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{
FRANCIS ABBOTT;
OR THE
HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
TALE OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLD.
By the Author of Mettallak, &c.

SKOOKGO
BOSTON:
GLEASON'S PUBLISHING HALL, No. 1 TREMONT ROW.
1846.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by F. Gleason, in the
Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.


AL 4 3/5,88
HARVARD COLLEG
NOV 10 1916
LIBRARY
Subscriftm fed


FRANCIS ABBOTT;
OR
THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
CHAPTER I.
But soon he knew himself the most unfit
Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held
Little in common; untaught to submit
His thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled
In youth by his own thoughts; still, uncompelled,
He would not yield dominion of his mind
To spirits against whom his own rebelled;
Proud, though in desolation, which could find
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.'
THE day was far advanced, and the sun,
partially enveloped in smoke and clouds,
hung darkly in the west; a dense fog en-
shrouded the metropolis of the fast anchored
Isle, and a thick mist was fast descending
upon the dark, time-worn houses, and
making the streets of London dismal with
mud; the month of October, 1828, had
gone into the ocean of eternity, and the
gloomy, suicidal month of November had
just commenced, when a fine, tall, quick-
motioned inan, might have been seen hur-
rying along one of the principal thorough
fares of this great Babylon of Europe. He
was snugly wrapped within a dark
ed his manly form, and guarded it against
the drizzling rain. A shrewd observer
would, at a single glance, have known
that this individual's mind was ill at ease;
for his motions and gait indicated a trou-
bled spirit, and a heart worn with care
and disappointment,
As he passed along, he would occasion-
ally stop and look down upon the pavè as
if some burning thoughts or agonizing
emotions were sorely pressing his heart;
and then he would suddenly raise his eyes
to the lowering clouds, and hurry along
with accelerated speed, as if he had com
broadcloth cloak, whichi completely mitted some offence against the laws of
his country, and every moment expected


8
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
to feel the hand of a government officer
upon his shoulder. But no crime had
stained his soul, or wicked deed corrupted
his heart. His mind, it is true, was trou-
bled, but his thoughts were pure, and his
heart unspotted.
(
"Ah! the clouds weep today, and so
does my spirit,' he said within himself, as
he came opposite the house in which histions.
mother was confined upon a bed of lan-
guishment; I will see Emeline Clareu-
don once more, although my only surviv-
ing parent prays me to leave the proud
girl, and no more sue for her favorable
regards. But my mother knows not the
power of love when circumstances are
adverse; for she, while young, married
the man of her choice, and I am the only
pledge of that affection which felt no
storms of adversity until death, unrelent-ly
ing death, hurried my father into the
grave. She never knew the pangs of dis-
appointed love, and how the heart will
yearn for unattainable joy.. Kind, tender,
and affectionate though she is, yet she
deems it strange that I can still love a wo-hand of a woman whose heart had been
changed by outward circumstances.'
6
6
'What of Miss Clarendon?' he anxious-
inquired; Did he speak of me also?'
He did,' she answered, gazing into
his agitated countenance, apparently with
much feeling. 'He said he sincerely re-
gretted that his only son and offspring had
not more spirit and pride than to seek the
man who now professes not to return my
affection. Ah! there are secrets of the
soul which adversity has never taught her,
and feelings which peculiar circumstances
never awoke in her heart. I will go in
and sit by her bedside until evening, and
then snatch a few moments from my
weary care, and visit the fair but ambitious
Emeline Clarendon,'
Francis Abbot withdrew his hand from
his mother's burning forehead, and cast
his eyes upon the floor in silence. For a
moment he felt that he would for ever
abandon his suit of the proud girl, and
drive her from his thoughts; but the pow-
er of first love again came over his soul,
and the charms of her beauty again were
in the ascendant.
The young man now softly entered a
neat but humble mansion, and with a light
step and beating heart found his way to
the room where his sick mother was con-
fined with her last illness.
#
Softly approaching the bed, and laying his
hand upon her feverish forehead, he said,
Mother, how do you feel this afternoon?'
When he approached the bed, the sick
woman was partially asleep, but the kind
tones of his voice aroused her from her
lethargy, and opening her sunken but
still brilliant eyes, and feeling his warm
palm gently pressing her throbbing tem-
ples, she replied, Francis, is that you?
It seems as if you had been gone a long
time. I believe I have been dreaming. I
thought your father was conversing with
me, and his voice seemed to soothe my
6
weary soul, and wake up the recollections
of the past. Ah, Francis, our whole lives
are but fitful dreams, and will soon end.
Even the youngest will soon terminate his
earthly career, and the strongest will not
tarry long upon the shores of time.'
"
All true, mother,' he answered, with a
voice choked with deeply agitated emo-
What did father say to you in
your dreams? Did he speak of earthly or
heavenly scenes?'
"Ah! Francis, he spoke of earthly mat-
ters-of the proud and haughty Miss Clar-
endon,' she replied, while a look of severe
reproof passed over her sickly features, and
her deep black eyes plainly told that dis-
ease had not yet paralyzed her spirit or
quenched the ardor of her soul.
I'm glad to see you, Francis, thus
deeply wrapped in reflection,' continued
his sick mother. 'I hope your reason and
judgment will control you. Let the proud
girl seek other lovers, and even those less
worthy than you are. What is the heart
of woman good for, when reverses in for-
tune will change it? Time was when
Miss Clarendon and her haughty mother
were glad to visit us in the hour of pros-
perity, but our riches have flown, and with
them all which the ambitious mother and
daughter seemed to hold dear. When we
were wealthy, and lived in a more splen-
did house than this, Emeline even sought
your society, and professed great attach-
ment for you; but now she spurns you
from her presence, and lifts her head far


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
above you. The estate which her father
left may, like ours, take to itself wings and
fly away; and then, think you, her love
would return? O, Francis, such love can-
not be depended on; for true love knows
no rank or condition: it looks above rich-
es, and scorns all distinctions which money
makes in the world. Be a man, and hon-done under the circumstances to which
you allude. My proud spirit cannot now
brook the scorn of man, and I feel quite
sure I should have been further from it
when I was younger than I ani now.'
True, Francis, I have not,' she replied;
but reason teaches me what I should have
or the memory of your high-minded and
noble father. Do not give me occasion
again to hear him express his regret, even
in my dreams, that his son has lost his
spirit and his pride. Go to the proud and
heartless girl and tell her you love her no
more. Say to her that if the paltry and
selfish considerations of riches can change
her heart, you will not seek such a fickle
thing. Do this, and you will smooth my
passage down to the tomb.'
'O, mother, you always taught me to
utter nothing but the truth on all occa-
sions, and my own conscience teaches me
the same lesson,' he replied, while his
lips trembled and his breast heaved with
violent emotions. Should I say to Eme-
line Clarendon that I no longer love her,
my lips would speak that my heart does
not feel. Mother, I should give utterance
to a falsehood which my soul abhors.'
'No doubt you feel as you express your-
self,' he replied; but reason, cold, calcu-
lating reason, has but little power over the
impulses of the heart. It is only here and
there we find a man who has power to
take a city, and how much fewer are those
who can conquer their own hearts! Has
not the wisest man that ever lived said that
he who conquers himself is greater than
he who overcomes a city? No, no, moth-
er. The task you wish me to perform, and
the work I would most gladly do myself
is harder, much more difficult than you
imagine. I have tried—have called upon
all the powers God has given me-strug-
gled by night and by day, and at times it
has seemed as if I had gained the victory
over myself, but the all conquering power
of love would return upon me, and its
mighty impulses would again move my
heart. Before it the most stern resolves
would melt away, and become like ropes
of sand, easily falling in pieces.'
6
som.
The sick woman gazed upon her high-
minded and virtuous son, and, stretching
out her skeleton hands and almost nerve-
less arms, drew him to her swelling bo-
She loved her son with all a moth-
er's tenderness, and admired his truth-
loving spirit, but yet she wished he had
the soul to spurn from him the proud and
haughty Emeline. If he could do this her
last prayer would be answered, and she
felt as if she could close her eyes in peace
upon all earthly scenes.
What did the heartless girl say to you at
your last interview?' inquired the impatient
mother. What did she say of her form-
er conduct, when we, like herself and
mother, were resting in the lap of ease
and affluence?'
'I would not for the world have you
utter a falsehood,' she said; but I wish I
bad borne a son who would not only speak
truth on all occasions and under all cir-
cumstances, but who would also resist op- 'Yes, wonderful light broke upon her
pression in every form, and teach a heart-heart, and revealed to her all its secrets
less woman that she is not worthy of any after she ascertained that our riches had
man's confidence or love,'
flown away,' said the mother. Then the
charm was broken, and the deception of
her own heart was laid open to her view.
Believe me, Francis, she never loved you,
whatever you may think; for if she had,
she would love you still.'
'You are indeed, mother, much older
than I am,' he replied, and have more ex-
perience in many things, but there are
some trials of the heart which your good
fortune has never compelled you to pass
through. You never knew what it was to
love and not to be loved in return. Your
heart has never felt the stings of disap-
pointed love. This, in past years, I have
learned from your own lips.'
6
Ah! she says her own heart deceived
her,' he replied. She once thought she
loved me, but on mature reflection she
finds she was mistaken.'


