrified the city and given him the first rank amongits satirists. The question of profession crowded on him, and healternated between the law and the counting-room, in either of which hemight find one or more of his brothers. The former of these was a roadto distinction, the latter was one to wealth; but feeling the absence ofpractical business gifts, he shrank from trade, and took refuge in thequiet readings of an office. Josiah Ogden Hoffman, of whose daughter somuch has recently been written, was a family friend, as well as a lawyerof high character. He lived first at Number 68 Greenwich street, butafterward moved up-town, his office being in Wall street, first Number47, and afterward Number 16. Young Irving finished his studies with Mr. Hoffman, and immediately took office with his brother John, at Number 3Wall street. To these two was soon added the presence of Peter, who wasstill connected with the press, and thus might have been found for ashort time a most interesting and talented, as well as fraternal trio. 

Washington was still, to a considerable degree an _habitué_ of Mr. Hoffman's office, and it seems quite amusing that one who was so dull atreading law that he makes merry with his own deficiencies, should have aconnection with two offices. But the name of Matilda was the magnetwhich drew him to one where he vainly struggled to climb Alp on Alp ofdifficulties in hope of love's fruition, while at the other he mightsmile at the bewilderments of Coke, brush away the cobwebs from hisbrain, and recreate himself with the rich humors of _Salmagundi_. 

The place and time where this remarkable attachment had its inception, are not known; but like all such affairs, it arose, no doubt, fromfelicitous accident. In one of his sketches, Irving speaks of amysterious footprint seen on the sward of the Battery, which awoke aromantic interest in his breast. This youthful incident comes to ourmind when we remember that Mr. Hoffman lived at Number 68 Greenwichstreet, not a stone's throw from the Battery, and we have sometimesthought that the mysterious footprint might have been Matilda's. At anyrate, the Battery was at that day a place of fashionable resort, andhence the fair but fragile form of Matilda Hoffman could almost any dayhave been seen tripping among bevies of city girls in pursuit of healthor pleasure. But whatever be the history of its origin, the attachmentbecame one of mutual strength; and while young Irving was surrounded bypiles of lawbooks and red tape, his hope of success was identified withthe name of Matilda. My remembrance of Matilda (her name was SarahMatilda, but the first was dropped in common intercourse) revives acountenance of great sweetness, and an indescribable beauty ofexpression. Her auburn hair played carelessly in the wind, and herfeatures, though not of classic outline, were radiant with life. Her eyewas one of the finest I have ever seen--rich, deep-toned, and eloquent, speaking volumes in each varying expression, and generally suggestive ofpensive emotion. Irving was about eight years her senior, and thisdifference was just sufficient to draw out that fond reliance of femalecharacter which he has so beautifully set forth in the sketch of 'TheWife. ' The brief period of this courtship was the sunny hour of hislife, for his tender and sensitive nature forbade any thing but the mostardent attachment. What dreams of future bliss floated before hisintoxicated vision, soon to change to the stern realities of grievingsorrow!

In 1809, Mr. Hoffman removed to a suburban residence in Broadway, (corner of Leonard street, ) and the frequent walks which the young lovertook up that sequestered avenue may have suggested some of thedescriptions of the same street in the pages of the _History ofNew-York_, and his allusions to the front-gardens so adapted to ancientcourtship. While at this mansion, amid all the blandishments of hope, Matilda's health began to fail beyond the power of restoratives, and theanxious eye both of parent and betrothed, marked the advance ofrelentless disease. The maiden faded away from their affections untilboth stood by her bed and saw her breathe her last. 

The biographer informs us that after Mr. Irving's death, there was foundin a repository of which he always kept the key, a memorial of thisaffair, which had evidently been written to some friend, in explanationof his single life. Of the memorial the following extract is given:

 'We saw each other every day, and I became excessively attached to her. Her shyness wore off by degrees. The more I saw of her the more I had reason to admire her. Her mind seemed to unfold itself leaf by leaf, and every time to discover new sweetness. Nobody knew her so well as I, for she was generally timid and silent, but I, in a manner, studied her excellence. Never did I meet more intuitive rectitude of mind, more native delicacy, more exquisite propriety in word, thought, or action, than in this young creature. I am not exaggerating; what I say was acknowledged by all who knew her. Her brilliant little sister used to say that people began by admiring her, but ended by loving Matilda. For my part, I idolized her. I felt at times rebuked by her superior delicacy and purity, as if I was a coarse, unworthy being, in comparison. 

 'This passion was terribly against my studies. I felt my own deficiency, and despaired of ever succeeding at the bar. I could study any thing else rather than law, and had a fatal propensity to belles-lettres. I had gone on blindly like a boy in love, but now I began to open my eyes and be miserable. I had nothing in purse or in expectation. I anticipated nothing from my legal pursuits, and had done nothing to make me hope for public employment, or political elevation. I had begun a satirical and humorous work, (_The History of New-York_, ) in company with one of my brothers; but he had gone to Europe shortly after commencing it, and my feelings had run in so different a vein that I could not go on with it. I became low-spirited and disheartened, and did not know what was to become of me. I made frequent attempts to apply myself to the law; but it is a slow and tedious undertaking for a young man to get into practice, and I had, unluckily, no turn for business. The gentleman with whom I studied saw the state of my mind. He had an affectionate regard for me--a paternal one, I may say. He had a better opinion of my legal capacity than it merited. He urged me to return to my studies, to apply myself, to become well acquainted with the law, and that in case I could make myself capable of undertaking legal concerns, he would take me into partnership with him and give me his daughter. Nothing could be more generous. I set to work with zeal to study anew, and I considered myself bound in honor not to make farther advances with the daughter until I should feel satisfied with my proficiency with the law. It was all in vain. I had an insuperable repugnance to the study; my mind would not take hold of it; or rather, by long despondency had become for the time incapable of any application. I was in a wretched state of doubt and self-distrust. I tried to finish the work which I was secretly writing, hoping it would give me reputation and gain me some public employment. In the mean time I saw Matilda every day, and that helped distract me. In the midst of this struggle and anxiety, she was taken ill with a cold. Nothing was thought of it at first, but she grew rapidly worse, and fell into a consumption. I can not tell you what I suffered. The ills that I have undergone in this life have been dealt out to me drop by drop, and I have tasted all their bitterness. I saw her fade rapidly away--beautiful and more beautiful, and more angelic to the very last. I was often by her bedside, and in her wandering state of mind she would talk to me with a sweet, natural, and affecting eloquence that was overpowering. I saw more of the beauty of her mind in that delirious state than I had ever known before. Her malady was rapid in its career, and hurried her off in two months. Her dying-struggles were painful and protracted. For three days and nights I did not leave the house, and scarcely slept. I was by her when she died. All the family were assembled around her, some praying, others weeping, for she was adored by them all. I was the last one she looked upon. I have told you as briefly as I could, what, if I were to tell with all the incidents and feelings that accompanied it, would fill volumes. She was but seventeen years old when she died. 

 'I can not tell you what a horrid state of mind I was in for a long time. I seemed to care for nothing; the world was a blank to me. I abandoned all thoughts of the law. I went into the country, but could not bear solitude, yet could not enjoy society. There was a dismal horror continually on my mind that made me fear to be alone. I had often to get up in the night and seek the bedroom of my brother, as if the having of a human being by me would relieve me from the frightful gloom of my own thoughts. 

 'Months elapsed before my mind would resume any tone, but the despondency I had suffered for a long time in the course of this attachment, and the anguish that attended its final catastrophe, seemed to give a turn to my whole character, and threw some clouds into my disposition, which have ever since hung about it. When I became more calm and collected, I applied myself, by way of occupation, to the finishing of my work. I brought it to a close as well as I could, and published it; but the time and circumstances in which it was produced rendered me always unable to look upon it with satisfaction. Still, it took with the public, and gave me celebrity, as an original work was something remarkable and uncommon in America. I was noticed, caressed, and for a time elevated by the popularity I had gained. Wherever I went, I was overwhelmed with attentions. I was full of youth and animation, far different from the being I now am, and I was quite flushed with this early taste of public favor. Still, however, the career of gayety and notoriety soon palled upon me. I seemed to drift about without aim or object, at the mercy of every breeze; my heart wanted anchorage. I was naturally susceptible, and tried to form other attachments, but my heart would not hold on. It would continually revert to what it had lost; and whenever there was a pause in the hurry of novelty and excitement, I would sink into dismal dejection. For years I could not talk on the subject of this hopeless regret; I could not even mention her name; but her image was continually before me, and I dreamed of her incessantly. '

The fragment of which the above is an extract, is doubly interesting asnot only clearing up a mystery which the world has long desired topenetrate, but also as giving Irving's experience in his own words. Itproves how deeply he felt the pangs of a rooted sorrow, and howimpossible it was, amid all the attractions of society, for him toescape the power of one who had bidden to all earthly societies aneverlasting farewell. That his regrets over his early bereavement didnot arise from overwrought dreams of excellence in the departed, isevident from the character she bore with others; and this is illustratedby the following extract from a faded copy of the _CommercialAdvertiser_, which reads as follows:

 'OBITUARY, 'Died, on the 26th instant, in the eighteenth year of her age, Miss Sarah Matilda Hoffman, daughter of Josiah Ogden Hoffman. Thus another youthful and lovely victim is added to the ravages of that relentless and invincible enemy to earthly happiness, the _consumption_. In the month of January we beheld this amiable and interesting girl in the glow of health and spirits, the delight of her friends, the joy and pride of her family; she is now cold and lifeless as the clod of the valley. So falls the tender flower of spring as it expands its bosom to the chilling blight of the morning frost. Endowed by nature with a mind unusually discriminating, and a docility of temper and disposition admirably calculated to reap profit from instruction, Miss Hoffman very early became an object of anxious care and solicitude to the fondest of fathers. That care and solicitude he soon found richly rewarded by the progress she made in her learning, and by every evidence of a grateful and feeling heart. After completing the course of her education in a highly respectable seminary in Philadelphia, she returned to her father's house, where she diligently sought every opportunity to improve her mind by various and useful reading. She charmed the circle of her friends by the suavity of her disposition and the most gentle and engaging manners. She delighted and blessed her own family by her uniformly correct and affectionate conduct. Though not formed to mingle and shine in the noisy haunts of dissipation, she was eminently fitted to increase the store of domestic happiness, to bring pleasure and tranquillity to the fireside, and to gladden the fond heart of a parent. 

 'Religion, so necessary to our peace in this world and to our happiness in the next, and which gives so high a lustre to the charms and to the virtues of woman, constantly shed her benign influence over the conduct of Miss Hoffman, nor could the insidious attempts of the infidel for a moment weaken her confidence in its heavenly doctrines. With a form rather slender and fragile was united a beauty of face, which, though not dazzling, had so much softness, such a touching sweetness in it, that the expression which mantled over her features was in a high degree lovely and interesting. Her countenance was indeed the faithful image of a mind that was purity itself, and of a heart where compassion and goodness had fixed their abode. To the sweetest disposition that ever graced a woman, was joined a sensibility, not the fictitious creature of the imagination, but the glowing offspring of a pure and affectionate soul. 

 'Tenderness, that quality of the heart which gives such a charm to every female virtue, was hers in an eminent degree. It diffused itself over every action of her life. Sometimes blended with a delicate and happy humor, characteristic of her nature, it would delight the social circle; again, with the most assiduous offices of affection, it would show itself at the sick couch of a parent, a relative, or a friend. In this manner the writer of this brief memorial witnessed those soothing acts of kindness which, under peculiar circumstances, will ever be dear to his memory. Alas! little did she then dream that in one short year she herself would fall a sacrifice to the same disease under which the friend to whom she so kindly ministered, sunk to the grave. '

This testimony to departed worth bears the impress of deep sincerity, and its freedom from the fulsome praise, which so often varnishes thedead, seems to add to its force. Peter Irving, also, pays a tribute toher character in the following utterance, in a letter to his bereavedbrother: 'May her gentle spirit have found that heaven to which it everseemed to appertain. She was too spotless for this contaminated world. '

The biographer states that 'Mr. Irving never alluded to this event, nordid any of his relatives ever venture in his presence to introduce thename of Matilda, ' 'I have heard, ' he adds, 'of but one instance in whichit was ever obtruded upon him, and that was by her father, nearly thirtyyears after her death, and at his own house. A granddaughter had beenrequested to play for him some favorite piece on the piano, and inextricating her music from the drawer, she accidentally brought forth apiece of embroidery with it. 'Washington, ' said Mr. Hoffman, picking upthe faded relic, 'this is a piece of poor Matilda's workmanship. ' Theeffect was electric. He had been conversing in the sprightliest moodbefore, but he sunk at once into utter silence, and in a few moments gotup and left the house. It is evidence with what romantic tendernessIrving cherished the memory of this early love, that he kept by himthrough life the Bible and Prayer-Book of Matilda. He lay with themunder his pillow in the first days of keen and vivid anguish thatfollowed her loss, and they were ever afterward, in all changes ofclimate and country, his inseparable companions. '

The scene at the house of Mr. Hoffman, to which the biographer alludes, took place after Irving's second return from Europe, and after anabsence of nearly twenty years from his native land. During this time hehad become famous as an author, and had been conceded the position ofthe first American gentleman in Europe. He had been received at Courtsas in his official position (Secretary of Legation) and had received theadmiration of the social and intellectual aristocracy of England. Returning full of honors, he became at once the lion of New-York, andwas greeted by a public dinner at the City Hotel. How little could ithave been imagined, that amid all this harvest of honors, while he stoodthe cynosure of a general admiration, he should still be under the powerof a youthful attachment, and that outliving all the glories of hissplendid success, a maiden, dead thirty years, held him with undyingpower. While others thought him the happy object of a nation'spopularity, his heart was stealing away from noise and notice to thehallowed ground where Matilda lay. 

 'Oh! what are thousand living loves To that which can not quit the dead?'

The biographer observes that 'it is in the light of this event that wemust interpret portions of 'Rural Funerals, ' in the _Sketch-Book_, and'Saint Mark's Eve, ' in _Bracebridge Hull_. ' From the former of these, wetherefore make an extract, which is now so powerfully illustrated by theexperience of its author:

 'The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal; every other affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open; this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother that would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who in the hour of agony would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed, in the closing of its portal, would accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness? No; the love that survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection; when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry? No; there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song; there is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living.... But the grave of those we love, what a place for meditation! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and goodness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the dying scene. The bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring love! The feeble, fluttering, thrilling--oh! how thrilling--pressure of the hand! The last fond look of the glazing eye turned upon us even from the threshold of existence! The faint, faltering accents struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection!'

How truly is this passage 'to be interpreted in the light of the eventin Irving's history', when it is evident from a comparison of it withthe memoranda, that it is a sketch of that scene which wrecked hisbrightest hopes, and that here he is renewing in this unequaleddescription of a dying-bed, the last hours of Matilda Hoffman. Thehighly-wrought picture presents a complete detail to the eye, and yetstill more powerful is that simple utterance in the memoranda: '_I wasthe last one she looked upon_. '

_St. Mark's Eve_, ' to which reference is also made, was written severalyears subsequently, and as may be gathered from its tone, undercircumstances of peculiar loneliness. It was while a solitary occupantof his lodgings, a stranger in a foreign city, that he felt theinspiration of precious memories, and improved his lonely hours by thisexquisite production. 'I am alone, ' he writes, 'in my chamber; but thesethemes have taken such hold upon me that I can not sleep. The room inwhich I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls arehung with tapestry, the figures of which are faded and look likeunsubstantial shapes melting away from sight.... The murmur of voices andthe peal of remote laughter no longer reach the ear. The clock from thechurch, in which so many of the former inhabitants of this house lieburied, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. ' It was a fitting time toyield to the power of that undying affection which abode with him underall changes, and the serene presence of one snatched from him years agomust at such times have invested him as with a spell. Thus he writes:

 'Even the doctrines of departed spirits returning to visit the scenes and beings which were dear to them during the body's existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime.... Raise it above the frivolous purposes to which it has been applied; strip it of the gloom and horror with which it has been surrounded; and there is none of the whole circle of visionary creeds that could more delightfully elevate the imagination or more tenderly affect the heart.... What could be more consoling than the idea that the souls of those we once loved were permitted to return and watch over our welfare?--that affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows while we slept, keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours?--that beauty and innocence which had languished in the tomb yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein they live over again the hours of past endearments?.... There are departed beings that I have loved as I never shall love again in this world--that have loved me as I never again shall be loved. If such beings do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments they felt on earth; if they take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to hold communion with those they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with the most solemn but unalloyed delight. '

The use of the plural in the above extract obviated that publicity ofhis especial bereavement which would have arisen from a reference to_one_, and it is to be explained by the deaths of three persons to whomhe sustained the most endearing though varied relations of which man iscapable: his mother, his sister Nancy, and his betrothed. The first twohad become sacred memories, and were enshrined in the sanctuary of hissoul; but the latter was a thing of life, whose existence had becomeidentified with his own, and was made sure beyond the power of diseaseand mortality. Who, indeed, would have been so welcome to the solitarytourist on that weird midnight as she whose Bible and Prayer-Bookaccompanied his wanderings, whose miniature was his treasure, and ofwhom he could say: 'She died in the beauty of her youth, and in mymemory she will ever be young and beautiful. '

That a reünion with all the beloved of earth was a controlling thoughtin his mind, and one bearing an especial reference to this supremebereavement, is manifest from the following, from the same sketch:

 'We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few moments, and then days, months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of each other. Or granting that we dwell together for the full season of this mortal life, the grave soon closes its gates between us, and then our spirits are doomed to remain in separation and _widowhood_ until they meet again in that more perfect state of being, where soul will dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there will be neither death, nor absence, nor any thing else to interrupt our felicity. '

Such was the view which cheered the life of one thus early stripped ofpromised and expected happiness, and to which he dung during all changesof time and place. Amid the infirmities of advancing years, whilesurrounded by an endearing circle of relatives, who ministered to himwith the most watchful affection, there was one that abode in stillcloser communion with his heart. While writing in his study atSunnyside, or pacing, in quiet solitude, the streets of New-York, at alltimes, a fair young form hovered over him and beckoned him heavenward. Years passed on, until a half-century had been told. All things hadchanged, the scenes and characters of early life had passed away. Thelover had become a kindly old man. The young essayist had become a greatauthor and an heir of fame. The story of life was complete. The hour ofhis departure was at hand, when suddenly the same hand which hadseparated the lovers reünited them forever. Who shall say that the lastimage which flitted across his mind at the awful moment of dissolution, was not that fresh and lovely form which he had cherished in unchangingaffection for fifty years?

I have stated my opinion that it was Irving's disappointment which madehim the great American author, and to this opinion I now return withincreased confidence. Had the plans of his youth been carried out; hadhe become a partner of Mr. Hoffman, and had the hands of the lovers beenunited, the whole tenor of his life would have been changed. He wouldhave published some fine things, in addition to the Knickerbockerhistory, and would have ranked high as a gentleman of elegant humor; butwhere would have been his enduring works? We sympathize with thedisappointed lover; but we feel thankful that from his sorrow we gathersuch precious fruit. The death of Matilda led him abroad--to Spain, where he compiled his _Columbus_ and gathered material for his_Alhambra_--and to England, where the _Columbus_ was finished andpublished, and where his name became great, in spite of nationalprejudice. Beside this, the sorrow which cast its sacred shadow upon himgave his writings that endearing charm which fascinates the emotionalnature and enabled him to touch the hidden chords of the heart. 