10
FRANCIS ABBOTT, OR
•
Francis Abbott took a view of the subject ¡erate moments, when the impulses of your
entirely different from that of his mother. heart do not drive you to wrong conclu-
He believed she once loved him, and would sions, and your own love for the proud
even now if it were not for her pride and girl blinds not your judgment.'
ambition. Deprive her of wealth, and take
away the hope of her moving in those cir-
cles to which money furnishes the only
passport, he believed she would still love
him. And, believing this, he had many
times secretly wished that the gold her
father left her and her mother were buri-
ed in the depths of the ocean. But these
wishes he would attempt to drive from his
beart; for he believed it was wrong to
wish that poverty might be the portion of
any one, however much his own prospects
might be advanced by it.
The impulsive young man stood by the
bedside of his sick mother, and covered
his face with his hands. He thoughtfully
stood a few moments, and during this
brief space of time, deeply did he examine.
the past workings of his own heart; but
he could not find there any evidence of the
truth of his theory in matters of love. His
own emotions plainly told him that if En-
eline Clarendon had lost her fortune, he
should have loved her the more; and yet
when he remembered her sweet kisses,
and saw in imagination the soft, bewitch-
ing glance of her deep blue eyes, he was
forced to believe that he once had posses-
sion of her heart, notwithstanding all the
coldness and indifference she now mani-
fested towards him. A thousand conflict-
"
Mother, you might be right in your con-
clusions, but it seems to me he did once
love me, and would even now, were it not
for the change in our circumstances,' he
answered.
Francis, look deep into your heart,' saiding feelings agitated his breast, and no
his mother, looking anxiously into his face. opinion he formed could long satisfy him.
Do you find any evidence in your own I may be blinded, dear mother, by my
love that dollars and cents can change the attachment to Emeline,' he replied with
heart? Had fortune deprived her of prop-much feeling. I would shake off the im
erty instead of taking ours away, would
you have ceased to love her ?
'O! mother. No, not so!' he feelingly
replied. It seems to me such a storm of
adversity would have increased rather than
diminished my attachment.'
pressions she has made upon me, and for
ever efface her image from my heart, if I
had the power; but sometimes it seems
to me impossible. You, and dear father
too, when he was with us, thought she
was a most beautiful girl, and one that
would make me happy; but now how
changed your opinion!'
8
6
"
And so it wou'd, if you cherished for
her pure and sincere love,' she replied.
And will not the rule work in both cases? True, Francis, we did once entertain a
Do principles bend to particular persons? very favorable opinion of her, but it was
Is a theory good in one case and false in when her true character was not develop
another? You say you think she once ed,' said the mother. In our prosperity
loved you; and if she did, does not your she, and her mother too, appeared like
own experience teach you that her attach-good folks, but adversity has drawn them.
ment would now be increased ?'
out, and exhibited their pride and selfish-
" Pride, ambition, a fondness for splen-ness. They believed our wealth was even
dor and rank, a mother's influence, the at-greater than theirs, and so it was; but we
tention of the rich and gay-all these have have lost nearly all, and with it their friend-
their power over the human heart, and ship and love. And will you continue to
sometimes make it forget that it once respect such a mother, and to love such a
Joved,' he replied.
daughter, however beautiful and accom-
Does such reasoning satisfy your own plished she may be? O, Francis, how
mind?' inquired the mother. Does such strongly I wish you would control the im
a theory correspond with the workings of pulses of your heart, and seek out some
your own heart? Again I say examine other girl whose good qualities you could
yourself, and see if such reasonings are depend upon under all circumstances im
satisfactory to you in our calm and delib-life you may be called to encounter, in
·


FRANCIS ABBOTT;
OR
THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA
CHAPTER I.
B But soon he knew himself the most unfit
Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held
Little in common; untaught to submit
His thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled
In youth by his own thoughts; still, uncompelled,
He would not yield dominion of his mind
To spirits against whom his own rebelled;
Proud, though in desolation, which could find
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.'
THE day was far advanced, and the sun, ed his manly form, and guarded it against
partially enveloped in smoke and clouds, the drizzling rain. A shrewd observer
hung darkly in the west; a dense fog en- would, at a single glance, have known
shrouded the metropolis of the fast anchored that this individual's mind was ill at ease;
Isle, and a thick mist was fast descending for his motions and gait indicated a trou-
upon the dark, time-worn houses, and bled spirit, and a heart worn with care
making the streets of London dismal with and disappointment.
mud; the month of October, 1828, had
gone into the ocean of eternity, and the
gloomy, suicidal month of November had
just commenced, when a fine, tall, quick-
motioned nan, might have been seen hur-
rying along one of the principal thorough-
fares of this great Babylon of Europe. He
was snugly wrapped within a dark blue
broadcloth cloak, which completely cover-
As he passed along, he would occasion-
ally stop and look down upon the pave as
if some burning thoughts or agonizing
emotions were sorely pressing his heart;
and then he would suddenly raise his eyes
to the lowering clouds, and hurry along
with accelerated speed, as if he had com
mitted some offence against the laws of
his country, and every moment expected


8
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
to feel the hand of a government officer
upon his shoulder. But no crime had
stained his soul, or wicked deed corrupted
his heart. His mind, it is true, was trou-
bled, but his thoughts were pure, and his
heart unspotted.
Ah! the clouds weep today, and so
does my spirit,' he said within himself, as
he came opposite the house in which his
mother was confined upon a bed of lan-
guishment; I will see Emeline Claren-
don once more, although my only surviv-
ing parent prays me to leave the proud
girl, and no more sue for her favorable
regards. But my mother knows not the
power of love when circumstances are
adverse; for she, while young, married
the man of her choice, and I am the only
pledge of that affection which felt no • What of Miss Clarendon?' he anxious-
storms of adversity until death, unrelent-ly inquired; Did he speak of me also?'
ing death, hurried my father into the
grave. She never knew the pangs of dis-
appointed love, and how the heart will
yearn for unattainable joy. Kind, tender,
and affectionate though she is, yet she
deems it strange that I can still love a wo-hand of a woman whose heart had been
changed by outward circumstances.'
6
'He did,' she answered, gazing into
his agitated countenance, apparently with
much feeling. 'He said he sincerely re-
gretted that his only son and offspring had
not more spirit and pride than to seek the
man who now professes not to return my
affection. Ah! there are secrets of the
soul which adversity has never taught her,
and feelings which peculiar circumstances
never awoke in her heart. I will go in
and sit by her bedside until evening, and
then snatch a few moments from my
weary care, and visit the fair but ambitious
Emeline Clarendon.'
Francis Abbot withdrew his hand from
his mother's burning forehead, and cast
his eyes upon the floor in silence.
For a
moment he felt that he would for ever
abandon his suit of the proud girl, and
drive her from his thoughts; but the pow-
er of first love again came over his soul,
and the charms of her beauty again were
in the ascendant.
The young man now softly entered a
neat but humble mansion, and with a light
step and beating heart found his way to
the room where his sick mother was con-
fined with her last illness.
Softly approaching the bed, and laying his
hand upon her feverish forehead, he said,
'Mother, how do you feel this afternoon?'
When he approached the bed, the sick
woman was partially asleep, but the kind
tones of his voice aroused her from her
lethargy, and opening her sunken but
still brilliant eyes, and feeling his warm
palm gently pressing her throbbing tem-
ples, she replied, Francis, is that you?
It seems as if you had been gone a long
time. I believe I have been dreaming. I
thought your father was conversing with
me, and his voice seemed to soothe my
"
weary soul, and wake up the recollections
of the past. Ah, Francis, our whole lives
are but fitful dreams, and will soon end.
Even the youngest will soon terminate his
earthly career, and the strongest will not
tarry long upon the shores of time.'
'All true, mother,' he answered, with a
voice choked with deeply agitated emo-
tions. What did father say to you in
your dreams? Did he speak of earthly or
heavenly scenes?'
"Ah! Francis, he spoke of earthly mat-
ters-of the proud and haughty Miss Clar-
endon,' she replied, while a look of severe
reproof passed over her sickly features, and
her deep black eyes plainly told that dis-
ease had not yet paralyzed her spirit or
quenched the ardor of ber soul.
'I'm glad to see you, Francis, thus
deeply wrapped in reflection,' continued
his sick mother. 'I hope your reason and
judgment will control you. Let the proud
girl seek other lovers, and even those less
worthy than you are. What is the heart
of woman good for, when reverses in for-
tune will change it? Time was when
Miss Clarendon and her haughty mother
were glad to visit us in the hour of pros-
perity, but our riches have flown, and with
them all which the ambitious mother and
daughter seemed to hold dear. When we
were wealthy, and lived in a more splen-
did house than this, Emeline even sought
your society, and professed great attach-
ment for you; but now she spurns you
from her presence, and lifts her head får


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
True, Francis, I have not,' she replied;
above you.
The estate which her father
left may,
like ours, take to itself wings and
fly away; and then, think you, her love
would return? O, Francis, such love can-
not be depended on; for true love knows
no rank or condition: it looks above rich-
es, and scorns all distinctions which money 'but reason teaches me what I should have
makes in the world. Be a man, and hon-done under the circumstances to which
or the memory of your high-minded and you allude. My proud spirit cannot now
noble father. Do not give me occasion brook the scorn of man, and I feel quite
again to hear him express his regret, even sure I should have been further from it
in my dreams, that his son has lost his when I was younger than I ani now.'
spirit and his pride. Go to the proud and
heartless girl and tell her you love her no
more. Say to her that if the paltry and
selfish considerations of riches can change
her heart, you will not seek such a fickle
thing. Do this, and you will smooth my
passage down to the tomb.'
"
No doubt you feel as you express your-
self,' he replied; but reason, cold, calcu-
lating reason, has but little power over the
impulses of the heart. It is only here and
there we find a man who has power to
take a city, and how much fewer are those
who can conquer their own hearts! Has
not the wisest man that ever lived said that
he who conquers himself is greater than
he who overcomes a city? No, no, moth-
•
lips trembled and his breast heaved with
violent emotions. Should I say to Eme-
line Clarendon that I no longer love her,
my lips would speak that my heart does
not feel. Mother, I should give utterance
to a falsehood which my soul' abhors.'
'O, mother, you always taught me to
utter nothing but the truth on all occa-
sions, and my own conscience teaches me
the same lesson,' he replied, while hiser. The task you wish me to perform, and
the work I would tnost gladly do myself
is harder, much more difficult than you
imagine. I have tried-have called upon
all the powers God has given me-strug-
gled by night and by day, and at times it
has seemed as if I had gained the victory
over myself, but the all conquering power
of love would return upon me, and its
mighty impulses would again move my
heart. Before it the most stern resolves
would melt away, and become like ropes
of sand, easily falling in pieces.'
som.
The sick woman gazed upon her high-
minded and virtuous son, and, stretching
out her skeleton hands and almost nerve-
less arms, drew him to her swelling bo-
She loved her son with all a moth-
er's tenderness, and admired his truth-
loving spirit, but yet she wished he had
the soul to spuru from him the proud and
haughty Emeline. If he could do this her
last prayer would be answered, and she
felt as if she could close her eyes in peace
upon all earthly scenes.
• What did the heartless girl say to you at
your last interview ?' inquired the impatient
mother. What did she say of her form-
er conduct, when we, like herself and
mother, were resting in the lap of ease
and affluence?'
'Yes, wonderful light broke upon her
'I would not for the world have you
utter a falsehood,' she said; but I wish I
had borne a son who would not only speak
truth on all occasions and under all cir-
cumstances, but who would also resist op-
pression in every form, and teach a heart-heart, and revealed to her all its secrets
less woman that she is not worthy of any after she ascertained that our riches had
man's confidence or love.'
flown away,' said the mother. Then the
You are indeed, mother, much older charm was broken, and the deception of
than I am,' he replied, and have more ex- her own heart was laid open to her view.
perience in many things, but there are Believe me, Francis, she never loved you,
some trials of the heart which your good | whatever you may think; for if she had,
fortune has never compelled you to pass she would love you still.'
6
through. You never knew what it was to
love and-not to be loved in return. Your
heart has never felt the stings of disap-
pointed love. This, in past years, I have
learned from your own lips.'
< Ah! she says her own heart deceived
her,' he replied. She once thought she
loved me, but on mature reflection she
finds she was mistaken.'


10
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
Francis Abbott took a view of the subject ¡erate moments, when the impulses of your
entirely different from that of his mother. heart do not drive you to wrong conclu-
He believed she once loved him, and would sions, and your own love for the proud
even now if it were not for her pride and girl blinds not your judgment.'
ambition. Deprive her of wealth, and take
away the hope of her moving in those cir-
cles to which money furnishes the only
passport, he believed she would still love
him. And, believing this, he had many
times secretly wished that the gold her
father left her and her mother were buri-
ed in the depths of the ocean. But these
wishes he would attempt to drive from his
beart; for he believed it was wrong to
wish that poverty might be the portion of
any one, however much his own prospects
might be advanced by it.
1
The impulsive young man stood by the
bedside of his sick mother, and covered
his face with his bands. He thoughtfully
stood a few moments, and during this
brief space of time, deeply did he examine.
the past workings of his own heart; but
he could not find there any evidence of the
truth of his theory in matters of love. His
own emotions plainly told him that if Ein-
eline Clarendon had lost her fortune, he
should have loved her the more; and yet
when he remembered her sweet kisses,
and saw in imagination the soft, bewitch-
ing glance of her deep blue eyes, he was
forced to believe that he once had posses-
sion of her heart, notwithstanding all the
coldness and indifference she now mani-
fested towards him. A thousand conflict-
ing feelings agitated his breast, and no
opinion he formed could long satisfy him.
"
I may be blinded, dear mother, by my
attachment to Emeline,' he replied with
much feeling. I would shake off the im
pressions she has made upon me, and for
ever efface her image from my heart, if I
had the power; but sometimes it seems
to me impossible. You, and dear father
too, when he was with us, thought she
was a most beautiful girl, and one that
would make me happy; but now how
changed your opinion!'
·
True, Francis, we did once entertain a
very favorable opinion of her, but it was
when her true character was not develop-
she once ed, said the mother. In our prosperity
she, and her mother too, appeared like
good folks, but adversity has drawn them.
out, and exhibited their pride and selfish-
Pride, ambition, a fondness for splen-ness. They believed our wealth was even
dor and rank, a mother's influence, the at-greater than theirs, and so it was; but we
tention of the rich and gay—all these have have lost nearly all, and with it their friend-
their power over the human heart, and ship and love. And will you continue to
sometimes make it forget that it once respect such a mother, and to love such a
loved,' he replied.
daughter, however beautiful and accom-
Does such reasoning satisfy your own plished she may be? O, Francis, how
mind?' inquired the mother. Does such strongly I wish you would control the im-
a theory correspond with the workings of pulses of your heart, and seek out some
your own heart? Again I say examine other girl whose good qualities you could
yourself, and see if such reasonings are depend upon under all circumstances im
satisfactory to you ing our calm and delib-life you may be called to encounter, in
Mother, you might be right in your con-
clusions, but it seems to me he did once
love me, and would even now, were it not
for the change in our circumstances,' he
answered.
Francis, look deep into your heart,' said
his mother, looking anxiously into his face.
Do you find any evidence in your own
love that dollars and cents can change the
heart? Had fortune deprived her of prop-
erty instead of taking ours away, would
you have ceased to love her ?"
'O! mother. No, not so!' he feelingly
replied. It seems to me such a storm of
adversity would have increased rather than
diminished my attachment.'
And so it wou'd, if you cherished for
her pure and sincere love,' she replied.
And will not the rule work in both cases?
Do principles bend to particular persons?
Is a theory good in one case and false in
another? You say you think
loved you; and if she did, does not your
own experience teach you that her attach-
ment would now be increased?'
"