If Ogilvie could congratulate him on the bankruptcy which drove him fromthe details of trade to the richer fruition of literary promise, we mayconsider it a beneficent working of Providence, which afforded to Irvinga still earlier emancipation from the law, cheered as it might have beenby the kindness of Mr. Hoffman and the society of Matilda. 

Such being the remarkable chain which unites the names of the author andhis love, we can not but consider her as a part of his character throughthe best years of his life and amid all the splendid success of hisliterary career. Indeed, through coming generations of readers, thenames of Irving and Matilda will be united in the loveliest and mostromantic of associations. 

I have prolonged this reminiscence to an unexpected length, and yet cannot close without a few additional thoughts which grow out of theperusal of the biography. Perhaps the chief of these is the nationalityof Irving's character, particularly while a resident of Europe. Neitherthe pungent bitterness of the British press nor the patronage of thearistocracy could abate the firmness with which he upheld the dignity ofhis country. He was not less her representative when a struggling authorin Liverpool or London than when Secretary of Legation at the Court ofSt. James, or Ambassador at Madrid. His first appearance abroad was at atime of little foreign travel, and an American was an object of remarkand observation. His elegant simplicity reflected honor upon his nativeland, and amid all classes, and in all places, love of country ruledhim. This high tone pervaded his views of public duty. A gross defaulterhaving been mentioned in his presence, he replied, that 'next to robbingone's father it is, to rob one's country. '

It is also worthy of note that while Irving lived to unusual fullness ofyears, yet he never was considered an old man. We do not so much referto his erect and vigorous frame as to the freshness of his mind. It issaid that Goethe, on being asked the definition of a poet, replied: 'Onewho preserves to old age the feelings of youth. ' Such was a leadingfeature in Mr. Irving's spirit, which, notwithstanding his shadowedhours, was so buoyant and cheerful. His countenance was penseroso whenin repose, and allegro in action, and these graces clung to him even inlife's winter, like the flower at the base of the glacier. 

Among the varied elements which constituted Irving's popularity, one ofthem might have been the beauty of his name, whose secret is revealed bythe laws of prosody. Washington is a stately _dactyl_; Irving is a sweetand mellow _spondee_, and thus we have a combination which poets inancient and modern days have sought with sedulous care, and which shouldclose every line of hexameter verse. Hence a measure such, as that foundin 'Washington Irving' terminates every line in _Evangeline_, or theworks of Virgil, thus:

 'Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline _went from the mission_, When, over green ways, by long and _perilous marches_, She had attained at length the depth of the _Michigan forest_. '

or

 'Supplicia hausorem ecopulis: et _nomine Dido_, Et recidiva manu posuissem _Pergama vetis_. '

It will be readily perceived that the name of the American author can besubstituted for the feet italicized above, without injuring the measure, while in some of Moore's finest stansas beautifully alternates the sameverse, thus:

 'Oh! fair as the sea-flower, _close to thee growing_, How light was thy heart till love's witchery came! Like the wind of the South, o'er a _summer lute blowing_, And hushed all its music, and withered its flame. '

At the close of his last great work, Mr. Irving sought for rest. He laidaside his pen, even from correspondence, and felt that his work wasdone. When in New-York, he was often to be found at the Astor Library, of which he was a trustee; but his visits to the city became few, and heseemed to realize that his time was come. To one who kindly remarked, 'Ihope you will soon be better, ' He calmly replied, in an earnest tone: 'Ishall never be better. ' The words came true too soon, and amid anunequaled pomp of unaffected sorrow, they bore him to a place of rest, by the side of his parents and all of his kin who had gone before him. 

_BYRONIC MISANTHROPY. _

 He has a grief he can not speak; He wears his hat awry; He blacks his boots but once a week; And says he wants to die!

_NEW-ENGLAND'S ADVANCE. _

 Hurrah! for our New-England, When she rose up firm and grand, In her calm, terrific beauty, With the stout sword in her hand; When she raised her arm undaunted, In the sacred cause of Right, Like a crowned queen of valor, Strong in her faith and might. 

 Hurrah! for our New-England! When the war-cry shook the breeze, She wore the garb of glory, And quaffed the cup of ease; But I saw a look of daring On her proud features rise, And the fire of will was flashing Through the calm light of her eyes. 

 From her brow serene, majestic, The wreath of peace she took, And war's red rose sprang blooming, And its bloody petals shook On her heaving, beating bosom; And with forehead crowned with light, Transfigured, she presented Her proud form to the fight. 

 Hurrah! for our New-England! What lightning courage ran Through her brave heart, as she bounded To the battle's fearful van; O'er her head the starry banner; While her loud, inspiring cry, 'Death or Freedom for our Nation, ' Rang against the clouded sky. 

 I saw our own New-England Dealing blows for Truth and Right, And the grandeur of her purpose Gave her eyes a sacred light; Ah! name her 'the Invincible, ' Through rebel rank and host; For Justice evermore is done, And Right comes uppermost. 

 Hurrah for our New-England! Through the battle's fearful brunt, Through the red sea of the carnage, Still she struggles in the front;

 And victory's war-eagle, Hovering o'er the fiery blast, On her floating, starry standard. Is settling down at last. 

 There is glory for New-England, When Oppression's strife is done, When the tools of Wrong are vanquished, And the cause of Freedom won; She shall sit in garments spotless, And shall breathe the odorous balm Of the cool green of contentment, In the bowers of peace and calm. 

_WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?_

 'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one _lives_ it--to many it is _known_; and seize it where you will, it is interesting. --_Goethe_. 

 'SUCCESSFUL. --Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended. '--_Webster's Dictionary_. 

CHAPTER I. 

The little village of Burnsville, in Connecticut, was thrown into astate of excitement by the report that Hiram Meeker was about to removeto the city of New-York. Two or three elderly maiden ladies with whomHiram was an especial favorite, declared there was not a word of truthin the ridiculous rumor. The girls of the village very generallydiscredited it. The young men said Hiram was not such a fool; he knew onwhich side his bread was buttered; he knew when to let well enoughalone, and so forth. Still the report was circulated. To be sure, nobodybelieved it, yet it spread all the faster for being contradicted. I havesaid that the young ladies of Burnsville put no faith in the story. Possibly Sarah Burns was an exception, and Sarah, it was wellunderstood, was an interested party, and would be apt to know the truth. She did not contradict the statement when made in her presence, andonce, when appealed to for her opinion, she looked very serious, andsaid it might be so for all she knew. At length there were two partiesformed in Burnsville. One on whose banner was inscribed: 'Hiram Meekeris going to New-York. ' The other with flag bearing in large letters: 'Nosuch thing: Hiram is not going. '

It would have been easy, one would suppose, to settle the importantcontroversy by a direct appeal to Hiram Meeker himself. Strange to say, this does not appear to have been done, both sides fearing, likeexperienced generals, to risk the result on a single issue. But numerouswere the hints and innuendoes conveyed to him, to which he always gavesatisfactory replies--satisfactory to both parties--both contending hehad, by his answers, confirmed their own particular view of the case. 

This state of things could not last forever. It was brought suddenly toan end one Friday afternoon. 

Hiram Meeker was a member, in regular standing, of the CongregationalChurch in Burnsville. The Preparatory Lecture, as it is called, that is, the lecture delivered prior to 'Communion-Sabbath, ' in the church, wasalways on the previous Friday, at three o'clock P. M. On a pleasant daytoward the end of April, Hiram Meeker and Sarah Burns went in companyto attend this lecture. The exercises were especially interesting. Several young people, at the close of the services, who had previouslybeen propounded, were examined as to their 'experience, ' and a vote wasseparately taken on the admission of each. This over, the clergymanspoke as follows: 'Brother Hiram Meeker being about to remove from amongus, desires to dissolve his connection with the Congregational church inBurnsville, and requests the usual certificate of membership and goodstanding. Is it your pleasure that he receive it? Those in favor willplease to signify it. ' Several 'right hands' were held up, and thematter was concluded. A young man who sat nearly opposite Sarah Burns, observed that on the announcement, her face became very pale. 

When the little company of church-members was dismissed, Hiram Meekerand Sarah Burns walked away together as they came. No, not _as_ theycame, as the following conversation will show. 

'Why did you not tell me, Hiram?'

'Because, Sarah, I did not fully decide till the mail came in this veryafternoon. I had only time to speak to Mr. Chase, and there was noopportunity to see you, and I could not tell you about it while we werewalking along so happy together. '

Hiram Meeker lied. 

Sarah Burns could not disbelieve him; it was not possible Hiram woulddeceive her, but her heart _felt_ the lie, nevertheless. 

Hiram Meeker is the hero of this history. It is, therefore, necessary togive some account of him previous to his introduction to the reader onthe afternoon of the preparatory lecture. At the date of thecommencement of the narrative, he was already twenty-two years old. Hewas the youngest of several children. His father was a highlyrespectable man, who resided in Hampton, about fifteen miles fromBurnsville, and cultivated one of the most valuable farms in the county. Mr. And Mrs. Meeker both had the reputation of being excellent people. They were exemplary members of the church, and brought up their childrenwith a great deal of care. They were in every respect dissimilar. He wastall, thin, and dark-complexioned; she was almost short, very fair, andportly in appearance. Mr. Meeker was a kind-hearted, generous, unambitious man, who loved his home and his children, and rejoiced whenhe could see every body happy around him. He was neither close norcalculating. With a full share of natural ability, he did not turn histalents to accumulation, quite content if he made the ends of the yearmeet. 

Mrs. Meeker was a woman who never took a step from impulse. She had amotive for every act of her life. Exceedingly acute in her judgments ofpeople, she brought her shrewdness to bear on all occasions. She was acapital housekeeper, a most excellent manager, a pattern wife andmother. I say, 'pattern wife and mother, ' for she was devoted to herhusband's interests, which, to be sure, were equally her own; she madeevery thing very comfortable for him indoors, and she managedexpenditures with an economy and closeness which Mr. Meeker was quiteincapable of. She looked after her children with unremitting care. Theywere sent to better schools, and their associations were of a betterdescription than those of her neighbors. She took personal pains withtheir religious culture. Although they were sent to Sunday-school, sheherself taught them the Catechism, the Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and the Sermon on the Mount, beside a great variety of Gospel hymns andBible-stories. But along with these excellent teachings they weretaught--what is apt to be taught in almost every family, to almost everychild--to regard appearances, to make the best possible show to theworld, to _seem_ what they ought to _be_; apparently a sort of short-cutto goodness, but really a turnpike erected by the devil, which leads anywhere rather than to the desired point. Mrs. Meeker was a religiouswoman, scrupulous and exact in every outward observance; in thisrespect severe with herself and with all around her. Yet this neverprevented her having an eye to the 'main chance, ' which was, to get onin the world. Indeed, to attempt to do so, was with her a fundamentalduty. She loved to pray the Lord to bless 'our basket and our store. 'She dwelt much on the promise of 'a hundred-fold' in this world inaddition to the 'inheritance of everlasting life. ' She could repeat allthe practical maxims which abound in the book of Proverbs, and she wascareful, when she feared her husband was about to give way to a generousimpulse in favor of a poor relation or neighbor, to put him in mind ofhis own large and increasing household, solemnly cautioning him that hewho looked not well after it, was 'worse than an infidel. ' In short, being fully convinced by application of her natural shrewd sense thatreligion was the safest thing for her here and hereafter, she becamereligious. In her piety there was manifested but one idea--self. Whatever she did, was from a sense of duty, and she did her duty becauseit was the way to prosperity and heaven. 

I have remarked how different were husband and wife. They livedtogether, however, without discord, for Mr. Meeker yielded most pointsof controversy when they arose, and for the rest his wife was neitherdisagreeable nor unamiable. But the poor woman had experienced throughlife one great drawback; she had half-a-dozen fine children. Alas! notone of them resembled her in temper, character, or disposition. Allpossessed their father's happy traits, which were developed more andmore as they grew older, despite their mother's incessant warnings andteachings. 

Frank, the first-born, exhibited fondness for books, and earlymanifested an earnest desire for a liberal education with a view to thestudy of medicine. His father resolved to gratify him. His mother wasopposed to it. She wanted her boy a merchant. 'Doctors, ' she said, 'weremostly a poor set, who were obliged to work very hard by day and bynight, and got little for it. If Frank would only be contented to gointo her cousin's store, in New-York, (he was one of the prominentwholesale dry-goods jobbers, ) why, there would be some hope of him, thatis, if he could cure himself of certain extravagant notions; but to gothrough college, and then study medicine! Why couldn't he, at least, bea lawyer, then there might be a chance for him. '

'But the boy has no taste for mercantile life, nor for the law, ' saidMr. Meeker. 

'Taste--fiddlesticks, ' responded his wife, 'as if a boy has a right tohave any taste contrary to his parents' wish. '. 

'But, Jane, it is not contrary to _my_ wish. '

Mrs. Meeker looked her husband steadily in the face. She saw there anunusual expression of firmness; something which she knew it to be idleto contend with, and with her usual good sense, she withdrew from thecontest. 

'Have it your own way, Mr. Meeker. You know my opinion. It was my dutyto express it. Make of Frank what you like. I pray that he may beprospered in whatever he undertakes. '

So Frank was sent to college, with the understanding that, aftergraduating, he was to pursue his favorite study of medicine. 

A few months after he entered, Mrs. Meeker gave birth to her seventhchild--the subject of the present narrative. Her disappointment atFrank's destination was severe. Besides, she met with daily evidencesthat pained her. None of her children were, to use her expression, 'after her own heart. ' There were two other boys, George and William, who she was accustomed to say, almost bitterly, were 'clear father. ' Thethree girls, Jane, Laura, and Mary, one would suppose might representthe mother's side; but alas! they were 'clear father' too. 

In her great distress, as Mrs. Meeker often afterward declared, sheresolved to 'call upon the Lord. ' She prayed that the child she wassoon to give birth to might be a boy, and become a joy and consolationto his mother. She read over solicitously all the passages, of Scriptureshe could find, which she thought might be applicable to her case. Asthe event approached, she exhibited still greater faith and enthusiasm. She declared she had consecrated her child to God, and felt a holyconfidence that the offering was accepted. Do not suppose from this, sheintended to devote him to the ministry. _That_ required a special call, and it did not appear such a call had been revealed to her. But sheprayed earnestly that he might be chosen and favored of the Most High;that he might stand before kings; that he might not be slothful inbusiness; but fervent in spirit, serving the Lord. The happy frame ofmind Mrs. Meeker had attained, at length became the subject ofconversation in the neighborhood. The clergyman was greatly interested. He even made allusion to it in the weekly prayer-meeting, which, by theby, rather scandalized some of the unmarried ladies present. 

Mr. Meeker took all this in good part. The truth is, he regarded it as avery innocent whim, which required to be indulged in his wife's delicatesituation; so he always joined in her hopeful anticipations, andendeavored to sympathize with them. It was under these auspiciouscircumstances that Hiram Meeker first saw the light. All his mother'sprayers seemed to have been answered. The boy, from the earliestmanifestation of intelligence, exhibited traits which could belong onlyto her. As he advanced into childhood, these became more and moreapparent. He had none of the openness of disposition which was possessedby the other children. He gave much less trouble about the house thanthey ever did, and was more easily managed than they had been at hisage. It must not be inferred that because he was his mother's favorite, he received any special indulgence, or was not subject to every properdiscipline. Indeed, the discipline was more severe, the moral teachingsmore unremitting, the practical lessons more frequent than with any ofthe rest. But there could not exist a more tractable child than Hiram. He was apparently made for special training, he took to it so readily, as if appreciating results and anxious to arrive at them. When he wassix years old, it was astonishing what a number of Bible-verses andSunday-school hymns he had committed to memory, and how much the child_knew_. He was especially familiar with the uses of money. He knew thevalue of a dollar, and what could be purchased with it. So of half adollar, a quarter, ten cents, and five cents. He had already establishedfor himself a little savings bank, in which were placed the small sumswhich were occasionally presented to him. He could tell the cost of eachof his playthings respectively, and, indeed, of every article about thehouse; he learned the price of tea, sugar, coffee, and molasses. Thisinformation, to be sure, formed a part of his mother's course ofinstruction; but it was strange how he took to it. Systematically andunceasingly, she pursued it. Oh! how she rejoiced in her youngest child. How she thanked God for answering her prayers. I had forgotten to statethat there was considerable difficulty in deciding what name to give theboy. Mrs. Meeker had an uncle, a worthy minister, by the name ofNathaniel. Mr. Meeker suggested that the new-comer be called after him. His wife did not like to object; but she thought Nathaniel a verydisagreeable name. Her cousin, the rich dry-goods merchant in New-York, who had four daughters and no sons, was named Hiram. Hiram was a goodname, not too long and very expressive. It sounded firm and strong. Itwas a Bible-name, too, as well as the other. In fact, she liked it, andshe thought her cousin would be gratified when he learned that she hadnamed a child for him. There were advantages which might flow from it, it was not necessary to specify, Mr. Meeker could understand to whatshe alluded Mr. Meeker did not understand; in fact, he did not troublehis head to conjecture; but it was settled Hiram should be the name, andour hero was baptized accordingly. He was a good boy; never in mischief, never a truant, never disobedient, nor willful, nor irritable, norobstinate. 'Too good for this world;' that is what folks said. 'Such anastonishing child--too wise to live long. ' So it was prophesied; butHiram survived all these dismal forebodings, until the people gave upand concluded to let him live. 

We pass over his earlier days at school. At twelve, he was sent to theacademy in the village, about a mile distant. He was to receive afirst-rate English education, 'no Latin, no Greek, no nonsense, ' to usehis mother's language; but the real substantials. Hiram proved to be anexcellent scholar. He was especially good in figures. When he came tostudy bookkeeping, he seemed as happy as if he were reading a romance. He mastered with ease the science of single and double entry. He soonbecame fascinated with the beauties of his imaginary business. For hisinstructor had prepared for him a regular set of books, and gave himproblems, from day to day, in mercantile dealings, which opened up tothe youth all the mysteries of 'Dr. ' and 'Cr. ' Out of these variousproblems, he constructed quite a little library of account-books, whichhe numbered, and which were representations of various descriptions oftrade, and marked with the name of some supposed company, and labeled'Business Successful, ' or 'Business Unsuccessful, ' as the case might be. 

We must now turn from Hiram, engaged in diligently pursuing his studies, and enter on another topic. 

CHAPTER II. 

Mrs. Meeker had been a church-member from the time she was fourteenyears old. There was an extensive revival throughout the country at thatperiod, and she, with a large number of young people of both sexes, were, or thought they were, converted. She used to speak of thiscircumstance very often to her children, especially when any one of themapproached the age which witnessed, to use her own language, 'herresignation of the pomps and vanities of life, and her dedication to theservice of her Saviour. ' Still, notwithstanding her prayers andpainstaking, not one of them had ever been under 'conviction of sin;' atleast, none had ever manifested that agony and mental suffering whichshe considered necessary to a genuine change of heart. She mourned muchover such a state of things in her household. What a scandal that notone of _her_ children should give any evidences of saving grace! What asubject for reproach in the mouths of the ungodly! But it was not herfault; no, she often felt that Mr. Meeker was too lax in discipline, (she had had fears of _him_, sometimes, lest he might become acastaway, ) and did not set that Christian example, at all times, whichshe could desire. For instance, after church on Sunday afternoon, it washis custom, when the season was favorable, frequently with a childholding each hand, to walk leisurely over his fields, humming a cheerfulhymn and taking note of whatever was pleasant in the scene, perhaps thefresh vegetation just bursting into life, or the opening flowers, or itmight be the maturing fruit, or the ripening yellow grain. On theseoccasions, he would endeavor to impress on his children how good Godwas; how seed-time and harvest always came; how the sun shone on theevil as well as on the good, and the rain descended both on the just andon the unjust. He, too, would inculcate lessons of diligence andindustry, agreeable lessons, after quite a different model from those ofhis wife. He would repeat, for example, not in an austere fashion, butin a way which interested and even amused them, the dramatic descriptionof the sluggard, from the hook of Proverbs, commencing:

_'I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man, void of understanding;

'And lo! it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered theface thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down. '_

It is a memorable fact that Hiram was never in the habit of accompanyinghis father on these Sunday-excursions. Not that his mother positivelyinterdicted him. She was too judicious a person to hold up to censureany habitual act of her husband, whatever might have been her ownopinion, or however she might have remonstrated with him in private. Shehad no difficulty in keeping Hiram by her side on Sunday afternoons, andthe little fellow seemed instinctively to appreciate why. Indeed, Idoubt if the green fields and pleasant meadow, with the pretty brookrunning through it, had any charms for him even then. At any rate, hewas satisfied with his mother's reason, that it was not good for him; hehad better stay at home with her. 

At fourteen, Hiram was to become 'pious. ' So Mrs. Meeker ferventlyhoped, and to this end her prayers were specially directed. Her son oncesecure and safe within the pale of the church, she could be free toprosecute for him her earthly plans, which could not be sanctioned orblessed of Heaven, so long as he was still in the gall of sin and bondsof iniquity. So she labored to explain to him how impossible it was foran unconverted person to think an acceptable thought or do a singleacceptable act in the sight of God. All his labor was sin, while he wasin a state of sin, whether it was at the plow, or in the shop, or store, or office, or counting-room. She warned him of the wrath to come, andshe explained to him with minute vividness the everlasting despair andtortures of the damned. Hiram was a good deal affected. He began to feelthat his position personally was perilous. He wanted to get out of it, especially as his mother assured him if he should be taken away--and hewas liable to die that very night--then alas! his soul would lie down ineverlasting burnings. At last, the youth was thoroughly alarmed. Hismother recollected she had continued just one week under conviction, before light dawned in on her, and she considered that a proper periodfor her son to go through. She contented herself, at first, bycautioning him against a relapse into his old condition, for then sevenother spirits more wicked than the first would have possession of him, and his last state would be worse than the first. Besides, he would rungreat risk of sinning away his day of grace. It was soon understood inthe church that Hiram was under concern of mind. Mrs. Meeker, on thefourth day, withdrew him from school, and sent for the minister to praywith him. He found him in great distress, I might say in great bodilyterror; for he was very much afraid when he got into bed at night, hemight awake in hell the next morning. The clergyman was a worthy and asincere man. He was anxious that a true repentance should flow fromHiram's present distress, and the lively agony of the child awakened hisstrongest sympathy. He talked very kindly to him, explained in agenuine, truthful manner, what was necessary. He dwelt on the mercy ofour heavenly Father, and on his love. He prayed with the lad earnestly, and with many affectionate counsels he went away. Hiram was comforted. Things began to look in a pleasanter light than ever before. He had onlyto repent and believe, and it was his duty to repent and believe, andall would be well. So it happened that when the week was out, Hiram feltthat he had cast his burden on the Lord, and was accepted by him. 

There were great rejoicings over this event. Mrs. Meeker exclaimed, while tears streamed from her eyes, that she was ready to depart inpeace. Mr. Meeker, who had by no means been indifferent to his son'sstate of mind, and who had sought from time to time to encourage him, (rather, it must be confessed, to his wife's annoyance, ) was thankfulthat he had obtained relief from the right source. The happy subjecthimself became an object of a good deal of interest in the congregation. There was not the usual attention, just then, to religious matters, andHiram's conversion was seized on as a token that more fruits were to begathered in from the same field, that is, among the young. In due coursehe was propounded and admitted into the church. It happened on that daythat he was the only individual who joined, and he was the observed ofall observers. Hiram Meeker was a handsome boy, well formed, with aninteresting face, blight blue eyes, and a profusion of light hairshading a forehead indicative of much intelligence. All this wasdisclosed to the casual observer; indeed, who would stop to criticisethe features of one so young--else you would have been struck bysomething disagreeable about the corners of his mouth, somethingrepulsive in the curve of those thin lips, (he had his mother's lips, )something forbidding in a certain latent expression of the eye, whileyou would remark with pain the conscious, self-possessed air with whichhe took his place in the broad aisle before the pulpit, to give hisassent to the church articles and confession of faith. The good ministerpreached from the text, 'Remember now thy Creator in the days of thyyouth, ' and in the course of his sermon held up Hiram as an example toall the unconverted youth of his flock. On Monday he returned to school, prosecuting his studies more diligently than ever. He felt that he hadsecured the true salvation, and was safe now in whatever he undertook. He was very careful in the observance of all his religious exercises, and so far as I can ascertain, never neglected any of them. Thus happilylaunched, Hiram continued at school till he was nearly seventeen. Hehad, for the last two years, been sent to Newton Institute, one of thebest institutions in the State, where his advantages would be superiorto those of the academy in his native town. There he learned the higherbranches of mathematics, and studied with care mercantile anddescriptive geography with reference to the different products of theearth. During this time his proficiency was excellent, and his conductalways most exemplary. 

At length his course was completed, and Mrs. Meeker felt that hercousin, the wholesale dry-goods jobber in New-York, would be proud ofsuch an acquisition in his establishment. He had been duly apprised thatthe boy was named for him, and really appeared to manifest, by hisinquiries, a good deal of interest in Hiram. Although they generally metonce or twice a year, Mrs. Meeker did not apprise her cousin of herplans, preferring to wait till her son should have finished hisacademical course before making them known. Her first idea was to sendhim to New-York with a letter, in which she would fully explain herhopes and wishes. On second thought, she concluded to write first, andawait her cousin's reply. It will be seen, from the perusal of it, shetook the proper course. 

Here it is:

 '_New-York, May 15th, 18--. _

 'DEAR COUSIN: Your letter of May 12th is before me. I am glad to hear you are all well at Hampton. We are much obliged for your kind invitation for the summer. I think you may count confidently on a visit from my wife and myself some time during the season, and I have no doubt one of the girls will come with us. I know _I_ shall enjoy it for one, and I am sure we all shall. 

 'As to my namesake, I am glad to hear so good an account of him. Now, cousin, I really take an interest in the lad, and beg you will not make any wry faces over an honest expression of my opinion. If you want the boy to make a first-rate merchant, and SUCCEED, don't send him to me at present. Of course, I will receive him, if you insist upon it. But, in my opinion, it will only spoil him. I tell you frankly, I would not give a fig for a city-bred boy. But I will enter into this compact with you: I will undertake to make a first-class merchant of Hiram, if you will let me have my own way. If you do not, I can not answer for it. What I recommend is, that you put him into one of the stores in your own village. If I remember right, there are two there which do a regular country trade, and have a general stock of dry goods, groceries, crockery, clothing, stationery, etc. , etc. , etc. Here he will learn two things--detail and economy--without a practical knowledge of which, no man can succeed in mercantile business. I presume you will consider this a great falling off from your expectations. Perhaps you will think it petty business for your boy to be behind a counter in a small country store, selling a shilling's worth of calico, a cent's worth of snuff, or taking in a dozen eggs in exchange, but there is just where he ought to be, for the present. I repeat, he will learn detail. He will understand the value of all sorts of merchandise; he will get a real knowledge of barter and trade. When he learns out there, put him in another retail store of more magnitude. Keep him at this three or four years, and then I agree to make a merchant of him. I repeat, don't be disappointed at my letter. I tell you candidly, if I had a son, that's just what I would do with him, and it is just what I want you to do with Hiram. I hope you will write me that you approve of my plan. If you do, you may rely on my advice at all times, and I think I have some experience in these matters. 

 'We all desire to be remembered to your husband and family. 

 'Very truly, your cousin, 'HIRAM BENNETT. '

He had added, from habit, '& Co. , ' but this was erased. 

The letter _was_ a heavy blow to the fond mother; but she recovered fromit quickly, like a sensible woman. In fact, she perceived her cousin wassincere, and she herself appreciated the good sense of his suggestions. Her husband, whom she thought best to consult, since matters were takingthis turn, approved of what her cousin had written, and so it wasdecided that Hiram should become a clerk of Mr. Jessup, the mostenterprising of the two 'store--keepers' in Hampton. How he got alongwith Mr. Jessup, and finally entered the service of Mr. Burns, atBurnsville, must be reserved for a separate chapter. 

_MONROE TO FARRAGUT. _

 By brutal force you've seized the town, And therefore the flag shall not come down. And having told you that it shan't, Just let me show you why it can't. The climate here is very queer, In the matter of flags at this time of year. If a Pelican touched the banner prized, He would be _immediately_ paralyzed. I'm a gentleman born--though now on the shelf, And I think you are almost one yourself. For from my noble ancestry, I can tell the _élite_, by sympathy. Had you lived among _us_, sir, now and then, No one can say what you might have been. So refrain from any sneer or quiz, Which may wound our susceptibilities. For my people are all refined--like me, While yours are all low as low can be. As for shooting women or children either, Or any such birds of the Union feather, We shall in all things consult our ease, And act exactly as we please. For you've nothing to do with our laws, you know, Yours, merely 'respectfully, JOHN MONROE. '

_AMONG THE PINES. _

Alighting from the carriage, I entered, with the Colonel, the cabin ofthe negro-hunter. So far as external appearance went, the shanty was aslight improvement on the 'Mills House, ' described in a previouschapter; but internally, it was hard to say whether it resembled more apig-sty or a dog-kennel. The floor was of the bare earth, covered inpatches with loose plank of various descriptions, and littered over withbillets of 'lightwood, ' unwashed cooking utensils, two or three cheapstools, a pine settee--made from the rough log and hewn smooth on theupper-side--a full-grown blood-hound, two younger canines, and ninedirt-encrusted juveniles, of the flax-head species. Over against thefire-place three low beds afforded sleeping accommodation to nearly adozen human beings, (of assorted sizes, and dove-tailed together withheads and feet alternating, ) and in the opposite corner a lower couch, whose finer furnishings told plainly it was the peculiar property of the'wee-ones' of her family--a mother's tenderness for the youngest thuscropping out even in the midst of filth and degradation--furnishedquarters for an unwashed, uncombed, unclothed, saffron-hued littlefellow about fifteen months old, and--the dog 'Lady. '

The dog was of a dark hazel-color--a cross between a setter and agray-hound--and one of the most beautiful creatures I ever saw. Her neckand breast were bound about with a coarse cotton cloth, saturated withblood, and emitting a strong odor of bad whisky; and her wholeappearance showed the desperate nature of the encounter with theoverseer. 

The nine young democrats who were lolling about the room in variousattitudes rose as we entered, and with a familiar but rather deferential'Howdy'ge, ' to the Colonel, huddled around and stared at me with openmouths and distended eyes, as if I were a strange being dropped fromsome other sphere. The two eldest were of the male gender, as was shownby their clothes--cast-off suits of the inevitable reddish-gray--muchtoo large, and out at the elbows and the knees; but the sex of theothers I was at a loss to determine, for they wore only a single robe, reaching, like their mother's, from the neck to the knees. Not one ofthe occupants of the cabin boasted a pair of stockings, but the fatherand mother did enjoy the luxury of shoes--coarse, stout brogans, untanned, and of the color of the legs which they encased. 

'Well, Sandy, how is Lady?' asked the Colonel, as he stepped to the bedof the wounded dog. 

'Reckon she's a goner, Cunnel; the d----d Yankee orter swing fur it. '

This intimation that the overseer was a 'countryman' of mine, took me bysurprise, nothing I had observed in his speech or manners havingindicated it, but I consoled myself with the reflection that Connecticuthad reared him--as she makes wooden hams and nutmegs--expressly for theSouthern market. '

'He _shall_ swing for it, by ----. But are you sure the dog will die?'

'Not shore, Cunnel, but she can't stand, and the blood _will_ run. Ireckon a hun'red and fifty ar done for thar, sartin. '

'D---- the money--I'll make that right. Go to the house and get someointment from Madam--she can save her--go at once, ' said my host. 

'I will, Cunnel, ' replied the dirt-eater, taking his broad-brim from thewooden peg where it was reposing, and leisurely leaving the cabin. Making our way over the piles of rubbish and crowds of children thatcumbered the apartment, the Colonel and I then returned to the carriage. 

'Dogs must be rare in this region, ' I remarked, as we resumed ourseats. 

'Yes, well-trained bloodhounds are scarce every where. That dog is wellworth a hundred and fifty dollars. '

'The business of nigger-catching, then, is brisk, just now?'

'No, not more brisk than usual. We always have more or less runaways. '

'Do most of them take to the swamps?'

'Yes, nine out of ten do, though now and then one gets off on atrading-vessel. It is almost impossible for a strange nigger to make hisway by land from here to the free States. '

'Then why do you Carolinians make such an outcry about the violation ofthe Fugitive Slave Law?'

'For the same reason that dogs quarrel over a naked bone. We should beunhappy if we couldn't growl at the Yankees, ' replied the Colonel, laughing heartily. 

'_We_, you say; you mean by that, the hundred and eighty thousand nabobswho own five sixths of your slaves?'[4]

 [4: The statistics given above are correct. That small number of slaveholders sustains the system of slavery, and has caused this terrible rebellion. They are, almost to a man, rebels and secessionists, and we may cover the South with armies, and keep a file of soldiers upon every plantation, and not smother this insurrection unless we break down the power of that class. Their wealth gives them their power, and their wealth is in their slaves. Free their negroes by an act of Emancipation, or Confiscation, and the rebellion will crumble to pieces in a day. Omit to do it, and it will last till doomsday. 

 The power of this dominant class once broken; with landed property at the South more equally divided, a new order of things will arise there. Where now, with their large plantations, not one acre in ten is tilled, a system of small farms will spring into existence, and the whole country be covered with cultivation. The six hundred thousand men who have gone there to fight our battles, will see the amazing fertility of the Southern soil--into which the seed is thrown and springs up without labor into a bountiful harvest--and many of them, if slavery is crushed out, will remain there. Thus a new element will be introduced into the South, an element that will speedily make it a loyal, prosperous, and _intelligent_ section of the Union. 

 I would interfere with no one's rights, but a rebel in arms against his country has no rights; all that he has 'is confiscate. ' Will the loyal people of the North submit to be ground to the earth with taxes to pay the expenditures of a war brought upon them by these Southern oligarchists, while the traitors are left in undisturbed possession of every thing, and even their slaves are exempted from taxation? It were well that our legislators should ask this question now, and not wait till it is asked of them by THE PEOPLE. ]

'Yes, I mean them, and the three or four millions of poor whites--theignorant, half-starved, lazy vermin you have just seen. _They_ are thereal basis of our Southern oligarchy, as you call it, ' continued theColonel, still laughing. 

'I thought the negro was the serf, in your feudal system?'

'Both the negro and the poor whites are the serfs, but the white trashare its real support. Their votes give the small minority ofslave-owners all their power. You say we control the Union. We do, andwe do it by the votes of these people, who are as far below our niggersas the niggers are below decent white men. Who that reflects that thiscountry has been controlled for fifty years by such scum, would give ad---- for republican institutions?'

'It does speak very badly for _your_ institutions. A system that reducesone half of a white population to the level of slaves can not stand inthis country. The late election shows that the power of your 'whitetrash' is broken. '

'Well, it does, that's a fact. If the States should remain together, theWest would in future control the Union. We see that, and are thereforedetermined on dissolution. It is our only way to keep our niggers. '

'You will have to get the consent of that same West to that project. Myopinion is, your present policy will, if carried out, free every one ofyour slaves. '

'I don't see how. Even if we are put down--which we can not be--and areheld in the Union against our will, Government can not, by theConstitution, interfere with slavery in the States. '

'I admit that, but it can confiscate the property of traitors. Everylarge slaveholder is to-day, at heart, a traitor. If this movement goeson, you will commit overt acts against the Government, and inself-defense it will punish treason by taking from you the means offuture mischief. '

'The Republicans and Abolitionists might do that if they had the power, but nearly one half of the North is on our side, and will not fight us. '

'Perhaps so; but if _I_ had this thing to manage, I'd put you downwithout fighting. '

'How would you do it--by preaching Abolition where even the niggerswould mob you? There's not a slave in South-Carolina but would shootGarrison or Greeley on sight. '

'That may be, but if so, it is because you keep them in ignorance. Builda free-school at every cross-road, and teach the poor whites, and whatwould become of slavery? If these people were on a par with the farmersof New-England, would it last for an hour? Would they not see that itstands in the way of their advancement, and vote it out of existence asa nuisance?'

'Yes, perhaps they would; but the school-houses are not at thecross-roads, and, thank God, they will not be there in this generation. '

'The greater the pity; but that which will not nourish alongside of aschool-house, can not, in the nature of things, outlast this century. Its time must soon come. '

'Enough for the day is the evil thereof, I'll risk the future ofslavery, if the South, in a body, goes out of the Union. '

'In other words, you'll shut out schools and knowledge, in order to keepslavery in existence. The Abolitionists claim it to be a relic ofbarbarism, and you admit it could not exist with general education amongthe people. '

'Of course it could not. If Sandy, for instance, knew he were as good aman as I am--and he would be if he were educated--do you suppose hewould vote as I tell him, go and come at my bidding, and live on mycharity? No sir! give a man knowledge, and, however poor he may be, he'll act for himself. '

'Then free-schools and general education would destroy slavery?'

'Of course they would. The few can not rule when the many know theirrights. But the South, and the world, are a long, way off from generaleducation. When it conies to that, we shall need no laws, and noslavery, for the millennium will have arrived. '

'I'm glad you think slavery will not exist during the millennium, ' Ireplied, laughing; 'but how is it that you insist the negro is naturallyinferior to the white, and still admit that the 'white trash' are farbelow the black slaves?'

'Education makes the difference. We educate the negro enough to make himuseful to us, but the poor white man knows nothing. He can neither readnor write, and not only that, he is not trained to any usefulemployment. Sandy, here, who is a fair specimen of the tribe, obtainshis living just like an Indian, by hunting, fishing, and stealing, interspersed with nigger-catching. His whole wealth consists of twohounds and their pups; his house--even the wooden trough his miserablechildren eat from--belongs to me. If he didn't catch a runaway niggeronce in a while, he wouldn't see a dime from one year to another. '

'Then you have to support this man and his family?'

'Yes, what I don't give him, he steals. Half-a-dozen others poach on mein the same way. '

'Why don't you set them at work?'

'They can't be made to work. I have hired them time and again, hoping tomake something of them, but I never got one to work more than half-a-dayat a time. It's their nature to lounge and to steal. '

'Then why do you keep them about you?'

'Well, to be candid, their presence is of use in keeping the blacks insubordination, and they are worth all they cost me, because I controltheir votes. '

'I thought the blacks were said to be entirely contented?'