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
your journey through the world. The dis- flute!
And yet you seem now to set no
ease which is drinking up my life-blood value upon it. Wake up from your
admonishes me that my earthly course is dreams, Francis, and make the most of
almost run. The physician frankly told those precious gifts which God has so
me yesterday, that no human skill or pow-abundantly bestowed upon you. You
er of medicine could prolong my life. need not be unhappy, for but few young
And I should be ready to depart for the men are better calculated to please the
other world this day, if I could be assured world than yourself. Then why should
that you would cease to think of that proud you let one heartless woman destroy your
girl.'
peace, and render all your education and
accomplishments valueless to yourself and
·6
Mother, I will visit her but once more,
if her feelings have not changed,' he re-to the world?'
plied.
•
Her feelings changed!' echoed the
mother. 'What reasons can you have to
suppose that her heart will undergo any
change? I wish you might never have
another interview with her so long as you
live. Every time you see her, it seems to
me, the impressions she has made upon
you are deepened, and your chance of get-
ting rid of them much lessened.'
This last remark of the mother was true,
and Fraucis felt its truth most keenly. He
knew that every glance of her brilliant
eyes, every motion of her symmetrical
form, and every tone of her musical voice,
still strengthened the cords which bound
him to her, and made her absence from
him more painful and more difficult to be
endured; and yet he would seek inter-
views with her in spite of the remon-
strances of his mother, and against the
admonishings of his own good sense and
judgment. At one moment he was almost
determined to say to his mother that he
would never see the proud girl again; but
at the next moment the emotions of love
would rush back upon his heart and de-
stroy his resolutions. He stood in silence,
and dared not trust his tongue to make a
reply.
Having spoken so much and so earnest-
ly, Mrs. Clarendon became quite exhaust-
ed, and turned away her head upon the
pillow to get some rest. Francis stood
gazing upon her motionless form, and re-
volving in his mind the sentiments his
mother had uttered. So still and motion-
less she laid, that it seemed to him the
words she spoke were almost her last:—
at any rate they affected him most serious-
ly, and impressed him as strongly as if
they were in fact her dying admonitions.
You have a thousand resources within
your power from which you may derive
happiness and comfort,' continued his
mother. You have a fine education, and
the reputation of being a good scholar.
Your knowledge of musical science and
your skill in playing the fute, place you
far above most of those who were educat-
ed with you at the same university. From
these accomplishments you can draw much |
consolation. How many young men in
London who envy your skill upon the
While the mother thus rested in an ex-
hausted state, and the sensitive and ner-
vous sou was standing by the bedside and
gazing upon her apparently lifeless form,
her attending physician arrived and enter
ed the room. Seeing the sick woman lay
so motionless upon the bed, and her head
turned upon one side, the thought struck
him at first that the vital spark had fled,
and her spirit winged its flight to another
world. Hurrying to the bed, he seized her
arm and drew it from underneath the bed-
clothes; but on examination of her pulse
he found that she was not dead, although
the circulation of the blood was very fee-
ble, and indicated a very unfavorable turn
in the disease his patient was laboring
under.
6
Your mother appears to be worse,' said
the physician, addressing the agitated Fran-
cis. How has she been this afternoon ?
She has not been lɔng in her present state,
has she? O no,' replied Francis. 'She
has been talking to me quite earnestly, and
had just finished before you came in.'
Ah, I see how it is,' said the man of
pills and potions; she has exerted herself
quite beyond her strength. My advice to
her has always been to keep quiet and say
but little; but her spirit is such that it will


12
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
exhibit itself in spite of the weakness of
her bodily organs: for the future she must
let go ber hold on all earthly things and
remain quiet, or her disease will terminate
her cxistence sooner than we dream of.'
night produce a bad effect upon his re-
fined and tender sensibilities.
Although much exhausted, yet she dis-
tinctly heard and understood what the
worthy physician had uttered; and turn-
ing her head and partially opening her
eyes, she said, in a voice scarcely above a
whisper, 'I heard your remarks, doctor,
and will endeavor to govern myself in fu-
ture as much as possible; but I can hard-journey upon earth.'
|
'She will never consent to such an ar-
rangement unless fortune should again
pour her treasures in his lap, and fill his
coffers with gold,' said the mother.
เ
ly endure the thought that the only being
to whom I have given birth should be
made unhappy by a proud and heartless
girl. She don't love him, and why should
be continue to worship at her shrine? We were once rich, but now we are
Strange infatuation! Ah, love plays comparatively poor. True, I have some
mysterious freaks in this world! Surely jewels, which will enable Francis to give
it is a little blind god, or makes people
blind. Do, doctor, tell Francis the folly
of loving a haughty woman who does not
reciprocate his affection. Advise him to
quit her for ever, and—'
me a becoming burial, and pay his expen-
ses of travel to a foreign land, if he should
think it best to leave his native country in
search of pleasure, for I feel quite sure he
never will find it here, so long as the im-
'Too good an education! too much phi-
losophy!' repeated the anxious mother, in
a voice and manner quite beyond her nat-
ural strength. 'What resistance can these
make to the power of love, when it has
once seized upon the heart? I have often
heard that genius furnishes no safeguard
to the insidious workings of the tender
passion, and the finest cultivated intellects
bend before its power; and now in my
son's case I fear I see the truth of the say-
ing fully confirmed.'
•
'Be not needlessly alarmed, Mrs. Ab-
bott,' said the physician. I trust your son
will have sufficient strength to overcome
all the difficulties that may, now or here-
after, beset his path in life. True, indeed,
that beautiful women have great power
over our sex, but Francis will yet be en-
abled to resist the charins of Miss Claren-
don, unless she changes her mind, and,
consents to become his partner in hie
"
his imagination.'
'My dear madam,' interrupted the doc-age of that proud girl continues to haunt
tor, you must keep yourself quiet, or your
days may be numbered before you are
aware of it. Your son, I trust, has too
much good sense, too good an education,
and is too philosophical to be led astray by
the charms of any woman who does not
love him.'
The physician had before known how
exceedingly anxious Mrs. Clarendon felt
upon this point, and had endeavored to
quiet her nerves. Of Francis' genius and
intellectual organization and refinement he
entertained the highest opinion, and of his
moral qualities the most profound respect;
but still he feared his love for the beauti-
ful and accomplished Miss Clarendon
Francis was glad to hear his mother
speak of his going to a foreign land, for he
was fully determined on a voyage to Amer-
ica, in case the beloved one of his heart
still persisted in refusing to listen to his
prayers.
The physician now made some addi-
tional prescriptions for his patient, and
took his leave, advising her not to talk any
more that day, but to remain quiet, and
endeavor to rest from her fatigue and ex-
haustion.
It will be seen by the reader of this nar-
rative, from what has already been writ-
ten, that a great change in the pecuniary
condition of the Abbott family had taken
| place. They were once rich; but within
the last four years their riches had taken
to themselves wings and flown away. A
great reverse of fortune had happened to
the house. The head of the family had
gone down to the grave, but not, however,
before he had seen the wreck of his for-
tune, and removed his family to the hum-
ble place they now occupied.
Francis Abbott was an only child, and
at the time our story commences, was


THE MURDER.