'No, not contented. I do not claim that. I only say that they are unfitfor freedom. I might cite a hundred instances in which it has been theirruin. '

'I have never heard of one. It seems strange to me that a man who cansupport another can not support himself. '

'Oh! no, it's not at all strange. The slave has hands, and when themaster gives him brains, he works well enough; but to support himself heneeds both hands and brains, and he has only hands. I'll give you a casein point: At Wilmington, N. C. , some years ago lived a negro by the nameof Jack Campbell. He was a slave, and he was employed, before the riverbelow the town was deepened so as to admit of the passage of largevessels, in lightering cargoes up to the city. He hired his time of hismaster, and carried on business on his own account. Every one knew him, and his character for honesty, sobriety, and punctuality stood so highthat his word was considered among merchants as good as that of thefirst business-men of the place. Well, Jack's wife and children werefree, and he finally took it into his head to be free himself. Hearranged with his master to purchase himself within a specified time, ateight hundred dollars, and was to deposit his earnings, till theyreached the required sum, in the hands of a certain merchant. He wenton, and in three years had accumulated nearly seven hundred dollars, _when his master failed_. As the slave has no right to property, Jack'searnings belonged by law to his master, and they were attached by thecreditors, and taken to pay the master's debts. Jack then 'changedhands, ' received a new owner, who also consented to his buying himself, at about the price previously agreed on. Nothing discouraged, he went towork again. Night and day, he toiled, and it surprised every one to seeso much energy and fixedness of purpose in a negro. At last, after fourmore years of labor, he accomplished his purpose, and received hisfree-papers. He had worked seven years--as long as Jacob toiled forRachel--for his freedom, and like the old patriarch found himselfcheated at last. I was present when he received his papers from hisowner, a Mr. William H. Lippitt--who still resides at Wilmington--and Ishall never forget the ecstasy of joy which he showed on the occasion;he sung and danced and laughed and wept, till my conscience smote me forholding my own niggers, when freedom might give them so much happiness. Well, he went off that day and treated some friends, and then, for threedays afterward, lay in the gutter, the entreaties of his wife andchildren having no effect on him. He swore he was free, and would do ashe 'd----d pleased. ' He had previously been a class-leader in hischurch, but after getting free-papers, he forsook his previousassociates, and spent his Sundays and evenings in a bar-room. Heneglected his business; people lost confidence in him, and step by stephe went down, till in five years he stink into a wretched grave. Thatwas the effect of freedom on _him_, and it would be so on all his race. '

'It is clear, ' I replied, 'he could not bear freedom, but that does notprove he might not have 'endured' it if he had never been a slave. Hisoverjoy at obtaining liberty, after so long a struggle for it, led tohis excesses and his ruin. According to your view, neither the black northe poor white is competent to take care of himself. The Almighty, therefore, has laid upon _you_ a triple burden; you not only have toprovide for yourself and your children, but for two races beneath you, the black and the clay-eating white man. The poor nigger has a hardtime, but it seems to me you have a harder one. '

'Well, it's a fact, we do. I often think that if it wasn't for the colorand the odor, I'd be glad to exchange places with my man Jim. '

The Colonel made this last remark in a half-serious, half-comic way, that excited my risibilities amazingly, but before I could reply, thecarriage stopped, and Jim, opening the door, announced:

'We's h'ar, massa, and de prayin' am gwine on. '

Had we not been absorbed in conversation, we might have discovered thelatter fact some time previous to our arrival at the church-door, forthe preacher was shouting at the top of his lungs. He evidently thoughtthe good Lord either a long way off, or very hard of hearing. Notwishing to disturb the congregation at their devotions, we loitered nearthe doorway until the prayer was over, and in the mean time I glancedaround the premises. 

The 'meeting-house, ' of large unhewed logs, was a story and a half inhight, and about large enough to seat comfortably a congregation of twohundred persons. It was covered with shingles, with a roof projectingsome four feet over the wall, and was surmounted at the front gable by atower, about twelve feet square. This also was built of logs, andcontained a bell 'to call the erring to the house of prayer, ' though, unfortunately, all of that character thereabouts dwelt beyond the soundof its voice. The building was located at a cross-roads about equallydistant from two little hamlets, (the nearest nine miles off, ) neitherof which was populous enough to singly support a church and a preacher. The trees in the vicinity had been thinned out, so that carriages coulddrive into the woods, and find under the branches shelter from the rainand the sun, and at the time of my visit, about twenty vehicles of allsorts and descriptions, from the Colonel's magnificent barouche to therude cart drawn by a single two-horned quadruped, filled the openings. There was a rustic simplicity about the whole scene that charmed me. Thelow, rude church, the grand old pines that towered in leafy magnificencearound it, and the soft, low wind, that sung a morning hymn in thegreen, wavy woods, seemed to lift the soul up to Him who inhabitetheternity, but who also visits the erring children of men. 

The preacher was about to 'line out' one of Watts' psalms, when weentered the church, but he stopped short on perceiving us, and, bowinglow, waited till we had taken our seats. This action, and thesycophantic air which accompanied it, disgusted me, and turning to theColonel, I asked jocosely:

'Do the chivalry exact so much obsequiousness from the country clergy'?Do you require to be bowed up to heaven?'

In a low voice, but high enough, I thought, for the preacher to hear, for we sat very near, the Colonel replied:

'He's a renegade Yankee--the meanest thing on earth. '

I said no more, but entered into the services as seriously as thestrange gymnastic performances of the preacher would allow me to do, forthe truth is, he was quite as amusing as a circus clown. 

With the exception of the Colonel's and a few other pews in the vicinityof the pulpit, all of the seats were mere rough benches, without backs, and placed so closely together as to interfere uncomfortably with theknees of the sitters. The house was full, and the congregation asattentive as any I ever saw. All classes were there; the blackserving-man away off by the doorway, the poor white a little higher up, the small turpentine-farmer a little higher still, and the wealthyplanter, of the class to which the Colonel belonged, on 'the highestseats of the synagogue, ' and in close proximity to the preacher. 

The 'man of prayer' was a tall, lean, raw-boned, angular-builtindividual, with a thin, sharp, hatchet-face, a small sunken eye, andlong, loose hair, brushed back and falling over the collar of a seedyblack coat. He looked like nothing in the world I have ever seen, andhis pale, sallow face, and cracked, wheezy voice, were in comic keepingwith his discourse. His text was: 'Speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward. ' And addressing the motley gathering of poorwhites and small-planters before him as the 'chosen people of God, ' heurged them to press on in the mad course their State had chosen. It wasa political harangue, a genuine stump-speech, but its frequent allusionto the auditory as the legitimate children of the old patriarch, and therightful heirs of all the promises, struck me as out of place in a ruraldistrict of South-Carolina, however appropriate it might have been inone of the large towns, before an audience of merchants and traders, whoare, almost to a man, Jews. 

The services over, the congregation slowly left the church. Gathered ingroups in front of the 'meeting-house, ' they were engaging in a generaldiscussion of the affairs of the day, when the Colonel and I emergedfrom the doorway. The better class greeted my host with considerablecordiality, but I noticed that the well-to-do, small planters, whocomposed the greater part of the assemblage, received him with decidedcoolness. These people were the 'North county folks' on whom theoverseer had invoked a hanging. Except that their clothing was moreuncouth and ill-fashioned, and their faces generally less 'cute' ofexpression, they did not differ materially in appearance from the rusticcitizens who may be seen on any pleasant Sunday gathered around thedoor-ways of the rural meeting-houses of New-England. 

One of them, who was leaning against a tree, quietly lighting a pipe, was a fair type of the whole, and as he took a part in the scene whichfollowed, I will describe him. He was tall and spare, with a swinging, awkward gait, and a wiry, athletic frame. His hair, which he wore almostas long as a woman's, was coarse and black, and his face stronglymarked, and of the precise color of two small rivulets of tobacco-juicethat escaped from the corners of his mouth. He had an easy, self-possessed manner, and a careless, devil-may-care way about him, that showed he had measured his powers, and was accustomed to 'rough it'with the world. He wore a broadcloth coat of the fashion of some yearsago, but his waistcoat and nether garments of the common, reddishhomespun, were loose and ill-shaped, as if their owner did not wastethought on such trifles. His hat, as shockingly bad as Horace Greeley's, had the inevitable broad brim, and fell over his face like acalash-awning over a shop-window. As I approached him he extended hishand with a pleasant 'How are ye, stranger?. '

'Very well, ' I replied, returning his grasp with equal warmth, 'how areyou?'

'Right smart, right smart, thank ye. You're--' the rest of thesentence was cut short by a gleeful exclamation from Jim, who, mountedon the box of the carriage, which was drawn up on the cleared plot infront of the meeting-house, waved an open newspaper over his head, andcalled out, as he caught sight of the Colonel:

'Great news, massa, great news from Charls'on!'

(The darky, while we were in church, had gone to the post-office, somefour miles away, and got the Colonel's mail, consisting of letters fromhis New-York and Charleston factors, the Charleston _Courier_ and_Mercury_ and the New-York _Journal of Commerce_. The latter sheet, atthe date of which I am writing, was in wide circulation at the South, its piety (!) and its politics being then calculated with mathematicalprecision for secession latitudes. )

'What is it, Jim?' shouted his master. 'Give it to us. '

The darky had somehow learned to read, but holding the paper at arm'slength, and throwing himself into a theatrical attitude, he belched out, with any amount of gesticulation, the following:

'De news am, massa, and gemmen and ladies, dat de ole fort foreCharls'on hab hen devacuated by Major Andersin and de sogers, and datdey hab stole 'way in de dark night and gone to Sumter, whar dey can'tbe took; and dat de ole Gubner hab got out a procdemation dat all datdon't lub de Aberlishen Yankees shill cum up dar and clar 'em out; andde paper say dat lots ob sogers hab cum from Gorgia and Al'bama and 'waydown Souf, to help 'em. Dis am w'at de _Currer_ say, ' he continued, holding the paper up to his eyes and reading: 'Major Andersin, obUnited States army hab 'chieved de 'stinction ob op'ning de cibil war'tween American citizens; he hab desarted Moulfrie, and by falsefretexts hab took de ole Garrison and all his millinery stores to FortSumter. '

'Get down, you d----d nigger, ' said the Colonel, laughing, and mountingthe carriage-box beside him. 'You can't read. Old Garrison isn'tthere--he's the d----d Northern Abolitionist. '

'I knows dat, Cunnel, but see dar, ' holding the paper out to his master, 'don't dat say he'm dar? It'm him dat make all de trubble. P'raps disnig' can't read, but ef dat ain't readin' I'd like to know it!'

'Clear out, ' said the Colonel, now actually roaring with laughter; 'it'sthe soldiers that the _Courier_ speaks of, not the Abolitionist. '

'Read it yoursef, den, massa, I don't seed it dat way. '

Jim was altogether wiser than he appeared, and while he was equally aswell pleased with the news as the Colonel, he was so for an entirelydifferent reason. In the crisis which these tidings announced, he sawhope for his race. 

The Colonel then read the paper to the assemblage. The news was receivedwith a variety of manifestations by the auditory, the larger portion, Ithought, hearing it, as I did, with sincere regret. 

'Now is the time to stand by the State, my friends, ' said my host as hefinished the reading. 'I hope every man here is ready to do his duty byold South-Carolina. '

'Yes, _sar!_ if she does _har_ duty by the Union. We'll go to the deathfor har just so long as she's in the right, but not a d----d step if shearn't, ' said the long-legged native I have introduced to the reader. 

'And what have _you_ to say about South-Carolina? What does, she owe to_you?_' asked the Colonel, turning on the speaker with a proud and angrylook. 

'More, a darned sight than she'll pay, if ye cursed 'ristocrats run herto h---- as ye'r doing. She owes me, and 'bout ten as likely niggers asye ever seed, a living, and we've d----d hard work to get it out on her_now_, let alone what's comin'. 

'Don't talk to me, you ill-mannered cur, ' said my host, turning his backon his neighbor, and directing his attention to the remainder of theassemblage. 

'Look har, Cunnel, ' replied the native, 'if ye'll jest come down fromthar and throw 'way yer shootin'-irons, I'll give ye the all-firedestthrashing ye ever did get. '

The Colonel gave no further heed to him, but the speaker mounted thesteps of the meeting-house and harangued the natives in a strain of rudeand passionate declamation, in which my host, the aristocrats, and theSecessionists came in for about equal shares of abuse. Seeing that thenative (who, it appeared, was quite popular as a stump-speaker) wasdrawing away his audience, the Colonel descended from the driver's seat, and motioning for me to follow, entered the carriage. Turning the horseshomeward, we rode off at a brisk pace. 

'Not much Secession about that fellow, Colonel, ' I remarked, after awhile. 

'No, ' he replied, 'he's a North-Carolina 'corn-cracker, ' one of themeanest specimens of humanity extant. They're as thick as fleas in thispart of the State, and about all of them are traitors. '

'Traitors to the State, but true to the Union. As far as I've seen, thatis the case with the middling class throughout the South. '

'Well, it may be, but they generally go with us, and I reckon they willnow, when it comes to the rub. Those in the towns--the traders andmechanics--will, certain; it's only these half-way independent plantersthat ever kick the traces. By the way, ' continued my host, in a jocoseway, 'what did you think of the preaching?'

'I thought it very poor. I'd rather have heard the stump-speech, had itnot been a little too personal on you. '

'Well, it was the better of the two, ' he replied, laughing, 'but theold devil can't afford any thing good, he don't get enough pay. '

'Why, how much does he get?'

'Only a hundred dollars. '

'That is small. How does the man live?'

'Well, he teaches the daughter of my neighbor, Captain Randall, whobelieves in praying, and gives him his board. Randall thinks thatenough. The rest of the parish can't afford to pay him, and I _won't_. '

'Why won't you?'

'Because he's a d----d old hypocrite. He believes in the Union with allhis heart--at least, so Randall, who's a sincere Union man, says--andyet, he never sees me at meeting but he preaches a red-hot secessionsermon. '

'He wants to keep you in the faith, ' I replied. 

A few more miles of sandy road took us to the mansion, where we founddinner in waiting. Meeting 'Massa Tommy'--who had staid at home with hismother--as we entered the doorway, the Colonel asked after the overseer. 

'He seems well enough, sir; I believe he's coming the possum overmother. '

'Ill bet on it, Tommy; but he won't fool you and me, will he, my boy?'said his father, slapping him affectionately on the back. 

After dinner I went with my host to the room of the wounded man. Hishead was still bound up, and he was groaning piteously, as if in greatpain; but I thought there was too fresh a color in his face to beentirely natural in one who had lost so much blood, and been so severelywounded as he affected to be. 

The Colonel mentioned our suspicions to Madam P----, and suggested thatthe shackles should be put on him. 

'Oh! no, don't do that; it would be inhuman, ' said the lady; 'the coloris the effect of fever. If you fear he is plotting to get away, let himbe watched. '

The Colonel consented, but with evident reluctance, to the arrangement, and retired to his room to take a _siesta_, while I lit a cigar, andstrolled out to the negro-quarters. 

Making my way through the woods to the scene of the morning'sjollification, I found about a hundred darkies gathered around Jim, onthe little plot in front of Old Lucy's cabin. Jim had evidently beengiving them the news. Pausing when I came near, he exclaimed:

'Har's Massa K----, he'll say dat I tells you de trufh;' then turning tome, he said: 'Massa K----, dese darkies say dat Massa Andersin am anab'lisherner, and dat none but de ab'lisherners will fight for de Union;am dat so, sar?'

'No, I reckon not, Jim; I think the whole North would fight for it if itwere necessary. '

'Am dat so, massa? am dat so?' eagerly inquired a dozen of the darkies;'and am dar great many folks at de Norf--more dan dar am down har?'

'Yas, you fools, didn't I tell you dat?' said Jim, as I, not exactlyrelishing the idea of preaching treason, in the Colonel's absence, tohis slaves, hesitated to reply. 'Hain't I tole you, ' he continued, 'datin de big city ob New-York dar'm more folks dan dar am in all Car'lina?I'se been dar, and I knows; and Massa K----'ll tell you dat dey--'moston 'em--feel mighty sorry for de brack man. '

'No he won't, ' I replied, 'and besides, Jim, you should not talk in thisway before me; I might tell your master. '

'No! you won't do dat; I knows you won't, massa. Scipio tole us he'dtrust his bery life wid _you_. '

'Well, perhaps he might; it's true I would not injure _you_. ' Sayingthat, I turned away, though my curiosity was greatly excited to hearmore. 

I wandered farther into the woods, and a half-hour found me near one ofthe turpentine distilleries. Seating myself on a rosin barrel, I quietlyfinished my cigar, and was about lighting another, when Jim made hisappearance. 

'Beg pardon, Massa K----, ' said the negro, bowing very low, 'but Iwants to ax you one or two tings, ef you please, sar. '

'Well, ' I replied, 'I'll answer any thing that I ought to. '

'Der yer tink, den, massa, dat dey'll git to fightin' at Charls'on?'

'Yes, judging by the tone of the Charleston papers you've read to-day, Ithink they will. '

'And der yer tink dat de rest ob de Souf will jine wid Souf Car'lina, ifshe go at it fust?'

'Yes, Jim, I'm inclined to think so. '

'I hard you say to massa, dat ef dey goes to war, 'twill free all deniggers--der you raily b'lieve dat, sar?'

'_You_ heard me say that; how did you hear it?' I exclaimed, insurprise. 

'Why, sar, de front winder ob de carriage war down jess a crack, and Ihard all you said. '

'Did you let it down on purpose?'

'P'r'aps so, massa. Whot's de use ob habin' ears, ef you don't h'ar?'

'Well, I suppose not much; and you tell all you hear to the othernegroes?'

'I reckon so, massa, ' said the darky, looking very demure. 

'That's the use of having a tongue, eh?' I replied, laughing. 

'Dat's it 'zaxly, massa. '

'Well, Jim, I do think the slaves will be finally freed; but it willcost more white blood to do it than all the niggers in creation areworth. Do you think the darkies would fight for their freedom?'

'Fight, sar!' exclaimed the negro, straightening up his fine form, whilehis usual good-natured look--passed from his face and gave way to anexpression that made him seem more like an incarnate fiend than a humanbeing; 'FIGHT, sar; gib dem de chance, and den see. '

'Why are you discontented? You have been at the North, and you know theblacks are as well off as the majority of the poor laboring men there. '

'You say dat to me, Massa K----; you don't say it to de _Cunnel_. We arenot so well off as de pore man at de Norf! You knows dat, sar. He habhis wife and children, and his own home; what hab we, sar? No wife, nochildren, no home; all am de white man's. Der yer tink we wouldn't fightto be free?' and he pressed his teeth together, and there passed againover his face the same look it wore the moment before. 

'Come, come, Jim, this may be true of your race; but it don't apply toyourself. Your master is kind and indulgent to _you_. '

'He am kind to me, sar; he orter be, ' said the negro, the savageexpression coming again into his eyes. For a moment he hesitated; then, taking a step toward me, he placed his face down to mine, and hissed outthese words, every syllable seeming to come from the very bottom of hisbeing. 'I tell you he orter be, sar, FUR I AM HIS OWN FATHER'S SON!'

'Your brother!' I exclaimed, springing to my feet, and looking at him inblank amazement. 'It can't be true. '

'It am true, sar--as true as there's a hell! His father had my mother:when he got tired of her, he sold her Souf. _I was too young den eben toknow her_!'

'This is horrible, too horrible!' I said. 

'It am slavery, sar! Shouldn't we be contented?' replied the negro witha grim smile. Drawing, then, a large spring-knife from his pocket, hewaved it above his head, adding: 'Ef I had all de white race dar--rightdar under dat knife, don't yer tink I'd take all dar lives--all at oneblow--to be FREE!'

'And yet you refused to run away when the Abolitionists tempted you, atthe North. Why didn't you go then?'

''Cause I had promised, massa. '

'Promised the Colonel before you went?'

'No, sar, he neber axed me; but _I_ can't tell you no more. P'rapsScipio will, ef you ax him. '

'Oh! I see; you're in that league, of which Scip is a leader. You'll getinto trouble, _sure_, ' I replied, in a quick, decided tone, whichstartled him. 

'You tole Scipio dat, sar, and what did _he_ tell you?'

'That he didn't care for his life. '

'No more do I, sar, ' said the negro, as he turned on his heel with aproud, almost defiant gesture, and started to go. 

'A moment, Jim. You are very imprudent; never say these things to anyother mortal; promise me that. '

'You'se bery good, massa, bery good. Scipio say you's true, and he'mallers right. I ortent to hab said what I hab; but sumhow, sar, dat newsbrought it all up _har_, ' (laying his hand on his breast, ) 'and it wudcome out. '

The tears filled his eyes as he said this, and turning away withoutanother word, he passed from my sight behind the trees. 

I was almost stunned by this strange revelation, but the more Ireflected on it, the more probable it appeared. Now, too, that mythoughts were turned in that direction, I called to mind a certainresemblance between the Colonel and the negro that I had not heededbefore. Though one was a high-bred Southern gentleman, claiming an oldand proud descent, and the other a poor African slave, they had somestriking peculiarities which might indicate a common origin. Thelikeness was not in their features, for Jim's face was of theunmistakable negro type, and his skin of a hue so dark that it seemedimpossible he could be the son of a white man, (I afterward learned thathis mother was a black of the deepest dye, ) but it was in their form andgeneral bearing. They had the same closely-knit and sinewy frame, thesame erect, elastic step, the same rare blending of good-natured easeand dignity--to which I have already alluded as characteristic of theColonel--and in the wild burst of passion that accompanied the negro'sdisclosure of their relationship, I saw the same fierce, unbridledtemper, whose outbreaks I had witnessed in my host. 

What a strange fate was theirs! Two brothers--the one the owner of threehundred slaves, and the first man of his district--the other, a bondedmenial, and so poor that the very bread he ate, the clothes he wore, were another's! How terribly on him had fallen the curse pronounced onhis race!

I passed the remainder of the afternoon in my room, and did not againmeet my host until the family assembled at the tea-table. Jim thenoccupied his accustomed seat behind the Colonel's chair, and my host wasin more than his usual spirits, though Madam P----, I thought, wore asad and absent look. 

The conversation rambled over a wide range of subjects, and was carriedon mainly by the Colonel and myself; but toward the close of the mealthe lady said to me:

'Mr. K----, Sam and young Junius are to be buried this evening. If youhave never seen a negro funeral, perhaps you'd like to attend. '

'I will be happy to accompany you, Madam, if you go, ' I replied. 

'Thank you, ' said the lady. 

'Pshaw! Alice, you'll not go into the woods on so cold a night as this!'

'Yes, I think I ought to. Our people will expect me. '

 * * * * *

It was about an hour after nightfall when we took our way to theburial-ground. The moon had risen, but the clouds which gathered whenthe sun went down, covered its face, and were fast spreading theirthick, black shadows over the little collection of negro-houses. Neartwo new-made graves were gathered some two hundred men and women, asdark as the night that was setting around them. As we entered the circlethe old preacher pointed to the seats reserved for us, and the sablecrowd fell back a few paces, as if, even in the presence of death, theydid not forget the difference between their race and ours. 

Scattered here and there among the trees, torches of lightwood threw awild and fitful light over the little cluster of graves, and revealedthe long, straight boxes of rough pine that held the remains of the twonegroes, and lit up the score of russet mounds beneath which slept thedusky kinsmen who had gone before them. 

The simple head-boards that marked these humble graves chronicled nobad biography or senseless rhyme, and told no false tales of lives thathad better not have been, but 'SAM, AGE 22;' 'POMPEY;' 'JAKE'S ELIZA;;'AUNT SUE;' 'AUNT LUCY'S TOM;' 'JOE;' and other like inscriptions, scratched in rough characters on those unplaned boards, were all therecords there. The rude tenants had passed away and 'left no sign;'their birth, their age, their deeds, were alike unknown--unknown, butnot forgotten; for are they not written in the book of Hisremembrance--and when He counteth up his jewels, may not some of them bethere?

The queer, grotesque dress, and sad, earnest looks of the black group;the red, fitful glare of the blazing pine, and the white faces of thetapped trees, gleaming through the gloom like so many sheeted-ghostsgathered to some death-carnival, made up a strange, wild scene--thestrangest and the wildest I had ever witnessed. 

The covers of the rude coffins were not yet nailed down, and when wearrived, the blacks were one by one passing before them, taking a lastlook at the faces of the dead. Soon, Junius, holding his weeping wife bythe hand, approached the smaller of the two boxes, which held all thatwas left of their first-born. The mother kneeling by its side, kissedagain and again the cold, shrunken lips, and sobbed as if her heartwould break; while the strong frame of the father shook convulsively, as, choking down the great sorrow which welled up in his throat, heturned away from his boy forever. As he did so, old Pompey said:

'Don't grebe, June, he'm whar de wicked cease from trubbling, whar deweary am at rest. '

'I knows it; I knows it, Uncle. I knows de Lord am bery good to take 'im'way; but why did he take de young chile, and leab de ole man har?'

'De little sapling dat grow in de shade may die while it'm young; degreat tree dat grow in de sun must lib till de ax cut him down. '

These words were the one drop wanting to make the great grief which wasswelling in the negro's heart overflow. Giving one low, wild cry, hefolded his wife in his arms, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. 

'Come now, my chil'ren, ' said the old preacher, kneeling down, 'let uspray. '

The whole assemblage then knelt on the cold ground, while the old manprayed, and a more sincere, heart-touching prayer never went up fromhuman lips to that God 'who hath made of one blood all nations thatdwell on the face of the earth. ' Though clothed in rags, and in feebleold age, a slave, at the mercy of a cruel task-master, that old man wasricher far than his master. His simple faith, which looked through thedarkness surrounding him into the clear and radiant light of the unseenland, was of far more worth than all the wealth and glory of this world. I know not why it was, but as I looked at him in the dim, red lightwhich fell on his upturned face, and cast a strange halo around his bentform, I thought of Stephen, as he gazed upward and saw heaven open, and'the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the throne of God. '

Rising from his knees, the old preacher turned slowly to the black massthat encircled him, and said:

'My dear bredderin and sisters, de Lord say dat 'de dust shill return tode earth as it war, and de spirit to Him who gabe it, ' and now, 'cordin'to dat text, my friends, we'm gwine to put dis dust (pointing to the twocoffins) in de groun' whar it cum from, and whar it shill lay till deblessed Lord blow de great trumpet on de resumrection mornin'. Despirits of our brudders har de Lord hab already took to hisseff. 'Ourbrudders, ' I say, my chil'ren, 'case ebery one dat de Lord hab made ambrudders to you and to me, whedder dey'm bad or good, white or brack. 

'Dis young chile, who hab gone 'way and leff his pore fader and muddersuffrin' all ober wid grief, _he_ hab gone to de Lord, _shore_. _He_neber did no wrong; he allers 'bey'd his massa, and he neber said nohard word, nor found no fault, not eben w'en de cruel, bad oberseer putde load so heaby on him dat it kill him. Yes, my bredderin and sisters, _he_ hab gone to de Lord; gone whar dey don't work in de swamps; whar delittle chil'ren don't tote de big shingles fru de water up to dar knees. No swamps am dar; no shingles am cut dar; dey doan't need 'em, 'case darhous'n haint builded wid hands, for dey'm all built by de Lord, andgib'n to de good niggers, ready-made, and for nuffin'. De Lord don'tsay, like as our massa do, 'Pomp, dar's de logs and de shingles, ' (dey'mallers pore shingles, de kine dat woant sell; but he say, '_dey'm_ good'nuff for niggers, ef de roof do leak. ) De Lord doan't say: 'Now, Pomp, you go to work and build you' own house; but mine dat you does you taskall de time, jess de same!' But de Lord--de bressed Lord--He say, w'enwe goes up dar, 'Dar, Pomp, dar's de house dat I'se been a buildin' foryou eber sence 'de foundation ob de worle. ' It'm done now, and you kincum in; your room am jess ready, and ole Sal and de chil'ren dat I tuk'way from you eber so long ago, and dat you mourned ober and cried oberas ef you'd neber see dem agin, _dar dey am, all on 'em, a waiting foryou_. Dey'm been fixin' up de house 'spressly for you all dese longyears, and dey'be got it all nice and comfible now. ' Yas, my frens, glory be to Him, dat's what our Heabenly massa say, and who ob youwouldn't hab sich a massa as dat? a massa dat don't set you no hardtasks, and dat gibs you 'nuff to eat, and time to rest and to sing andto play. A massa dat doan't keep no Yankee oberseer to foller you 'boutwid de big free-lashed whip; but dat leads you hisseff round to de greenpastures and de still waters; and w'en you'm a-faint and a-tired, andcan't go no furder, dat takes you up in his arms, and carries you in hisbosom. What pore darky am dar dat wudn't hab sich a massa? What one obus, eben ef we had to work so hard as we does now, wudn't tink hisseffde happiest nigger in de hull worle, ef he could hab sich hous'n to libin as dem? dem hous'n 'not made wid hands, eternal in de heabens!'

'But glory, glory to de Lord! my chil'ren, wese all got dat massa, ef weonly knowd it, and he'm buildin' dem housn up dar, now, for ebery one obus dat am tryin' to be good and to lub one anoder. _For ebery one obus_, I say, and we kin all git de fine hous'n ef we try. 

'Recolember, too, my brudders, dat our great Massa am rich, bery rich, and He kin do all he promise. _He_ won't say, w'en wese worked ober timeto git some little ting to comfort de sick chile, 'I knows, Pomp, you'sedone de work, and I did 'gree to gib you de pay; but de fact am, Pomp, de frost hab come so sudden dis yar, dat I'se loss de hull ob de sebenfhdippin', and I'se pore, so pore, de chile must go widout dis time. ' No, no, brudders, de bressed Lord He neber talk so. He neber break, 'case desebenfh dip am shet off, or 'case de price of turpentime gwo down at deNorf. He neber sell his niggers down Souf, 'case he lose his money on dehoss-race. No, my chil'ren, our HEABENLY Massa am rich, RICH, I say. Heown all dis worle, and all de odor worles dat am shinin' up dar in desky. He own dem all; but he tink more ob one ob you, more ob one obyou--pore, ignorant brack folks dat you am--dan ob all dem great worles!Who wouldn't belong, to sich a Massa as dat? Who wouldn't be hisnigger--not his slave--He don't hab no slaves--but his chile; and 'efhis chile, den his heir, de heir ob God, and de joint heir wid Christ. 'O my chil'ren! tink of dat! de heir ob de Lord ob all de earth and allde sky! What white man kin be more'n dat?

'Don't none ob you say you'm too wicked to be His chile; 'ca'se youan't. He lubs de wicked ones de best, 'ca'se dey need his lub de most. Yas, my brudders, eben de wickedest, ef dey's only sorry, and turn roun'and leab off dar bad ways, he lub de bery best ob all, 'ca'se he'm alllub and pity. 

'Sam, har, my children, war wicked, but don't _we_ pity him; don't _we_tink he had a hard time, and don't we tink de bad oberseer, who'm layin'dar in de house jess ready to gwo and answer for it--don't we tink hegabe Sam bery great probincation?'

'Dat's so, ' said a dozen of the auditors. 

'Den don't you 'spose dat de blessed Lord know all dat, and dat He pitySam too? If we pore sinners feel sorry for him, an't de Lord's heartbigger'n our'n, and an't he more sorry for him? Don't you tink dat ef Helub and pity de bery worse whites, dat He lub and pity pore Sam, whowarn't so bery bad, arter all? Don't you think He'll gib Sam a house?P'r'aps 'twon't be one ob de fine hous'n, but won't it be a comfiblehouse, dat hain't no cracks, and one dat'll keep out de wind and derain? And don't you s'pose, my chil'ren, dat it'll be big 'nuff forJule, too--dat pore, repentin' chile, whose heart am clean broke, 'ca'seshe hab broughten dis on Sam--and won't de Lord--de good Lord--detender-hearted Lord--won't He touch Sam's heart, and coax him to forgibJule, and to take her inter his house up dar? I knows he will, mychil'ren. I knows--'

Here the old negro paused abruptly; for there was a quick swaying in thecrowd--a hasty rush--a wild cry--and Sam's wife burst into the openspace around the preacher, and fell at the old man's feet. Throwing herarms wildly around him, she shrieked out:

'Say dat agin, Uncle Pomp! for de lub ob de good Lord, oh! say datagin!'

Bending down, the old man raised her gently in his arms, and folding herthere, as he would have folded a child, he said, in a voice thick withemotion:

'It am so, Juley. I knows dat Sam will forgib you, and take you wid himup dar. '

Fastening her arms frantically around Pompey's neck, the poor womanburst into a paroxysm of grief, while the old man's tears fell in greatdrops on her upturned face, and many a dark cheek near was wet, as withrain. 

The scene had lasted a few minutes, and I was turning away to hide theemotion that was fast filling my eyes, and creeping up, with a chokingfeeling, to my throat, when the Colonel, from the farther edge of thegroup, called out:

'Take that d----d ---- away--take her away, Pomp!'

The old negro turned toward his master with a sad, grieved look, butgave no heed to the words. 

'Take her away, some of you, I say, ' again cried the Colonel. 'Pomp, youmustn't keep these niggers all night in the cold. '

At the sound of her master's voice the metif woman fell to the ground asif struck by a Minie-ball. Soon several negroes lifted her up to bearher away; but she struggled violently, and rent the woods with her wildcries for 'one more look at Sam. '

'Look at him, you d----d ----, then go, and don't let me see you again. '

She threw herself on the face of the dead, and covered the cold lipswith her kisses; then rose, and with a weak, uncertain step, staggeredout into the darkness. 

'The system' that had so seared and hardened that man's heart, must havebeen begotten in the lowest hell. 

The old preacher said no more, but four stout negro men stepped forward, nailed down the lids, and lowered the rough boxes into the ground. Turning to Madam P----, I saw her face was red with weeping. She rose togo just as the first earth fell, with a dull, heavy sound, on the rudecoffins; and giving her my arm, I led her from the scene. 

As we walked slowly back to the house, a low wail--half a chant, half adirge--rose from the black crowd, and floated off on the still nightair, till it died away amid the far woods, in a strange, wild moan. Withthat sad, wild music in our ears, we entered the mansion. 

As we seated ourselves by the bright wood-fire on the library hearth, obeying a sudden impulse which I could not restrain, I said to MadamP----:

'The Colonel's treatment of that poor woman is inexplicable to me. Whyis he so hard with her? It is not in keeping with what I have seen ofhis character. '

'The Colonel is a peculiar man, ' replied the lady. 'Noble, generous, anda true friend, he is also a bitter, implacable enemy. When he onceconceives a dislike, his feelings become even vindictive; and neverhaving had an ungratified wish, he does not know how to feel for thesorrows of those beneath him. Sam, though a proud, headstrong, unrulycharacter, was a great favorite with him; he felt his death much; and ashe attributes it to Jule, he feels terribly bitter toward her. She willhave to be sold to get her out of his way, for he will _never_ forgiveher. '

It was some time before the Colonel joined us, and when he at last madehis appearance, he seemed in no mood for conversation. The lady soonretired; but feeling unlike sleep, I took down a book from the shelves, drew my chair near the fire, and fell to reading. The Colonel, too, wasdeep in the newspapers, till, after a while, Jim entered the room:

'I'se cum to ax ef you've nuffin more to-night, Cunnel?' said the negro. 

'No, nothing, Jim, ' replied his master; 'but, stay--hadn't you bettersleep in front of Moye's door?'

'Dunno, sar; jess as you say. '

'I think you'd better, ' returned the Colonel. 

With a 'Yas, massa, ' the darky left the apartment. 

The Colonel shortly rose, and bade me 'good night. ' I continued readingtill the clock struck eleven, when I laid the book aside and went to myroom. 

I slept, as I have said before, on the lower floor, and was obliged topass by the door of the overseer's apartment as I went to mine. Wrappedin his blanket, and stretched at full length on the ground, Jim laythere, fast asleep. I passed on, thinking of the wisdom of placing atired negro on guard over an acute and desperate Yankee. 

I rose in the morning with the sun, and had partly donned my clothing, when I heard a loud uproar in the hall. Opening my door, I saw Jimpounding vehemently at the Colonel's room, and looking as pale as ispossible with a person of his completion. 

'What the d---l is the matter?' asked his master, who now, partlydressed, stepped into the hall. 

'Moye hab gone, sar; he'm gone and took Firefly (my host'sfive-thousand-dollar thorough-bred) wid him. '

For a moment the Colonel stood stupified; then, his face turning to acold, clayey white, he seized the black by the throat, and hurled him tothe floor. Planting his thick boot on the man's face, he seemed about todash out his brains with its ironed heel, when, at that instant, theoctoroon woman rushed, in her night-clothes, from his room, and withdesperate energy pushed him aside, exclaiming: 'What would you do?remember WHO HE IS!'

The negro rose, and the Colonel, without a word, passed into hisapartment. What followed will be the subject of another chapter. 

_PICAYUNE BUTLER. _

'General Butler was a barber, ' So the Pelicans were raving;Now you've got him in your harbor, Tell us how you like his shaving?

_LITERARY NOTICES. _

LECTURES ON THE SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE. Delivered at the royal Institution of Great Britain in April, May, and June, 1861. By MAX MULLER, Fellow of All Souls College, etc. From the second London edition, revised. New-York: Charles Scribner, Boston: A. K. Loring. 1862. 

Within the memory of man one could in England or America be 'very welleducated, ' as the word went, and yet remain grossly ignorant of thesimplest elements of the history of language. In those days Latin washeld by scholars to be derived from Greek--where the Greek came fromnobody knew or cared, though it was thought, from Hebrew. German was ajargon, Provençal a '_patois_, ' and Sanscrit an obsolete tongue, held inreverence by Hindoo savages. The vast connections of language withhistory were generally ignored. Hebrew was assumed, as a matter ofcourse, to have been the primeval language, and it was wicked to doubtit. Then came Sir William Jones, Carey, Wilkins, Forster, Colebrooke, and the other Anglo-Indian scholars, and the world learned what it oughtto have learned from the Jesuits, that there was in the East a veryancient language--Sanscrit--'of wonderful structure, more perfect thanGreek, more copious than Latin, more exquisitely refined than either;bearing to both a strong affinity, ' and stranger still, containing avast amount of words almost identical with many in all European and manyOriental tongues. This was an apocalypse of truth to many--but a sourceof grief to the orthodox believers that Greek and Latin were eitheraboriginal languages, or modifications of Hebrew. Hence the blind, andin some cases untruthful warfare made on the Sanscrit discoveries, as inthe case of Dugald Stewart. 