•
Tors
A scene in Sudbury street between two gamblers, Gandolpho and Palierson, in which
the latter murders the former, just before he reaches his boarding house. They had previ
ously quarrelled, and here is represented the fatal result of the vice of gambling.
K


1


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
15
aboutwenty-eight years of age.
He had
Received the best education which the uni-
versities of England could afford, and was
esteemed one of the finest scholars of his
timė. His intellectual organization was of
the first order, and his genius for the fine
arts was altogether above mediocrity. His
passion for music was great; and his skill
upon the flute, his favorite instrument,
made him welcome to the first circles.
He had already composed some very fine
songs, and was actually engaged upon an
opera, when the tide of adversity came
over his father's temporal concerns.
this reverse of fortune did not damp his
ardor, nor induce him to abandon his fa-
vorite pursuit. The opera and Emeline
Clarendon were his themes by day and
his dreams by night. Before his father
But
failed he had made considerable progress
in the composition of his opera, and had
played some of its most beautiful and en-
chanting passages to Miss Clarendon,
which highly gratified her, for she was
passionately fond of music, and was her-
self a good singer and player. But when
she learned that the expected fortune of her
lover was scattered to the four winds of
heaven, she began to grow cool, and final-
ly, by the influence of her ambitious
mother, and the workings of her own
proud spirit, she told him that she could
no longer receive his addresses in the
character of a lover. It was then that he
laid by his unfinished opera, and began
to brood in melancholy over his fallen
fortunes.


CHAPTER II.
'But though true worth and virtue in the mild
And genial soil of cultivated life
Thrive must, and may perhaps thrive only there,
Yet not in cities oft: in proud and gay
And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow
As to a common and most noisome sewer,
The dregs and feculence of every land.'
THE mist, which had gently fallen upon | every feature of it seemed to be chiselled
the city during the afternoon, had now out for the express purpose of making her
turned to a copious rain, and the evening bewitchingly beautiful, and at the same
was dark, wet and gloomy. But few, com- time to give to her face a strong intellectual
paratively, were thronging the streets.— expression. That she once loved Francis
Occasionally the sound of carriage wheels Abbott, there can be no room for doubt;
might be heard, and now and then a foot and whether this passion had entirely died
passenger would hurry along, as if he out in her heart, or whether the flame was
were anxious to find shelter from the only choked and smothered by her pride
storm, while the sedate watchmen, with and love of splendor, and ready to be re-
measured tread, were upon their several kindled by a change of circumstances, will,
beats, and lazily going their rounds. perhaps, be made to appear in the progress
of this narrative.
In a fashionable part of the city, not a
half mile from the humble dwelling of 'I heard to-day, mother, that Mrs. Ab-
Francis Abbott and his sick mother, stood bott's disease would probably terminate
the stately mausion of Mrs. Clarendon.— fatally,' said Emeline Clarendon to her
Her husband had been dead several years, mother, as they were sitting in their richly
and she was left with her only child, Eun- furnished parlor, in the evening of the
eline, the loved one of the musical and same day when the sick woman so much
sensitive Francis. To say she was a beau- exhausted herself in lecturing Francis
tiful creature, would only be reiterating upon his continued love for the proud girl,
what was on every person's tongue. And as she always called her. 'I understand
she was indeed one of the most splendid it is the opinion of her physician that she
females within the precincts of London. can never recover. Don't you think, moth
er, it would be well for you to visit her,
as you and she were once such intimate
Her form was almost faultless, and her
motions most graceful and easy. Her
countenance, too, was not only exceedingly friends?
beautiful, but highly intellectual also; for
6
Why, Emeline, how strangely you


HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
17
talk! replied the proud, aristocratic moth-eye of her mother observed all this, and
er. A change in the condition of that she endeavored to guard against it with
family renders it highly improper for us all the skill and tact she was mistress of.
to visit them. If Mrs. Abbott is really inHe will not probably seek another inter-
want of any thing necessary for her com- view with me,' said Emeline, scarcely be-
fort or convenience, I should be willing to lieving what she said, and even secretly
give her something; but to visit her, under hoping it was not true.
existing circumstances, is entirely out of
the question. It would look as if we were
trying to renew the engagement between
you and her sou; besides, we should lose
caste by taking such a measure. We
have now fairly got rid of them, and I
don't intend to do any thing to induce a
belief that we wish to renew the con-
nection.'
'It seems to me you might make her a
call, now she is sick, and not incur those
penalties which you so much dread,' said
the daughter, feeling a slight kindling of
the old flame, or some emotions of pity
for the sick and afflicted.
'If I should do so,' it would be the talk
of all our acquaintances, in a very short
time, replied the haughty Mrs. Clarendon.
'No, no, Emeline; we must not darken
the doors of their humble dwelling. It
would encourage Francis to renew his
suit, and you would be again troubled
with his importunities and love-sick plead-
ings. He hasn't seen you recently, and it
is best he should not again.'
Now Emeline, proud and aristocratic as
she was, could not have the same feelings
her mother expressed; for at times she
felt, in spite of all her ambition and her
mother's influence, as if she would like to
have another interview with him who loved
and cherished her so truly and sincerely.
She had never seen any young man among
all her suitors, (and she was surrounded
by a large number,) whose form, mind,
taste and manners she liked so well as
those of Francis Abbott. Of this fact
she was always fully sensible, and yet her‍
pride and ambition, together with the in-
fluence of her proud mother, induced her
to discard him, and seek for other alli-
A strange conflict was continually
pressing her heart, but her love of splen-
dor, rank and riches generally gained the
ascendency over her. And yet she was
unhappy, and not unfrequently cast down
and dispirited. The keen and watchful
ances.
'Will not seek another interview! re-
peated her mother, with apparent surprise.
How little you seem to know of the power
of love! He will continue to seek after you
just so long as you remain in a single
state. His temperament is just the soil in
which the plant of love will grow most
luxuriantly. The sooner you make up
your mind to marry Thomas Sillendare,
the better for all concerned. There isn't
scarcely a better match in all London.—
Many of your female friends now envy
you, and they would much more in case
you became his wife, for he is exceedingly
wealthy, and you could move in the very
highest circles, and live in splendor. He
loves you so that you could easily control
him, and choose any mode of life which
might be most agreeable to you.'
But will all these things be a good
substitute for love?' asked Emeline.
'Love! why he loves you to distrae-
tion, and that is enough,' replied her
mother.
Could you have been happy if you had
not loved father, notwithstanding he was
wealthy?' inquired Emeline.
'He was never half so rich as Mr. Sil-
lendare,' replied the mother, wishing to
avoid a direct answer to her daughter's
question.
But Mr. Sillendare is not so good
looking as father was, nor are his manners
so engaging. Besides, he's no scholar at
all, and has no finely cultivated taste,' said
Emeline, thinking of the scholarship and
finely cultivated taste of Francis Abbott.
'Finely cultivated taste! echoed the
haughty mother. I'm sure he dresses
with great taste. But few young men
in London have such a splendid ward-
robe.'
He may have taste in dress, for aught
I know, but he has none in music and the
fine arts,' answered Emeline.
'Fiddlestick exclaimed Mrs. Claren-
don. Money is better than music. Why
"


18
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
need a wife care whether her husband | Sillendare,' said Mrs. Clarendon, smiling
has any taste in music or not? His money and asking him to be seated.
will buy music, and every other luxury.-
1 tell you, Emeline, gold will purchase
every thing you want, and you must be
happy, if you become possessed of Mr.
Sillendare's wealth. How many ladies
there are in this metropolis who married
for money! We see them riding every
day in their own splendid carriages, with
servants to wait upon them, while their
husbands are enjoying themselves in other
places.'
'I suppose not, when you are safely en-
sconced in your carriage,' answered Mrs.
Clarendon, smiling.
The words, servant and carriage, were
very musical sounds to the ears of Emo-
line, and caused a smile to play over her
beautiful face, such a smile as the pompous
• Well, I should be glad to have Sillen-
dare any where rather than with me, if ISillendare thought he never saw there at
were his wife,' said Emeline, being some-
what pleased with the suggestion her
mother had made, and thinking of splendid
Coaches and servants in livery.
"
any previous interview. And perhaps he
was right in this conceit, for Emeline was
uncommonly well pleased.
The conver-
sation that had passed between her and
her mother previous to the entry of Sil-
lendare, and the fact that he had braved
the storm of the evening for the purpose
of visiting her, made his company more
agreeable than on any former occasion.
He had shrewdness enough to see this,
and was wonderfully encouraged.
True, madam; a carriage is very con-
venient in such stormy evenings as this,'
he replied, gazing first on the mother and
then on the daughter, much delighted.—
'If fortune had not enabled me to ride in
my own carriage, I think there is attraction
enough here to have induced me to come
without one.'
6
.
Surely your husband would not be
sticking round you all the time,' replied
her mother. You could ride when you
pleased, without your husband. Mr. Sil-
lendare would grant you every indulgence
your heart could wish.'
The mother had pricked the right vein
in her daughter; for the ambitious girl, in
her dreams of splendor and equipage, had
almost entirely forgotten the handsome
and accomplished Abbott, and thought of
nothing but Almack's and high life in
London.
'Dear me! how it raius this evening,'
said Mrs. Clarendon; 'I reckon we shall
not have many callers to-night.'
At this moment the door bell rang, and
a servant announced Mr. Sillendare, who
had come to press his claims upon the
fair and beautiful Emeline. He entered
the room with more than his accustomed
politeness and sauvity of manners. Be-
lieving, at his last interview, that he had
made a favorable impression on both
mother and daughter, and feeling great
confidence in the power which he imagined
his wealth gave him, he now made his ap-
pearance before the ladies with much
swelling and pomposity.
'It is indeed very wet in the streets, I
should think; for I heard the rain upon
my carriage windows, as my servant drove
along,' he replied. 'I don't mind a
shower.'
'Good evening, Mrs. Clarendon, and
a happy one to you, Emeline,' said Sil-
lendare, bowing most gracefully, and as
suming what he supposed was a most
pleasing attitude.
Perhaps so, Mr. Sillendare,' replied the
mother, looking very cunningly at her
daughter, and smiling most graciously upon
the fashionable young man. 'We are al-
ways glad to see you, rain or shine, car-
riage or no carriage. You are one of our
most welcome visitors, and we have quite
a number.'
This remark was highly gratifying to
him; for there was one other young man
in the habit of visiting Emeline, whom he
feared as a rival more than any one.-
The name of this young man was Alfred
Marquinay. He was not so wealthy as
Sillendare, but was much handsomer, and
possessed of more shrewdness. Emeline
liked his person and manners better than
she did Sillendare's, but to the latter she
had given the most encouragement to
Quite a smart rain this evening, Mr. hope for success. She loved neither of
•


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
19
*
them, and never expected to. The suc-
cess they met with in their suit for her
hand was graduated, in her mind, accord-
ing to the riches each possessed. Her
mother had, by dint of inquiry, ascertained
very accurately the estate of each, and
she found that Sillendare could buy out
Marquinay, and then have a very respecta-
ble fortune left. This fact she had com-
municated to her daughter, and since this
knowledge had been obtained, Sillendare
was received with the most favor. Mar-
quinay was aware of all this, but relying
on his superior tact and skill, he contin-
ued to press his claims to the hand of the
fair Emeline, in spite of all opposition.
'You make me exceedingly happy,'
replied Sillendare. If your daughter
had said that, I should consider myself
the most happy person in all London.'
'Modesty often forbids young ladies to
express fully what they feel,' answered
the mother.
6
May I hope, Emeline, that your mother
has spoken wisely?' he said, gazing upon
her with intense anxiety, and feeling his
beart almost jump into his throat.
·
،
It is undoubtedly true, Mr. Sillendare,
that we have feelings sometimes which
It would not become us to express,' re-
plied Emeline. All, whether young or
old, male or female, have their private
views and secret emotions, which they are
reluctant to obtrude upon the notice of the
world.'
Saying this, he took from his pocket a
small casket and gave it to her. She
opened it, and there her bright eyes met
a most beautiful diamond ring, which was
far above any ornament she had ever
worn, although she was by no means des-
titute of articles of jewelry.
"
1
'And there are but few ladies in the
city so worthy as Emeline to wear such
an ornament," he replied, forcing a laugh
through his mustachios, and running his
fingers through the coarse black hair
which hung like the beard of a goat under
his chin; for he was a perfect model of
a London dandy, and but for his great
wealth Emeline would have spurned him
from her presence, and her mother would
have done any thing to him rather than have
smiled upon him so graciously as she did.
Emeline, during all this time, never ut-
So we do, indeed,' he answered, feel-tered a word, but sat in silence and heard
ing quite sure that he had now conquered
the citadel of her heart. I too have
emotions which I cannot express, even if
I were disposed to express them. You,
Emeline, have awakened sensations in my
soul which no human tongue can express.
Here, take this as a small token of my
esteem. I purchased it purposely for
you.'
him and her mother pass their compli
ments to each other. To say she was not
highly pleased with the ring, would not
be doing her justice; for her pride was
flattered and her ambition excited. And
notwithstanding she was thus flattered with
the brilliant prospects which the wealth
of Sillendare held out before her excited
imagination, yet a wish would often rise
in her heart that Francis Abbott was able
to give her such a ring.
The storm increases, I believe, from
the pattering of the rain upon the win-
dows,' said Mrs. Clarendon.
There, Emeline, that is only an earnest
of what you may expect to receive,' said
the overjoyed mother, looking at the bril-
liant in an extacy of delight, and then
smiling on the rich donor.
'Put it upon your finger, my dear Em-
eliue,' said the enraptured Sillendare.—
No, let me place it there.'
And without further ceremony he took
her delicate hand in his, and run her taper
finger through the ring. It went on
rather snug, but he cared not for that, for
he was entirely willing to spend a con-
siderable time in placing the jewel in its
proper position upon her finger.
Having completed the process, he con-
tinued, 'I now think your hand looks bet-
ter for the ring. Don't you think so, Mrs.
Clarendon?'
'Indeed I do,' said the mother. It is
a most beautiful as well as valuable gift.
It is not every young gentleman in Lon-
don who can make such a present to a
lady.'
'Well, let it rain,' answered Sillendare.
I hope it will keep away other callers this
evening. I hope we shall not be disturbed
by any one, for I'm happy enough now,


20
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
and I'm quite sure no one could add to
my enjoyment. To be frank, Emeline, I
came this evening to visit you because I
thought you would have no company. I
purchased that ring several days ago, and
meant to present it to you when no one
was present but your mother to be a wit-
ness.'
'I feel under great obligations to you
for the beautiful gift, Mr. Sillendare, but
you might, perhaps, have found other fe-
males more worthy than I am to wear it,'
said Emeline, feeling pleased with the
brilliant ornament, but almost disgusted
with the flat and silly remarks of the donor.
'None in all London!' he replied with
much enthusiasm, seizing the hand which
the ring ornamented, and bringing it in
contact with his lips, or rather with his
imperial mustachios, for these quite pre-
vented him from kissing her hand with
his lips, which he intended to do.
She felt the stiff, coarse hairs upon her
hand, and a sort of sickness came over her
soul, for although she loved his wealth, yet
she did not like his touch. He had never
at any previous interview, presumed to
take such liberties with her person. And
now she was more sensible than ever of
the difference between the touch of Sillen-
dare's mustachios, and the soft, warm lips
of Francis Abbott. Time was when the
latter gentleman was permitted to press
her lips with the pure kiss of love, but no
other of all her suitors had ever been per-
mitted to taste the sweetness of her lips.
The ambitious mother saw him raise her
daughter's hand to his face, and before
she had time to say within herself, the
work goes bravely on,' Emeline withdrew
her hand from his face, and laid it in her
own lap.
The rain does increase,' said Sillen-
dare, 'and I'm glad of it, for we three
shall be permitted to remain together this
evening; I have many things to say. Did
you know, Mrs. Clarendon, that I have pur-
chased a splendid mansion in Grosvenor
Square?'
At this moment, and before Mrs. Clar-
endon had time to answer the inflated
dandy, the door bell sent out another peal,
and the servant announced the name of
Mr. Marquinay, Mr. Alfred Marquinay.
6
"Heavens!' exclaimed the money-loving
mother; who would have thought, that
Mr. Marquinay would have called this
evening, in the rain?'
'It is strange,' said the alarmed and ex-
cited Sillendare, 'for he has no carriage, I
am quite sure.'
'Perhaps he has hired one, to shelter
him from the storm,' replied Emeline, in a
very cool, quiet manner, undisturbed by
the servant's,announcement that another
gentleman bad called.
Very likely, he has,' said Sillendare, in
a hurried and excited manner, but I would
stay at home such an evening as this, if I
could not ride in my own carriage.'
"
Mr. Marquinay now entered the room,
and very politely passed the compliments
of the evening to all present. He was
sorely disappointed when his eyes fell on
Sillendare, for he had hoped the inclem-
ency of the evening would have prevented
him or any other person from visiting that
house at this time. The two gentlemen
were upon speaking terms, although they
were very far from being friends to each
other. Marquinay had never proposed to
Emeline, but he came this evening for the
express purpose of offering his hand to
the beautiful and accomplished Miss Clar-
endon. He flattered himself that he might
be accepted; for although he did not pos
sess the amount of wealth that his rival
did, yet he had a competence of this
world's goods, and very well knew, that in
every other respect, except riches, he was
far superior to Sillendare. He was aware
that the mother of Emeline was very much
carried away by the splendor of riches,
and that for this reason she looked upon
Sillendare with more favor than she did
upon him. Still, having confidence in his
own powers to please, he came this even-
ing with a full determination to unburthen
his heart, and make an offer of himself to
Emeline. How sadly then must he have
been disappointed, when, on entering the
room, he found his rival first on the ground
which he anticipated occupying with so
much pleasure.
It is a very stormy evening without,
but after all, it is very pleasant withing
said Marquinay.
"
It is indeed a very rainy evening,' re-