 'Dugald Stewart was too wise not to see that the conclusions drawn from the facts about Sanscrit were inevitable. He therefore _denied the reality of such a language as Sanscrit altogether_, and wrote his famous essay to prove that Sanscrit had been put together, after the model of Greek and Latin, by those arch forgers and liars, the Brahmins, and that the whole of Sanscrit literature was an imposture. '

But it was all of no avail. In 1808 Frederick Schlegel's work, _On theLanguage and Wisdom of the Indians_, first 'boldly faced the facts andconclusions of Sanscrit scholarship, and became, ' with all its faults, the 'foundation for the science of language. ' Its great result may begiven in one sentence--it embraced at a glance the languages of India, Persia, Greece, Italy, and Northern Europe, and riveted them by thesimple name 'Indo-Germanic. ' Then in this school, begun by Englishindustry and shaped by German genius, came Franz Bopp, with his greatcomparative grammar of the Indo-Germanic tongues, and the enormouslabors of Lassen, Rosen, Burnouf, and W. Von Humboldt--a man to whoseincredible ability of every kind, as to his secret diplomatic influence, history has never done justice. Grimm, and Rask--the first great Zendscholar--were among these early explorers, who have been followed by somany scholars, until some knowledge not merely of Greek and Latin, butof the relations of _all_ languages, has become essential to a trulygood education. 

Yet after all, Sanscrit, it was soon seen, was not the parent, but '_theelder sister_' of the Indo-Germanic languages. Behind Greek, Latin, andSanscrit, Celtic, Teutonic, and Slavonic tongues, lurks a lostlanguage--the mysterious Aryan, which, reëchoed through the tones ofthose six remaining Pleiades, its sisters, speaks of a mighty racewhich once, it may be, ruled supreme over a hundred lands, or perchancesole in the Caucasus. It is strange to see philologists slowlyreconstructing, here and there, fragments of the Aryan, 'And speak in a tongue which man speaks no more. '

Among the many excellent elementary and introductory works on philologywhich have appeared of late years, this of Müller's is on severalaccounts the best. It is clearly written, so as to be within thecomprehension of any reader of ordinary intelligence, and we can hardlyconceive that any such person would not find it an extremelyentertaining book. Its author is a _genial_ writer--he writes with arelish and with real power--he loves knowledge, and wishes others toshare it with him. Language, he holds--though the idea is not new withhim--springs from a very few hundred roots, which are the _phonetictypes_ produced by a power inherent in human nature. Every substance hasits peculiar _ring_ when struck--man, under the action of certain laws, must develop first onomato-poietic sounds, and finally language. Withthis we take leave of this excellent work, trusting that the public willextend to it the favor which it so amply deserves. 

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. By his Nephew, PIERRE M. IRVING. Vol. I. New-York: G. P. Putnam. Boston: A. K. Loring. 1862. 

This work has a strong, we might say an extraordinary claim to theinterest of the most general reader, in its very first paragraph, sincein it we are told that Washington Irving, on committing to his nephewPierre the vast mass of papers requisite to his biography, remarked:'Somebody will be writing my life when I am gone, and I wish you to doit. You must promise me that you will. ' So with unusual wealth ofmaterial, gathered together for the purpose by the subject of thebiography himself, the work has been begun, by the person whom Irvingjudged best fitted for it. 

And a delightful work it is, not a page without something of specialrelish, as might be anticipated in the chronicle of a life which isthickly studded with personal association or correspondence with almostevery intellectual eminence either of Europe or America during the pasthalf-century. But apart from this, there is a racy Irving-y flavor fromthe very beginning, long before the wide world had incorporated Irvinginto its fraternity of great men, in the details of life, of home traveland of homely incident, as set forth in extracts from his letters, whichis irresistibly charming. Full as this portion of the life is, we cannot resist the hope that it will be greatly enlarged in subsequenteditions, and that more copious extracts will be given from thoseletters, to the humblest of which the writer invariably communicates anindefinable fascination. In them, as in his regular 'writings, ' we findthe simplest incident narrated always without exaggeration--always asbriefly as possible, yet told so quaintly and humorously withal, that wewonder at the piquancy which it assumes. It is the trouble with greatmen that they are, for lack of authentic anecdotes and details of theirdaily life, apt to retire into myths. Such will not be the case withIrving. The _reality_, the life-likeness of these letters, and of the_ana_ drawn from them, will keep him, Washington Irving the New-Yorker, alive and breathing before the world to all time. In these chapters avail seems lifted from what was growing obscure in our knowledge ofsocial life in the youth of our fathers. Our only wish, in reading, isfor more of it. But the life gathers interest as it proceeds. FromAmerica it extends to Europe, and we meet the names of Humboldt, DeStaël, Allston, Vanderlyn, Mrs. Siddons, as among his associates even inearly youth. So through Home Again and in Europe Again there is aconstant succession of personal experience and wide opportunity to knowthe world. Did our limits permit, we would gladly cite largely fromthese pages, for it is long since the press has given to the world abook so richly quotable. But the best service we can render the readeris to refer him to the work itself, which is as well worth reading asany thing that its illustrious subject ever wrote, since in it we havemost admirably reflected Irving himself; the best loved of our writers, and the man who did more, so far as intellectual effort is concerned, tohonor our country than any American who ever lived. 

BEAUTIES SELECTED FROM THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS DE QUINCKY. With a Portrait. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. 

We are not sure that this is not the very first book of other thanpictorial beauties which we ever regarded with patience. Books ofliterary 'beauties' are like musical matinées--the first act of oneopera--the grand dying-scene from another--all very pretty, but not onthe whole satisfactory, or entitling one to claim from it alone any realknowledge of the original whole. Yet this volume we have foundfascinating, have flitted from page to page, backwards and forwards, [itis a great advantage in a book of 'unconnections' that one may_conscientiously_ skip about, ] and concluded by thanking in our heartthe judicious Eclectic, whoever he may be--who mosaicked these bits intoan enduring picture of De Quincey-ism. For really in it, by virtue ofselection, collection, and recollection, we have given an authenticcabinet of specimens more directly suggestive of the course andsoul-idioms of the author than many minds would gather from reading_all_ that he ever wrote. Only one thing seems needed--the greatoriginal commentary or essay on De Quincey, which these Beauties wouldmost happily illustrate. It seems to rise shadowy before us--a sort ofdead-letter ghost of a glorious book which craves life and has it not. We trust that our suggestion may induce some admirer of the Opium-Eaterto have prepared an interleaved copy of these Beauties, and perfect thesuggestion. 

THE CHURCH IN THE ARMY; OR THE FOUR CENTURIONS. By Rev. WM. A. SCOTT, D. D. , of San Francisco. New-York: Carleton, No. 413 Broadway. Boston: Crosby and Nichols. 1862. 

Since every one is doing their 'little utmost' for the army, Mr. Scotthath contributed his mite in a work on the four captains of hundredsmentioned in the Bible--the first whereof was he of Capernaum; thesecond, the one commanding at the crucifixion; the third, that ofCesarea; and the fourth, Julius, the centurion who had Paul in chargeduring his voyage to Rome. We are glad to learn, from the closeresearches and critical acumen of Rev. Mr. Scott, that there is verygood ground for concluding that all of these centurions were soimpressed by the thrilling scenes which they witnessed, and the societywith which they mingled, as to have eventually been converted and saved, a consummation which may possibly have escaped the observation of mostreaders, who, absorbed in their contemplation of the great _dramatispersonae_, seldom give thought as to what the effect on the minorcharacters must have been. It is worth observing that our author isthoroughly earnest in his exhortations--at times almost naively so. Ifhe be often rather over-inclined to threaten grim damnation to analarming majority, and describe with a relish the eternal horrors whichhang around the second death, in good old-fashioned style, still we mustremember that he sincerely means what he says, and is a Puritan of theancient stamp. 

_EDITOR'S TABLE. _

There is something intensely American in such phrases as 'manifestdestiny, ' 'mission, ' and 'call, ' and we may add, something very vigorousmay be found in the character of him who uses them. They are expressionswhich admit no alternative, no second possibility. The man of a'mission, ' or of a 'manifest destiny, ' may be a fanatic, but he will beno flincher; he will strive to the bitter end, and fall dead in thetraces; _but he will succeed_. 

We are glad to learn that there is growing up in the army, and of coursefrom it in all the homes of the whole country, a fixed impression thatthe South is inevitably destined to be 'Northed' or 'free-labored, ' asthe result of this war. The intelligent farmer in the ranks, who haslearned his superiority to 'Secesh, ' as a soldier, and who _knows_himself to be superior to any Southern in all matters of information andpractical creative _power_, looks with scorn at the worn-out fields, wasteful agriculture, and general shiftlessness of the natives, andsays, with a contemptuous laugh: 'We will get better crops out of theland, and manage it in another fashion, when _we_ settle down here. ' Notless scornfully does the mechanic look down on the clumsy, labor-wastingcontrivances of the negro or negro-stupified white man, and agree withhis mate that 'these people will never be of much account until we takethem in hand. '

Master-mechanic, master-farmer, _you are right_. These people _are_ yourinferiors; with all their boasts and brags of 'culture, ' you could teachthem, by your shrewder intelligence, at a glance, the short cut toalmost any thing at which their intellects might be employed; and youindulge in a very natural feeling, when, as conquerors, in glancing overtheir Canaan, you involuntarily plan what you will do some day, _if_ afarm should by chance be your share of the bounty-money, when the war isover. For it is absurd to suppose that such a country will continueforever a prey to the wasting and exhaustive disease of theplantation-system, or that the black will always, as at present, inefficiently and awkwardly fulfill those mechanic labors which a keenwhite workman can better manage. Wherever the hand of the Northmantouches, in these times, it shows a superior touch, whether inimprovising a six-action cotton-gin, in repairing locomotives, or insarcastically seizing a 'Secesh' newspaper and reëditing it with a stormof fun and piquancy such as its doleful columns never witnessed of old. In this and in a thousand ways, the Northern soldier realizes that he isin a land of inferiors, and a very rich land at that. At this point, hisspeculations on manifest destiny may very appropriately begin. There isno harm in suffering this idea to take firm hold. Like ultimateemancipation, it may be assumed as a fact, all to be determined in duetime, according to the progress of events, as wisely laid down byPresident Lincoln, without hurry, without feverish haste, simply guidedby the firm determination that eventually it must be. 

We can not insist too strongly on this great truth, that when a nationmakes up its mind that a certain event _must_ take place, and actscalmly in the spirit of perfect persuasion, very little is really neededto hasten the wished-for consummation. Events suddenly spring up to aid, and in due time all is accomplished. Those who strive to hurry it retardit, those who work to drag it back hasten it. Never yet on earth was areal conviction crushed or prematurely realized. So it is, so it will bewith this 'Northing' of the South. Let the country simply familiarizeitself with the idea, and the idea will advance as rapidly as need be. In it lies the only solution of the great problem of reconciling theSouth and the North; the sooner we make up our minds to the fact, thebetter; and, on the other hand, the more deliberately and calmly weproceed to the work, the more certain will its accomplishment be. Eventsare now working to aid us with tremendous power and rapidity--faith, ajudicious guiding of the current as it runs, is all that is at presentrequired to insure a happy fulfillment. 

 * * * * *

The degree to which a vindictive and malignant opposition to every thingfor the sake of 'the party' can be carried, has been well illustrated inthe amount and variety of slander which has been heaped by theSouthern-rights, sympathizing Democratic press on the efforts of thosenoble-hearted women who have endeavored to do something to alleviate thecondition of the thousands of contrabands, who are many without clothes, employment, or the slightest idea of what they are to do. It would behard to imagine any thing more harmless or more perfectly free from anything like sinister or selfish motives than have been the conduct andmotives of the noble women who have assumed this mission. FlorenceNightingale undertook nothing nobler; and the world will some dayrecognize the deserts of those who strove against every obstacle torelieve the sufferings and enlighten the ignorance of the blacks--amongwhom were thousands of women and little children. Such being the literaltruth, what does the reader think of such a paragraph as the following, which we find going the rounds of the Boston Courier and other journalsof the same political faith?

 '_On dit_, that some of the schoolmarms who went to South-Carolina several weeks ago, are not so intent upon 'teaching the young ideas how to shoot, ' as upon flirting with the officers, in a manner not entirely consistent with morality. General Hunter is going to send some of the misbehaving misses home. '

If there is a loathsome, cowardly, infamous phrase, it is that of _ondit_, 'they say, ' 'it is said, ' when used to assail the virtue ofwomen--above all, of women engaged in such a cause as that in question. We believe in our heart, this whole story to be a slander of the meanestdescription possible--a piece of as dirty innuendo as ever disgraced aDemocratic paper. The spirit of the viper is apparent in every line ofit. Yet it is in perfect keeping with the storm of abuse and falsehoodwhich has been heaped on these 'contraband' missionaries, teachers, andnurses, since they went their way. They have been accused of pilfering, of lying, of doing nothing, of corrupting the blacks, of going out onlyto speculate, and, as might have been expected, we have at last theunfailing resort of the lying coward--a dirty hint as to breaking theseventh commandment--all according to the devilish old Jesuit precept of, '_Calumniare fortiter aliquis koerebit_'--'Slander boldly, something willbe sure to stick. ' And to such a depth of degradation--to the hintingaway the characters of young ladies because they try to teach the poorcontrabands--can _men_ descend 'for the sake of the _party'!_

 * * * * *

Of late years, those soundest of philanthropists, the men ofcommon-sense who labor unweariedly to facilitate exchanges betweencivilized nations, have endeavored to promote in every possible mannerthe adoption of the same system of currency, weights and measures amongcivilized nations. It has been accepted as a rule beyond all debate, that if such mediums of business could be adopted--nay, if a commonlanguage even were in use, industry would receive an incalculableimpulse, and the production of capital be enormously increased. 

Not so, however, thinks John M. Vernon, of New-Orleans, who, stimulatedby the purest secession sentiments, and urged by the most legitimatesecession and 'State rights' logic, has developed a new principle ofexclusiveness by devising a new system of decimal currency, which hethus recommends to the rebel Congress:

 'We are a separate and distinct people, influenced by different interests and sentiments from the vandals who would subjugate us. Our manners and customs are different; our tastes and talents are different; our geographical position is different; and in conformity with natural laws, nature and instinct, our currency, --weights and measures, should be different. 

 'The basis of integral limit of value proposed for our currency, is the star, which is to be divided into one hundred equal parts, each part to be called a centime, namely: 10 centimes--1 tropic; 10 tropics--1 star; 10 stars--1 sol. 

 'These denominations for our currency have been selected for three reasons: first, they are appropriate to ourselves as a people; second, they are emblems of cheerfulness, honor, honesty of purpose, solidity, and stability; and third, the words used are simple, easily remembered, and are common to several languages. I will, in addition, observe that similar characteristics distinguish the proposed tables of weights and measures. '

'Stars'--'centimes'--'tropics, ' and 'sols. ' Why these words should bemore significant of cheerfulness, honor, honesty, and solidity, thandollars and dimes, cents and mills, is not, as yet, apparent. As setforth in this recommendation, it would really appear that the root ofall evil would have its evil properties extracted by giving the radicala different name. To be sure, the wages of sin thus far in the world'shistory, have generally been found equivalent to death, whether they aretermed guineas, francs, thalers, cobangs, pesos, sequins, ducats, ordollars. But in Dixie--happy Dixie!--they only need another name, andlo! a miracle is to be wrought at once. 

There is something in this whole proposition which accurately embodiesthe whole Southern policy. While the rest of the world is working toassimilate into civilization, they are laboring to get away andapart--to be different from everybody else--to remain provincial and'peculiar. ' It is the working of the same spirit which inspires thedesire to substitute 'State rights' or individual will, or, in plainterms, lawlessness and barbarism for enlightenment and common rights. Itis a craving for darkness instead of light, for antiquated feudalfalsehood instead of republican truth; and it will meet with the destinywhich awaits every struggle against the great and holy cause ofhumanity. 

_KYNG COTEN. _

A 'DARK' CONCEIT. 

(_Being an ensample of a longe poeme. _)

 O muse! that did me somedeal favour erst, Whereas I piped my silly oaten reede, And songs in homely guise to mine reherst, Well pleased with maiden's smilings for my meed; Sweet muse, do give my Pegasus good speede, And send to him of thy high, potent might, Whiles mortalls I all of my theme do rede, Thatte is the story of a doughty knight, Who eftsoons wageth war, Kyng COTEN is he hight. 

 Kyng Coten cometh of a goodly race, Though black it was, as records sothly tell; But thatte is nought, which only is the face, And ne the hart, where alle goode beings dwell; For witness him the puissant Hannibal, Who was in veray sooth a Black-a-Moor; And Cleopatra, Egypt's darksome belle, And others, great on earth, a hundred score; Howbeit, ilke kyng was white, which doth amaze me sore. 

 Kyng Coten cometh of a goodly race, As born of fathers clean as many as The sands thatte doe the mighty sea-shore grace, But black, as sayde, as dark is Erebus. His rule the Southron Federation was, Thatte was a part of great Columbia, Which was as fayre a clyme as man mote pass; And situate where Vesper holds his swaye, But habited wilome by men of salvage fray. 

 Farre in the North he had an enimie, Who certes was the knight's true soveraine, Who likéd not his wicked slaverie, Which 'cross God's will was counter-wisely laine, Whiles he himself, it seemeth now right playne, Did seek to have a kyngdom of his kynde, Where he, as tyrant-like, mote lonly raine; So to a treacherie he fetched his mynde, Which soon was rent in four, and sent upon each wynde. 

 His enimie thatte liveth in the North, Who, after all, was not his enimie, Ydeemed he was a gentilman of worth, Too proud to make so vile a villianie, And, therefore, did ne tent his railerie, But went his ways, as was his wont wilome; Goliah, he turned out eftsoons, ah! me, Who leaned upon his speare when David come, And laughed to scorn the sillie boy his threat'ning doom. 

 But when his stronghold in ye Southron land, Of formidable front, Forte Sumter hight, Did fall into Kyng Coten's rebell hand, Who coward-wise did challenge to the fight, Some several men again his host of might; Then Samuel, for so was he yclipt, Begun in batail's gear himself to dight, As being fooled by him with whom he sippt, And hied him out, loud crying, 'Treason must be nippt!'

 O ye who doe the crusades' musters tell, In wise that maketh myndes incredulous, And paynte how like Dan Neptune's sweeping swell The North bore down on the perfidious! Ne nigh so potent thatte as was with us; Where men, like locusts, darkened all the land, As marched they toward the place that's treacherous, And shippes, that eke did follow the command, Like forests, motion-got, doe walk along the strand. 

 Fierce battails ther were fought upon the ground, Thatte rob'd the heavens alle in ayer dunne; And shoke the world as doth the thunder's sound, Till, soth to say, it well-nigh was undone: But of them alle, ther is an one That frayle pen dispairs for to descrive, Which mortalls call the Battail of Bull Run; But why I mote ne tell, as I'm alive, Unless it haply he ther _running_ did most thrive. 

LAWRENCE MINOT. 

'Our Orientalist' appears this month with

_EGYPT IN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. _

BY A FAST TRAVELER. 

'You ought to go to the East, ' said Mr. Swift, with a wave of his hand;'I've been there, and seen it under peculiar circumstances. '

'Explain, O howaga! Give us the facts. 

'Immediately. Just place the punch-pitcher where I can reach it easily. That's right! Light another Cabañas. So; now for it. In 1858, month ofDecember, I was settled in comfortable quarters in the Santa Lucia, Naples, and fully expected to winter there at my ease, when, to mydisgust, I received letters from England, briefly ordering me by firststeamer to Alexandria, thence per railroad to Cairo, there to see thehead of a certain banking-house; transact my business, and return toNaples with all possible dispatch. No sooner said than done; there wasone of the Messagérie steamers up for Malta next day; got my passportvisaed, secured berth, all right. Next night I was steaming it pastStromboli, next morning in Messina; then Malta, where I found steamer upfor Alexandria that night; in four days was off that port, at sixo'clock in the morning, and at half-past eight o'clock was in the cars, landing in Cairo at four o'clock in the afternoon. Posted from therailroad-station to the banker's, saw my man, arranged my business, wasto receive instructions at seven o'clock the next morning, and at eighto'clock take the return train to Alexandria, where a steamer was to sailnext day, that would carry me back to Naples, _presto_! as the jugglerssay. 

'There, breathe a little, and take another glass of punch, while Irecall my day in the East. 

'Through at the banker's, he recommended me to the Hotel ----, where Iwould find a good table, clean rooms, and none of my Englishcompatriots. I love my native land and my countrymen _in it_, but as forthem out of it, and as Bohemians--ugh! I am too much of a wolf myself tolove wolves. Arrived at the hotel, with my head swimming withpalm-trees, railroad, turbans, tarbooshes, veiled women, camels, pipes, dust, donkeys, oceans of blue calico, groaning water-wheels, the Nile, far-off view of the Pyramids, etc. , I at once asked the headwaiter for aroom, water, towels; he passed me into the hands of a very tall Berberanswering to the name of Yusef, who was dressed in flowing garments andtarboosh, and who was one of the gentlest beings entitled to wearbreeches I have ever seen; he had feet that in my recollection seem ayard long, and how he managed to move so noiselessly, unless both pedalswere soft-shod, worries me to the present time. Well, at six o'clock thegong sounded for dinner, and out I went over marble floors to the dininghall, where I found only three other guests, who saluted me courteouslywhen I entered, and at a signal from Yusef, a compromise between a bowand a salaam, we seated ourselves at table. Of the three guests, one wasparticularly a marked man, apart from his costume, that of a cavalryofficer in the Pacha's service; there was something grand in his face, large blue eyes, full of humor and _bonhommie_, a prominent nose, abroad forehead, burned brown with the sun, his head covered with theomnipresent tarboosh, a mustache like Cartouche's; such was my_vis-à-vis_ at the hotel-table. 

'In conversation with this officer, it turned up that one of my mostintimate friends was his cousin, and so we had a bottle of oldEast-India pale sherry over that; then we had another to finally cementour acquaintance; I said finally--I should say, finally for dinner. 

'I have seen the interiors of more than three hundred hotels in Europe, Africa, and America; but I have yet to see one that appeared sooutrageously romantic as that of the Hotel ----, at Cairo, after thatsecond bottle of sherry! The divans on which we reposed, the curiousinterlacing of the figures on the ceiling, the raised marble floor atthe end of the room overlooking the street, the arabesques on the doors, and finally the never-ending masquerade-ball going on in the streetunder the divans where we sat and smoked. 

'I can't tell you how it happened, but after very small cups of veryblack coffee and a pousse café, in the officer's room, of genuinekirschwasser and good curaçoa, I was mounted on a bay horse; there was adapple-gray alongside of me; and running ahead of us, to clear the way, the officer's _sais_ afoot, ready to hold our horses when we halted. Wewere quickly mounted and off like the wind, past turbans, flowingbournouses, tarbooshes, past grand old mosques, petty cafés, where thefaithful were squatting on bamboo-seats, smoking pipes or drinkingcoffee-grounds, while listening to a storyteller, possibly relating somestory in the _Arabian Nights_; then we were through the bazaars, allclosed now and silent; then up in the citadel, and through the mosque ofYusef; then down and scouring over the flying sand among the grand oldtombs of the Mamelukes and of the caliphs; then off at break-neck speedtoward the Mokatamma mountains, from a rise on the lower spur of one ofwhich we saw, in the shadow of the coming night, the Pyramids and theslow-flowing Nile. 

'Again we were in Cairo, and now threading narrow street after street, the fall of our horses' hoofs hardly heard on the unpaved ways, as wewere passing under overhanging balconies covered with lace-worklattices. As it grew darker, our _sais_ preceded us with lightedlantern, shouting to pedestrians, blind and halt, to clear the road forthe coming effendis. 

'_Halte la!_

'My foaming bay was reined in with a strong hand, I leaped from thesaddle, and found the _sais_ at hand to hold our horses, while we sawthe seventh heaven of the Koran, and by no means _al Hotama_. 

'With a foresight indicating an old campaigner, the officer produced acouple of bottles of sherry from the capacious folds of the _sais_'mantle, and unlocking the door of the house in front of which we stood, invited me to enter. Two or three turns, a court-yard full ofrose-bushes, and an enormous palm-tree, a fountain shooting up itssparkling waters in the moonlight, a clapping of hands, chibouks, sherrycooled in the fountain. 

'Then, in the moonlight, the gleam of white flowing garments, thenervous thrill breathed in from perfumes filling the evening air; thegreat swimming eyes; the kiss; the ah!--other bottles of sherry. Thefingans of coffee, the pipe of Latakiah tobacco, the blowing a cloudinto dreamland, while Fatima or Zoe insists on taking a puff with you. 

'But as she said, '_Hathih al-kissah moaththirah_, which, in thevernacular, is. 'This history is affecting, ' so let us pass it by. Wefinished those two bottles of sherry, and if Mohammed, in his majesty, refuses admittance to two Peris into paradise, because they drank sherrythat night, let the sins be on our shoulders, WE are to blame. 

 * * * * *

'Next morning, at seven o'clock, I was at the banker's, and received hisorders, and at six o'clock that evening was steaming out of Alexandria, bound to Naples _via_ Malta. A little over twenty-four hours, and I hadSEEN THE ORIENT THROUGH SHERRY--pale, golden, and serenely beautiful!

'Pass the punch. '

 * * * * *

Very welcome is our pleasant contributor--he who of late discoursed on'honeyed thefts' and rural religious discipline--and now, in thepresent letter, he gives us his views on meals, feeds, banquets, symposia, or by whatever name the reader may choose to designateassemblies for the purpose of eating. 

 Please make room at this table, right here, for me. Surely at a table of such dimensions, there should be plenty of room. Many a table-scene do I now recall, in days gone by, 'all of which I saw, and part of which I was, ' but nothing like this. Tables of all sorts and sizes, but never a CONTINENTAL table before. I suppose the nearest approach to it was _the_ picnic dinner the wee youngsters used to eat off the _ground_! A CONTINENTAL table! The most hospitable idea imaginable. Give place! Do you demand my credentials, my card, my ticket? Here we have it all; a little note from mine host, Mr. LELAND, inviting the bearer to this monthly repast, and requesting, very properly--it was the way we always did, when we used to get up picnics--that the receiver of the note bring some sort of refreshments along. Thank you. This seat is very comfortable. What more appropriate, at such a time, than the discussion of _the Meal?_

 I protest I am no glutton; in fact, I despise the man whose meal-times are the epochs of his life; yet I frankly confess to emotions of a very positive character, in contemplating the associations of the table, and I admit farther, that I take pleasure in the reality as well as in the imagination. I like to be 'one of the company, ' whether in palace or in farm-house. I always brighten up when I see the dining-room door thrown open to an angle hospitably obtuse, and am pleased alike with the politely-worded request, 'Will the ladies and gentlemen please walk out and partake of some refreshments?' or the blunt, kindly voice of mine host, 'Come, friends; dinner's ready. ' Still I assert my freedom from any slavish fondness for the creature comforts. It is not the bill of fare that so pleases me. In fact, some of the best meals of which I have ever partaken, were those the materials of which I could not have remembered twenty minutes after. Exquisite palatal pleasures, then, are not a _sine qua non_ in the enjoyment of table comforts. No, indeed. There is a condiment which is calculated to impart a high relish to the humblest fare; but without this charmed seasoning, every banquet is a failure. Solomon was a man of nice observation, even in so humble a matter as a meal. Let him reveal the secret in his own words: 'Better is a dinner of herbs, where LOVE is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith. '

 By a merciful arrangement of Providence, man is so constituted that he may think, talk, and eat, all at one and the same time. Hence, the table is often the scene of animated and very interesting conversations, provided _love is there_. Many of our Saviour's most interesting and instructive discourses were delivered while 'sitting at meat, ' and the 'table-talk' of some authors is decidedly the most meritorious of all their performances. 

 But the truth is, there are not many meals where love _is_ entirely absent. Cheerfulness is naturally connected with eating; eating begets it probably. It is difficult for a man to eat at all, if he is in a bad humor. Quite impossible, if he is in a rage; especially if he is obliged to sit down to his dinner in company with the man he hates. There are so many little kind offices that guests must perform for each other at table, so many delicate compliments may be paid to those we love or revere, by polite attentions to them, and so necessary, indeed, have these become to our notion of a satisfactory repast, that to banish such amiable usages from our tables would be not only to degrade us to the level of the brute, but would deprive us of a most humanising and refining means of enjoyment. How beautiful and necessary, then, is the arrangement by which, morning, noon, and night, (I pity folks who only eat twice a day, ) the members of the household are brought together in such kindly intercourse around the family board! How seldom would they assemble thus pleasantly, were it not for the meal!

 The little wounds and scratches which the sharp edges of our characters will inflict upon each other, when brought together in the necessary contact of daily intercourse, would otherwise be suffered to fret and vex us sorely; but before they have had time to fester and inflame, meal-time comes, and brings with it the magic, mollifying oil. 

 It is meet, then, (we spell the word with two e's, mind you, ) that, on any occasion of public rejoicing, the banquet should be an indispensable accompaniment. The accomplishment of some important public enterprise, the celebration of the birth-days of great and good men, a nation's holidays, the reünions of friends engaged in a common cause, are occasions in which the dinner, very properly, constitutes one of the leading features. 

 And what can be more exhilarating than the innocent mirthfulness, the unaffected kindnesses, the witty speeches, the sprightly conversations which are universally incident to such occasions? No wonder Lycurgus decreed that the Spartans should eat in public. Ostensibly, it was for the sake of the grave conversations of the elders at such times, but really, I imagine, it was to keep the citizens (who had been at swords' points with each other) in a good humor, by bringing them around a common table. 

 He knew that if any thing would soften their mutual asperities and cultivate mutual good feeling, such a measure would. Would it not be well for modern times to take a hint here? Had I been appointed architect of the Capitol, I think I could have saved the feuds which long ago sprang up, and which have resulted in, and will yet bring about, alas! we know not how much bloodshed. I would have constructed a couple of immense dining-rooms, with all the necessary appurtenances. Just to think how different would have been the aspect of things in the chamber where Sumner once lay bleeding, and in the hall where a gentleman, in a mêlée, '_stubbed his toe and fell_!' There would have been Mr. Breckinridge, in a canopied seat at the head of one of the tables, rapping the Senate to order with his knife-handle, and Mr. Orr at the head of the other, uncovering an immense tureen, with the remark that '_the House will now proceed to business_!' How strange it would be to hear any angry debate at such a time! Imagine a Congressman helping himself to a batter-cake and at the same time calling his brother-member a liar! or throwing down his napkin, by way of challenge to '_the gentleman on the opposite side of the table_!' Think of Keitt politely handing Grow the cream-pitcher, and attempting to knock him down before the meal was dispatched. Had the discussion of the Lecompton Constitution been carried on simultaneously with that of a couple of dozen roast turkeys, I sometimes think we might have avoided this war. 

 Not only in public but in private rejoicings, is the table the scene of chief enjoyment. When was it that the fatted calf was killed? On what occasion was the water turned into wine? What better way to rejoice over the return of a long-absent one than to meet him around the hospitable table? Ye gods! let your mouths water! There's a feast ahead for our brave soldiers, when they come home from this war, that will make your tables look beggarly. I refer to that auspicious moment when the patriot now baring his bosom to the bloody brunt of war, shall sit down once more to the table, in his own dear home, however humble, and partake of the cheerful meal in peace, with his wife and his little ones about him. Oh! for the luxury of that first meal! I almost feel as if I could endure the hardships of the fierce campaign that precedes it. 

 There is no memory so pleasant to me as that of the annual reünion of my aunts and uncles, with their respective troops of cousins, at the house of my dear grandmother of blessed memory. It was pleasant to watch the conveyances one by one coming in, laden with friends who had traveled many a weary mile to be present on the great occasion. It was pleasant to witness the mutual recognitions of brothers and sisters with their respective wives and husbands; to observe the transports of the little fellows, in their hearty greetings, after a twelve months' separation, and to hear their expressions of mingled surprise and delight on being introduced to the strange _little_ cousins, whose presence increased the number considerably above the preceding census. But the culminating point was yet to come. That was attained when all the brothers and sisters had gathered around the great long table, just as they did when they were children, with their dear mother at the head, surveying the scene in quiet enjoyment, and one of the 'older boys' at the foot, to ask a blessing. There were the waffle-cakes, baked in the irons which had furnished every cake for that table for the last quarter of a century. There was the roast-turkey, which grandma had been putting through a generous system of dietetics for weeks, preparatory to this occasion. It rested on the same old turkey-plate, with its two great birds sitting on a rose-bush, and by its side was the great old carving-knife, which had from time immemorial been the instrument of dissection on such occasions. And there was maple-molasses from Uncle D----'s 'sugar-camp, ' and cheese from Aunt N----'s press, and honey from Uncle T----'s hives, and oranges which Aunt I----, who lived in the city, had provided, and all contained in the old-fashioned plates and dishes of a preceding generation. 

 I discover I am treating my subject in a very desultory manner. Perhaps I should have stated that under the head of the complete genus, _meal_, there are three distinct species, public, social, and private. That the grand banquet, celebrating some great man's birth, or the success of some noble public enterprise, with its assemblages of the great and the good from every part of the country; the Fourth of July festival, in honor of our nation's independence, with its speeches, its drums, its toasts, and its cannon; the '_table d'hôte_, ' or in plain English, the hotel dinner-table, so remarkable for the multitude of its dishes and the meagreness of their contents; the harvest-feast, the exact opposite of the last-named, even to the mellow thirds and fifths that come floating over the valleys from the old-fashioned dinner-horn, calling in the tired laborers; its musical invitation in such striking contrast with the unimagined horrors of the gong that bellows its expectant victims to their meals; the family repast, where one so often feels gratified with the delicate compliment of a mother, a sister, or a wife, in placing some favorite dish or flower near his plate; the annual gatherings of jolly alumni; the delightful concourse of relatives and friends; the gleesome picnic lunch, with its grassy carpet and log seats; the luxurious oyster-supper, with its temptations 'to carry the thing too far;' the festival at the donation-party, which, in common parlance, would be called a dish of 'all sorts;' the self-boarding student's desolate corn-cake, baked in a pan of multifarious use: all these are so many modifications under their respective species. 

 Let me remark, in conclusion, that there are some meals from which I pray to be delivered. There is the noisy dinner of the country-town _tavern_ or railroad station, where each individual seems particularly anxious that number _one_ should be provided for, and where, in truth, he is obliged often to make pretty vigorous efforts, if he succeeds. Again, have you ever observed how gloomy is the look of those who for the first time gather around the table, after the departure of a friend? The breakfast was earlier than usual, and the dishes were suffered to stand and the beds to go unmade, and housemaid, chamber-maid, cook, and seamstress, all engaged in the _mélée_ of packing up, and of course came in for their share of 'good-bys. ' After the guests were fairly off, 'things took a stand-still' for a while. All hands sat down and rested, and looked very blank, and didn't know just where to begin. Slowly, confusion began to relax _his_ hold, and order, by degrees, resumed _her_ sway; (for the life of me, I can't bring myself to determine the genders in any other way. ) But when, at last, the dinner-hour came, how strangely silent were the eaters! Ah! if the departed one have gone to his long home, how _solemn_ is this first meeting of the family, after their return to their lonely home! It may be the sire whose place at the head of the table is now vacant, and whose silvery voice we no longer hear humbly invoking the divine blessing; or perhaps the mother, and how studiously we keep our eye away from the seat where her generous hand was wont to pour our tea. Perhaps the little one, the idol of the household, whose chirruping voice was wont to set us all laughing with droll remarks, expressed in baby dialect. How we miss the little high-chair that was always drawn up 'close by papa!' How our eyes will swim and our hearts swell up and choke us when we see it pushed back into the corner, now silent and vacant! Hast thou not wept thus? Be grateful. Thou hast been spared one of life's keenest pangs. 

Thou speakest well. Dr. Doran has pleased us with his _Table Traits_, but a great book yet remains to be written on the social power of meals. The immortals were never so lordly as when assembled at the celestialtable, where inextinguishable laughter went the rounds with the nectar. The heroes of Valhalla were most glorious over the ever-growingroast-boar and never-failing mead. Heine suggests a millennial banquetof all nations, where the French are to have the place of honor, fortheir improvements in freedom and in cookery, and Master Rabelais couldimagine nothing more genial than when in the _Moyen de Parvenir_, heplaced all the gay, gallant, wise, brave, genial, joyous dames anddemoiselles, knights, and scholars of all ages at one eternal supper. Ah! yes; it matters but little what is 'gatherounded, ' as a quaintAmericanism hath it, so that the wit, and smiles, and good-fellowship bethere. 

 * * * * *

It is stated in the newspapers--we know not on what authority--thatCharles A. Dana, late of the New-York _Tribune_, will probably receivean important appointment in the army. A man of iron will, of indomitableenergy, undoubted courage, and of an inexhaustible genius, whichdisplays itself by mastering every subject as by intuition, Dana is onewhom, of all others, we would wish to see actively employed in the war. We have described him in by-gone days as one who was 'an editor bydestiny and a soldier by nature, ' and sincerely trust that his careerwill yet happily confer upon him military honors. No man in America--wespeak advisedly--has labored more assiduously, or with more sterlinghonest conviction in politics, than Charles A. Dana. The influence whichhe has exerted has been immense, and it is fit that it be recognized. Men who, like him, combine stern integrity with vigorous practicaltalent, have a claim to lead. 

 * * * * *

Among the most striking songs which the war has brought forth, we mustclass that grim Puritanical lyric, 'The Kansas John Brown, ' whichappeared originally in the Kansas _Herald_, and which is, as we areinformed, extensively sung in the army. The words are as follows:

THE KANSAS JOHN BROWN SONG. 

 Old John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, While the bondmen all are weeping whom he ventured for to save; But though he lost his life a-fighting for the slave, His soul is marching on. Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! His soul is marching on. 

 John Brown was a hero undaunted, true and brave, And Kansas knew his valor when he fought her rights to save; And now, though the grass grows green above his grave, His soul is marching on. 

 He captured Harper's Ferry with his nineteen men so few, And frightened Old Virginia till she trembled through and through; They hung him for a traitor--themselves a traitor crew, But his soul is marching on. 