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FRANCIS ABBOTT AND THE INDIAN GIRL.
Buy Gr
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An Indian girl of the Tuscarora tribe presenting Francis Abbott, at Niagara, a heart,
ingeniously wrought with moose hair and ornamented with beads.





THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
23
เ
plied Emeline. But you did not get wet, and I think I shall purchase it,' said Sil-
I trust.'
lendare, addressing Mrs. Clarendon.
Have you, indeed ?' replied the old
lady, apparently much delighted, and gaz-
ing upon her daughter, to see how the in-
telligence struck her.
"O no,' he answered; I jumped into
a carriage, and came as pleasantly as if the
evening had been never so fair. London
has every convenience for us, and a few
coppers will purchase a ride to any part
of the city.'
I suppose it comes much cheaper to
hire a carriage once in a while, than to be
at the expense of keeping one of your
own,' said Sillendare, bending back his
stiff, dandy form, and looking very wise.
'Indeed, I cannot tell which would be
attended with the most expense,' replied
Marquinay, feeling indignant at his rival's
question, but concealing his indignation
with consummate tact and skill. "I have
never owned a carriage, but I have to-day
bespoken one, and I shall probably learn
the difference one of these days.'
It was true that he had made a bargain
that very day with a carriage maker for
a very fine coach, but not quite so costly a
one as Sillendare sported with.
'What do you expect to pay for it?'
pompously inquired Sillendare. There
are carriages of all prices, so that every
one can be suited according to his
means.'
'I expeet to pay money for my carri-
age, when it is finished, sternly replied
Marquinay, looking daggers at the im-
pertinent Sillendare, and feeling as if he
would like to squeeze the dandy's throat.
Then turning to Emeline, he continued,
'You have been into the country recently,
I understand. I hope you had a very
pleasant visit.'
'I have been to visit one of my ac-
quaintances,' replied Emeline. The coun-
try now looks very fine and beautiful.
admire the country at this season of the
year.'
'So do I,' he answered. I should be
highly pleased to pass a few weeks in the
country, every summer. And perhaps I
shall, in the course of a few years. My
business now confines me to the city, but
I hope in the course of a year or two I
shall be able to leave it, and occasionally
rusticate a little.'
a
'I have, and it is a splendid place for
summer's residence,' he replied. 'I
should be happy to give you a seat in my
carriage, and Emeline, too, and we wil!
go and see it. A woman's taste is al-
ways to be consulted in these matters.'
'I should be delighted to go,' said she.
'I, too, admire the country during the
summer months.'
'I have been looking over a country
seat, about two hours' ride from London,
Alfred Marquinay was by no means
pleased with the conversation between
his rival and Mrs. Clarendon; for he had
good sense enough to know that it was
necessary, in this case, in order to a suc-
cessful issue of his suit, that the favor of
the mother should be secured. Although
he was aware that his own person and
address were more pleasing to Emeline
than were those of Sillendare, yet he was
also seusible that her love of riches and
the influence of the proud mother, might
counterbalance all his personal qualifica-
tions, and finally give the victory to his
rival.
'Would you take a seat in my carriage,
Emeline?' inquired Sillendare. 'I have
a span of fine horses, and in less than two
hours we can view the country residence
I contemplate purchasing.'
Emeline was so much embarrassed that
she did not make an immediate reply to
the question, and Marquinay gazed upon
the questioner with feelings of hate and
revenge. For a few moments there was
a dead silence in the room, and Marquinay
I│rose up, and confronting his rival, said, in
a tone of voice which showed how deeply
indignant he felt, 'No wonder, Sir, you
receive no reply to your question.
A
man who has any of the feelings of a
gentleman would not thus embarrass a
young lady by asking her a question which
she could not answer."
Sillendare was much excited, and im-
inediately sprang to his feet, and placed
himself in an attitude of defence, as if he
feared some blows might follow the angry
words.


24
FRANCIS ABBOTT
Be not alarmed, Mr. Sillendare,' con-
tinued Marquinay, repressing, with much
difficulty, a smile which he felt rising to
his lips at the belligerent attitude which
bis rival had assumed. You shall not
be injured. I scorn to lay the weight of
my finger upon your head. Before you
again ask a virtuous and respectable lady
to accompany you in an excursion to the
country, or elsewhere, you had better con-
sult that courtezan with whom you spend
so many of your nights.
2017
IT
The mother and daughter were struck
with anmazement at the bold accusation
which Marquinay had made.
And the ac-
cused trembled with fear, and looked as if
indeed he were guilty, The evening's
conversation was now broken up, and the
two rivals soon took their leave of the fair
Emeline and her ambitious mother. Mar-
quinay went away rejoicing over his rival,
for the time forgetting that he had too
many glass windows in his own house, to
throw stones at Sillendare's


CHAPTER III.
GRUDGE not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have
His dainties, and the World's more numerous half
Lives by contriving delicates for you,)
Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares,
The vigilance, the labor, and the skill,
That day and night are exercised, and hang
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,
That ye may garnish your profuse regales
With summer fruits, brought forth by wintry suns.
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart
The process.'
MIDNIGHT had hung her sable mantle long. Often have I heard the plaintive
Over the sleeping millions of London, and notes of his flute during the night, and
the virtuous and healthy were sweetly more witching melodies I never heard
resting from their labors in the noise and breathed from the flute. He used to play
bustle of city life, when two guardians of a variety of tunes, but recently I have
the night happened to meet on the side heard only one, and that the most plain-
walk in front of the house occupied by tive ever listened to by mortal ears. At
Francis Abbott and his dying mother. all hours of the night have those plaintive
notes echoed in that same room where we
now see that glimmering light. 1 fear
some mental disease has seized upon the
sensitive young man, or he would not al-
ways be playing that same plaintive tune.' .
Francis Abbott!' repeated his compan-
Yes, I have heard of him, and a fine
fellow he is; too. Why, a few years ago
his father lived in a splendid house near
Hyde Park.'
Do you know who lives in this house?'
inquired one watchman of the other.
*During several nights I have seen
light burning in that same room. Some
person must be sick there, or else it is a
small gambling establishment,'
a
·
:
'No gambling in that house, I can asion.
sure you,' replied the other. Mrs. Ab-
bott and her son Francis live there.
You've heard of Francis Abbott, the great
scholar and flute player? They were rich He did,' replied the other watchman.
once, but now the pinching hand of pov-But he lost his property and then he died,
erty is upon them, it is said. The mother and Francis and his mother removed to
is very sick, and probably, will not live this house, where she was taken sick, and