 John Brown was John the Baptist of the Christ we are to see; CHRIST, who of the bondmen shall the Liberator be; And soon through all the South the slaves shall all be free, For his soul goes marching on. 

 John Brown he was a soldier--a soldier of the LORD; John Brown he was a martyr--a martyr to the WORD; And he made the gallows holy when he perished by the cord, For his soul goes marching on. 

 The battle that John Brown begun, he looks from heaven to view, On the army of the Union with its flag, red, white and blue; _And the angels shall sing hymns o'er the deeds we mean to do_, _As we go marching on!_

 Ye soldiers of JESUS, then strike it while you may, The death-blow of Oppression in a better time and way, For the dawn of Old John Brown is a-brightening into day, And his soul is marching on. Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! Glory, glory, Hallelujah! His soul is marching on. 

There! if the soldiers of Cromwell and of Ireton had any lyric to beat_that_, we should like to see it. Among its rough and rude rhymes gleamsout a fierce fire which we supposed was long since extinct. Verily, oldFather Puritan is _not_ dead yet, neither does he sleep; and to judge fromwhat we have heard of the effects of this song among the soldiers, weshould say that grim Old John Brown himself, far from perishing, is evennow terribly alive. There is something fearful in the inspiration whichcan inspire songs like this. 

 * * * * *

'GALLI VAN T' is welcome, and will be 'welcomer' when he again visits usin another letter like _this_:

 DEAR CONTINENTAL: I have a friend who is not an artful man, though he be full of art; and yesterday evening he told me the following:

 'In my early days, when I took views of burly farmers and their bouncing daughters in oil, and painted portraits of their favorite horses for a very moderate _honorarium_, and in short, was the artist of a small country town--why, then, to tell the truth, I was held to be one of the greatest painters in existence. Since studying abroad, and settling down in New-York--'

 'And getting your name up among the first, ' I added. 

 'Never mind that--I'm not 'the greatest painter that ever lived' here. But in Spodunk, I was. Folks 'admired to see me. ' I was a man that 'had got talent into him, ' and the village damsels invited me to tea. There were occasional drawbacks, to be sure. One day a man who had heard that I had painted Doctor Hewls's house, called and asked me what I would charge to paint his little 'humsted. ' I offered to do it for twenty dollars. 

 'He gave me a shrewd gimlet-look and said:

 'Find your own paint--o' course?'

 ''Of course, ' I replied. 

 ''What color?'

 ''Why, the same color you now have, ' was my astonished answer. 

 ''Wall, I don't know. My wife kind o' thinks that turtle-color would suit our house better than Spanish brown. You put on two coats, of course?'

 'I now saw what he meant, and roaring with laughter, explained to him that there was a difference between a painter of houses and a house-painter. 

 'One morning I was interrupted by a grim, Herculean, stern-looking young fellow--one who was manifestly a man of facts--who, with a brief introduction of himself, asked if I could teach 'the pictur business. ' I signified my assent, and while talking of terms, continued painting away at a landscape. I noticed that my visitor glanced at my work at first as if puzzled, and then with an air of contempt. Finally he inquired:

 '''S _that_ the way you make your pictures?'

 ''That is it, ' I replied. 

 ''Do you have to keep workin' it in, bit by bit, _slow_--like as a gal works woosted-patterns?'

 ''Yes, and sometimes much slower, to paint well. '

 ''How long 'll it take to learn your trade?'

 ''Well, if you've any genius for it, you may become a tolerable artist in two years. '

 ''Two--_thunder_! Why, a man could learn to make shoes, in that time!'

 ''Very likely. There is not one man in a hundred, who can make shoes, who would ever become even a middling sort of artist. '

 ''_Darn_ paintin'!' was the reply of my visitor, as he took up his club to depart--his hat had not been removed during the whole of the visit. 'Darn paintin'! I thought you did the thing with stencils, and finished it up with a comb and a scraper. Mister, I don't want to hurt your feeling--but 'cordin' to _my_ way o' thinkin', paintin' as _you_ do it, an't a trade at all--it's nothin' but a darned despisable _fine art!_'

 'And with this candid statement of his views, my lost pupil turned to go. I burst out laughing. He turned around squarely, and presenting an angry front not unlike that of a mad bull, inquired abruptly, as he glared at me:

 ''Maybe you'd like to paint my portrit?'

 'I looked at him steadily in the eyes, as I gravely took up my spatula, (I knew he thought it some deadly kind of dagger, ) and answered:

 ''I don't paint animals. 

 'He gave me a parting look, and 'abscondulated. ' When I saw him last, he was among the City Fathers! GALLI VAN T. '

 * * * * *

_A SONG OF THE PRESENT. _

BY EDWARD S. RAND, JR. 

 Not to the Past whose smouldering embers lie, Sad relics of the hopes we fondly nursed, Not to the moments that have hurried by, Whose joys and griefs are lived, the best, the worst. 

 Not to the Future, 'tis a realm where dwell Fair, misty ghosts, which fade as we draw near, Whose fair mirages coming hours dispel, A land whose hopes find no fruition here. 

 But to the Present: be it dark or bright, Stout-hearted greet it; turn its ill to good; Throw on its clouds a soul-reflected light; Its ills are blessings, rightly understood. 

 Prate not of failing hopes, of fading flowers; Whine not in melancholy, plaintive lays, Of joys departed, vanished sunny hours; A cheerful heart turns every thing to praise. 

 Clouds can not always lower, the sun must shine; Grief can not always last, joy's hour will come; Seize as you may, each sunbeam, make it thine, And make thy heart the sunshine's constant home. 

 Nor for thyself alone, a sunny smile Carries a magic nothing can withstand; A cheerful look may many a care beguile, And to the weary be a helping hand. 

 Be brave--clasp thy great sorrows in thy arms; Though eagle-like, they threat, with lifted crest, The dread, the terror which thy soul alarms, Shall turn a peaceful dove upon thy breast. 

 * * * * *

_A STRANGE STORY--ITS SEQUEL. _

PREFACE. 

The often expressed wish of the American Press for an explanation of themeaning of 'A Strange Story, ' shall be complied with. It is purely andsimply this: Many novels, most of them, in fact, treat of the World; therest may be divided into those vaguely attempting to describe the worksof the Flesh and the Devil. This division of subjects is fatal to theirforce; there was need to write a novel embracing them all; therefore 'AStrange Story' was penned. Mrs. Colonel Poyntz personated the World, Doctor Fenwick the Flesh, and Margrave, _alias_ Louis Grayle, certainly, I may be allowed to say, played the Devil with marked ability. To give afitting _morale_ to all, the character of Lilian Ashleigh was thrown in;the good genius, the conqueror of darkness, the positive of theelectrical battery meeting the negative and eliciting sparks oftriumphant light--such was the heroine. 

Man, conscious of a future life, and endowed with imagination, is notcontent with things material, especially if his brain is crowded withthe thoughts of the brains of ten thousand dead authors, and his nervoussystem is over-tasked and over-excited. In this condition he rushesaway--away from cool, pure, and lovely feature--burying himself in thehot, spicy, and gorgeous dreams of Art. He would adore Cagliostro, whilehe mocked Doctor Watts! Infatuated dreamer! Returning at last, by goodchance--or, rather, let me say, by the directing hand ofProvidence--from his evil search of things tabooed, to admiration of theReal, the Tangible, and the True; he will show himself as Doctor Fenwickdoes in this sequel, a strong, sensible, family-man, with a clear headand no-nonsense about him. 

CHAPTER I. 

'I think, ' said Faber, with a sigh, 'that I must leave Australia and goto other lands, where I can make more money. You remember when thatEgyptian woman bore the last--positively the last--remains of Margrave, or Louis Grayle, to the vessel?'

'I do, ' quoth Doctor Fenwick. 

'Well, a pencil dropped from the pocket of the inanimate form. I pickedit up, and on it was stamped in gilded letters:

 'FABER, No. 4. '

I believe it may belong to one of my family--lost, perhaps, in the oceanof commerce. '

'Who knows? We will think of this anon; but hark! the tea-bell is rung;let us enter the house. '

CHAPTER II. 

'Good gracious! Doctor Faber, I am so glad to see you. Sit right down inthis easy-chair. We've muffins for tea, and some preserves sent all theway from dear Old England. Now, Allen, be lively to-night, and show ushow that cold chicken should be carved. '

Thus Lilian, Doctor Fenwick's wife, rattled on. She had grown very stoutin the five years passed since 'A Strange Story' was written, and nowweighed full thirteen stone, was red-cheeked and merry as a cricket. Mrs. Ashleigh, too, had grown very stout and red-cheeked, and wasbustling around when the two doctors entered the room. 

'How much do you think I weigh?' asked Fenwick of Doctor Faber. 

'About fifteen stone, ' answered the old doctor, while he dissected aside-bone of the chicken. 'I think you did well to begin farming inearnest. There is nothing like good hard work to cure the dyspepsia andromantic dreams. '

'Indeed, dear doctor, and you have reason, to be sure, ' said Mrs. Ashleigh. 'And pray, don't you think, now, that Lilian is a great dealmore comely since she has given up worsted-work and dawdling, and takento filling her duties as housewife?'

'To be sure I do. '

The doctor here passed the muffins to Lilian. She helped herself to abrown one, remarking:

'It is such a blessed thing to have a fine appetite, and be able to eathalf-a-dozen muffins for tea! Oh! by the way, Allen, I wish you wouldbuy three or four more barrels of pale ale--we are nearly out. '

CHAPTER III. 

'Here ye are, gen-till-men! This fine de-tersive soap--on-ly thrippencea tab-let--takes stains out of all kinds of things. Step up while thereair a few tab-lets left of this in-im-a-table art-tickle unsold. '

'Who's that guy in the soap-trade?' asked one policeman of another oneas they passed along Lowther Arcade and saw the man whose conversationis reported above. 

'He's a deep one, hi know, ' said the one asked. ''Is name is Grayle, Louis Grayle. There's hodd stories 'bout 'im, werry hodd. 'E tries towork a werry wiry dodge on the johnny-raws, bout bein' ha 'undred handten years hold. Says 'e's got some kind o' water wot kips hun' fromgrowink hold, My heye! strikes me if 'e 'ad, 'e wouldn't bein' sellin'soap 'bout 'ere. Go hup to 'im hand tell 'im to move hon, 'e's benwurkin this lay long enough, I _ham_ thinkin'. 

Such, gentle reader, was the condition of Louis Grayle when I last sawhim. By the assistance of confederates and other means, he had imposedon our good friend Doctor Fenwick, in former years, and nearly driventhat poor gentleman crazy during his celibacy, especially as the doctorin all this period would smoke hasheesh and drink laudanumcocktails--two little facts neglected to be mentioned in 'A StrangeStory. ' Now, he was poor as a crow, this Louis Grayle, and was only tooglad to turn the information he had learned of Haroun of Aleppo, toprofitable account--the most valuable knowledge he had gained from thatOriental sage being the composition of a soap, good to erase stains fromhabits. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mrs. Colonel Poyntz having rendered herself generally disagreeable toeven the London world of fashion, by her commanding presence, has beenquietly put aside, and at latest accounts, every thing else havingfailed, had taken up fugitive American secessionists for subjects, andreports of revolvers and pokers (a slavish game of cards) werecirculated as filling the air she ruled. 

CHAPTER V. 

Doctor Fenwick is now the father of four small tow-headed children, whoposs the long Australian days teasing a tame Kangaroo and stoning theloud-laughing great kingfisher and other birds, catalogue of which ismislaid. His wife has not had a single nervous attack for years, andprobably never will have another. Doctor Faber married Mrs. Ashleigh!

Doctor Fenwick, it is needless to say, has thrown his library ofAlchemists, Rosicrucianists, Mesmerists, Spiritualists, Transcendentalists, and all other trashy lists into the fire, togetherwith several pounds of bang, hasheesh, cocculus indicus, and opium. Heat this present time of writing, is an active, industrious, intelligent, and practical man, finding in the truthful working out THE greatproblem, Do unto others as you would have others do unto you, anexceeding great reward. 

THE END. 

 * * * * *

_WHAT THEN?_

BY J. HAL. ELLIOT. 

 God's pity on them! Human souls, I mean, Crushed down and hid 'neath squalid rags and dirt, And bodies which no common sore can hurt; All this between Those souls, and life--corrupt, defiled, unclean. 

 And more--hard faces, pinched by starving years. Cold, stolid, grimy faces--vacant eyes, Wishful anon, as when one looks and dies; But never tears! Tears would not help them--battling constant jeers. 

 Forms, trained to bend and grovel from the first, Crouching through life forever in the dark, Aimlessly creeping toward an unseen mark; And no one durst Deny their horrid dream, that they are curst. 

 And life for them! dare we call life its name? O God! an arid sea of burning sand, Eternal blackness! death on every hand! A smothered flame, Writhing and blasting in the tortured frame. 

 And death! we shudder when we speak the word; 'Tis all the same to them--or life, or death; They breathe them both with every fevered breath; When have they heard, That cool Bethesda's waters might be stirred!

 They live among us--live and die to-day; We brush them with our garments on the street, And track their footsteps with our dainty feet; 'Poor common clay!' We curl our lips--and that is what we say. 

 God's pity on them! and on us as well: They live and die like brutes, and we like men: Both go alone into the dark--what then? Or heaven, or hell? They suffered in this life! Stop! Who can tell?

 * * * * *

The last stranger who visited Washington Irving, before his death, wasTheodore Tilton, who published shortly afterward an account of theinterview. Mr. Tilton wrote also a private letter to a friend, giving aninteresting reminiscence, which he did not mention in his publishedaccount. The following is an extract from this letter, now first madepublic:

 As I was about parting from Mr. Irving, at the door-step, he held my hand a few moments, and said:

 'You know Henry Ward Beecher?'

 'Yes, ' I replied, 'he is an intimate friend. '

 'I have never seen him, ' said he, 'tell me how he looks. '

 I described, in a few words, Mr. Beecher's personal appearance; when Mr. Irving remarked:

 'I take him to be a man always in fine health and cheery spirits. '

 I replied that he was hale, vigorous, and full of life; that every drop of his blood bubbled with good humor. 

 'His writings, ' said Knickerbocker, 'are full of human kindness. I think he must have a great power of enjoyment. '

 'Yes, ' I added, 'to hear him laugh is as if one had spilt over you a pitcher of wine. '

 'It is a good thing for a man to laugh well, ' returned the old gentleman, smiling. He then observed:

 'I have read many of your friend's writings; he draws charming pictures; he inspires and elevates one's mind; I wish I could once take him by the hand. '

 At which I instantly said:

 'I will ask him to make you a visit. '

 'Tell him I will give him a Scotch welcome; tell him that I love him, though I never have seen his face. '

 These words were spoken with such evident sincerity, that Sunnyside will always have a sunnier place in my memory, because of the old man's genial tribute to my dear friend. 

 I am ever yours, THEODORE TILTON. 

 * * * * *

The following paragraph from the _Boston Traveller, _ contains a fewfacts well worth noting:

 'The secession sympathizers in the North have two favorite dodges for the service of their friends, the enemy. The first is, to magnify the numbers of the rebel forces, placing them at 500, 000 men, whereas they never have had above half as many men in the field, all told, and counting negroes as well as white men. The other is, to magnify the cost of the war on the side of the Federalists. They tell us that our public war-debt, by the close of the current fiscal year, June 30, 1862, will be $1, 200, 000, 000, (twelve hundred million dollars. ) They know better than this, for that debt will, at the date named, be not much above $620, 000, 000, which would be no greater burden on the country than was that which it owed in 1815, perhaps not so great a burden as that was. People should not allow themselves to be frightened by the prophecies of men who, if they could be sure of preserving slavery in all its force, would care for nothing else. '

It is always easy to make up a gloomy statement, and this has been doneof late to perfection by the demo-secessionists among us. It is an easymatter to assume, as has been done, the maximum war expenditure for onesingle day, and say that it is the average. It is easy, too, to say that'You can never whip the South, ' and point to Richmond 'bounce' inconfirmation. It will all avail nothing. Slavery is going--of _that_rest assured--and the South is to be thoroughly Northed with new blood. _Delenda est Dixie. _

Our 'private' readers in the army--of whom we have enough, we are proudto say, to constitute a pretty large-sized public--may rest assured thataccounts will not be settled with the South without very seriousconsideration of what is due to the soldier for his services 'insnatching the common-weal from the jaws of hell, ' as the Latin memorialto Pitt, on the Dedham stone hath it. It has been said that republicsare ungrateful; but in this instance the adage must fall to the ground. The soldier will be as much needed after the war, to settle the South, 'North it, ' and preserve the Union by his intellect and his industry, ashe now is to reestablish it by his bravery. 

We find the following in the Boston _Courier_ of March 29th:

 'Our attention has been called to a statement in the _CONTINENTAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE_, to the effect, that certain interesting 'Notes on the Gulf States, ' which have recently appeared in this paper were reproductions, with certain alterations, of letters which were printed in the _Knickerbocker Magazine_ several years ago. The statement made is not positive, but made with such qualifications as might lead to the inference that the comparison was not very carefully made. We can only say, that we have had no opportunity to confer with our distant correspondent, who handed us the whole series of 'Notes' together, in manuscript, for publication; nor had we any reason to believe that they were ever printed before, either in whole or in part. We can say nothing further, until we know more about the grounds for the intimation of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. '

We were guarded in our statement, not having at hand, when we wrote theparagraph referred to, more than three or four numbers of the Couriercontaining the Gulf States articles, and not desiring to give theaccusation a needlessly harsh expression, knowing well that the bestinformed editor may have at times old literary notes passed upon him fornew ones. What we _do_ say, is simply that several columns of thearticles which appeared as original in the Boston _Courier, _ were_literal reprints_ from a series which appeared in the _Knickerbocker_Magazine in 1847. 

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_THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. _

PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 

THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY Has passed its experimental ordeal, and standsfirmly established in popular regard. It was started at a period whenany new literary enterprise was deemed almost foolhardy, but thepublisher believed that the time had arrived for just such a Magazine. Fearlessly advocating the doctrine of ultimate and gradual Emancipation, for the sake of the UNION and the WHITE MAN, it has found favor inquarters where censure was expected, and patronage where opposition onlywas looked for. While holding firmly to its _own opinions_, it hasopened its pages to POLITICAL WRITERS _of widely different views_, andhas made a feature of employing the literary labors of the _younger_race of American writers. How much has been gained by thus giving, practically, the fullest freedom to the expression of opinion, and bythe infusion of fresh blood into literature, has been felt from month tomonth in its constantly increasing circulation. 

The most eminent of our Statesmen have furnished THE CONTINENTAL many ofits political articles, and the result is, it has not given laboredessays fit only for a place in ponderous encyclopedias, but fresh, vigorous, and practical contributions on men and things as they exist. 

It will be our effort to go on in the path we have entered, and as aguarantee of the future, we may point to the array of live and brillianttalent which has brought so many encomiums on our Magazine. The ablepolitical articles which have given it so much reputation will becontinued in each issue, and in this number is commenced a new Serial byRichard D. Kimball, the eminent author of the 'Under-Currents ofWall-Street, ' 'St. Leger, ' etc. , entitled, _WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?_

An account of the Life and Conduct of Hiram Meeker, one of the leadingmen in the mercantile community, and 'a bright and shining light' in theChurch, recounting what he did, and how he made his money. This workwhich will excel the previous brilliant productions of this author. 

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