26
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
is not now expected to recover from her from his flute. If I were a young man
illness. Hark! I hear the strains of his and could play the flute as he can, I would
flute. Listen! Don't you hear the plain-play myself into a fortune in less than a
tive notes?'
month. Music is the food of love, and
'Indeed I do,' said the other. 'And some beautiful and rich girl of London
how sweetly he plays! I wish I could should be made to feel it, and to feed up-
breathe such tones into the flute. Hear! on it.'
What heavenly music! The tones make
me feel as if some spiritual beings were
hovering in the darkness over our heads,
and breathing forth strains of music they
learned in the other world.
Have you
beard such strains before?"
1.
"O listen!' said the other. 'Don't talk,
but let me drink in the delicious music.
I would stand and listen until the morning
breaks, and let the city take care of itself.
Why don't the young man give a concert
to the public? Thousands would flock to
hear him, and he might make money out
of it.'
'Hark! exclaimed his companion; 'I
hear different kind of music. Don't you
hear the rattle of some one of our breth-
ren?'
'Quite often,' replied his companion.
4
He plays the same tube almost every ing. They hurried away, and reluctantly
night, and has for several nights past. It left the enchanting music of Francis Ab-
is a sweet tune, but it makes me feel sad bott's flute to attend to the duties of their
and melancholy. I sometimes wish he profession; for dangerous to life and limb
would play a more lively one; still I al- as the work of watchmen sometimes
ways stop and listen to its enchanting proves, still they generally have a great
strains, for I can't budge an inch on my curiosity to see what is going on, and to
round when the tones strike my ears.' mingle in the strife when the sound of the
rattle is heard. We will not now follow
these guardians of the night to the scene
where they were summoned, but will call
the reader's notice to matters more inti-
mately connected with our story, and
which, we trust, will be more interesting
than those exhibitions of rowdyism and
crime which are nightly witnessed in all
"
Ab, he's too proud and ambitious to be-large cities, which gather within their pre-
come a public performer for gain,' replied
his companion.
cincts the most corrupt and profligate of
the human race. We may, and probably
a
They listened, and now the sound of the
watchman's rattle was distinctly heard far
down the street in which they were stand-
'Too proud!' echoed the other in sur-shall, recur to this scene hereafter, as it
prise. 'He would acquire fame, and his concerned one of the young gentlemen
naine would ring all over the city and who has made his entrance into these
country.'
pages.
'No matter for that,' said he. 'He once
belonged to the higher classes, and would
now move in those circles if he had wealth
to carry it out; but as it is he is obliged
to live in this humble place, and amuse
himself the best way he can... I heard to-
day that he was once engaged to a most
beautiful and wealthy lady, but after his
father lost bis property, the haughty crea-
ture turned him off. How true it is I
know not, but I was told so this day.'
A few minutes before the watchmen
met in front of the house in which lay the
sick mother of Francis Abbott, and from
which they heard such enchanting strains
of music from the young musician's instru-
ment, she had awakened from a troubled
slumber, and with hollow, sunken eyes,
was gazing upon her son as if she felt a
sort of presentiment that she was taking
her last look of all she held most dear on
earth.
'She must be a fool, then; for if she
has money that is enough,' replied the
other. 'Well, he need not despair, for
there are hundreds of rich heiresses in the
city whose hearts can be won by such
beavenly strains as he is now breathing
1
Francis was sitting at a small table, up-
on which burned a feeble lamp, a short
distance from the bed. He was the sole
watcher that night with his beloved moth-
er; for, during the day previous, she had
not been any worse than she had been for


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
27
'No, no, Francis,' she replied in a
several days, although she was very sick,
and her hold on life very feeble and
almost broken. While she slumbered,
Francis was deeply engaged in composing
some variations to a tune of which she whisper, whose soft and thrilling tones
was very fond.
It was a piece of music | rang louder in the chambers of his soul
which he composed soon after his mother than any voice he ever heard. It is not
was taken sick, and he called it The in the power of human skill to arrest the
Mother's Prayer.' It was a composition progress of the disease which is preying
well adapted to awaken all a mother's upon me. We must all die, sooner or
fondest feelings, and to stir within her later, and if prepared, no matter when the
heart the most pure and holy emotions. summons comes. I believe you are vir-
Often during the silent watches of the tuous and good, and may the spirit of
night had she called upon him to play this Heaven keep you so. I have been proud
tune which seemed to quiet her nerves and ambitious in years past, but this
and make her almost forget that disease weakness of the body has taught me the
was hurrying her down to the tomb. He folly of all such emotions. I have but
had just completed one variation as his one request to make one wish to ex-
mother awoke from her slumber, and press, and that is, that you will not hum-
was himself anxious to hear its tones ble yourself so much as to attempt to seek
from his favorite instrument. 'Francis,' the favor of the proud and haughty Eme-
said she in a very feeble voice, and turn-line Clarendon. She's not worthy of you.'
ing her eyes upon him as if strange emo- 'Mother, if she loves me not, I will fly
to other lands, and leave her for ever,'
replied the agitated son. 'I have too
much pride — too much spirit to sue long
for the favor of any woman who will not
reciprocate my affection. I will show
myself a man in the midday of my life, as
you now show yourself the calm Christian
in the hour of death.'
4
tions were pressing her heart.
'Well, mother, what shall I do for
you?' he said, rising up, and softly going
to the bedside. 'I fear you're not so well
as you were. Do you feel worse?'
·
She gazed upon him most anxiously,
but her lips made no reply. He trembled
and was fearful that death was about to
lay his cold, withering hand upon her.
He took her by the hand, and tremblingly
examined her pulse. But his own frame
was so agitated that he could not feel the
red current in the artery of her wrist as it
still feebly found its way back to the
Jungs.
'Mother! speak! and tell me if you
feel worse,' he said in tones which evi-
dently showed how deep and thrilling the
emotions which agitated his bosom. 'If
this fatal disease has not paralyzed your
powers of utterance, speak and tell me
your feelings, and what to do.'
'Shall I not call a physician,' he anx-
iously inquired. 'I can have one here in
a few minutes.'
"Francis, I do feel worse, and it seems
to me that I shall not breathe many hours
longer,' she feebly replied. But be not
alarmed. If God summons me to the other
world now, I'm ready to obey the call and
depart. I wish for no one present but
you and the ministering angels who are
always present when the good and the
virtuous die,'
―
*
A smile played over the haggard coun-
tenance of the mother as if the words her
son uttered were the words of truth, but
she made no reply, other than that which
every feature of her face seemed to ex-
press. A tomb-like silence, for some
minutes, reigned in the room, and neither
mother nor son uttered a single emotion
of the many which so deeply agitated
their hearts. They gazed upon each
other with that intensity of feeling which
a fearful apprehension of a long separation
can alone produce.
At last the sick woman opened her
trembling lips, and said, 'Francis, I'm
satisfied. I can now depart in peace. I
always believed you would finally become
aroused to a proper sense of your own
dignity, and listen to the admonitions of
your parents. Let the proud Emeline
seek for a rich husband. I feel that my
strength is fast ebbing away, and soon
your only parent will be sleeping with the


28
FRANCIS ABBOTT
dead. While my ears have strength to
hear, and my heart to feel the power of
music, breathe softly into your flute the
Mother's Prayer. Let me Hear it once
more before my eyes are closed in death,
and the cold clods of the earth stop up
my ears.'
greeted his ears but the ticking of his
watch which bùng up over the fireplace.
Laying his instrument upon the table,
with noiseless step he approached the bed
and placed his trembling hand upon his
mother's marble forehead. The touch
told him but too plainly that his mother
was dead. Kissing her cold lips he
spread a clean white handkerchief over
her head, and sat down at the table.
•
tance.
Francis took up his flute, and played
the piece his mother requested him to
perform. She remained perfectly quiet
until he commenced playing the variation I will try,' said he, to catch those
which he had composed that evening. strains which I was playing when my
The strange sounds fell sweetly on her mother's spirit took its flight to mansions
ears, and she turned her eyes towards beyond the skies. She thought she beard
him and faintly said, I hear you play a another flute far off in the distance played
new piece, it seems to me, and yet it by an angel. Ch! God! give me power
sounds like the Mother's Prayer. Ab 1 to write that heavenly music that I may
hear the enchanting notes in the far display it in years to come. There are
times when the soul feels deeply, and
seems to catch inspirations from the
spiritual world. He took up his pen,
and, after a moment's deep and anxious
thought, hegan to write down, the notes as
memory gave him back the tones.
He
continued to write for nearly half an hour,
and with such enthusiasm and emotion as
he never experienced before. It seemed
to him that the Genius of Music occupied
his soul. Such an inspiration is but once
felt during the whole life of man, and that
is, when the soul apparently shuffles of
this mortal coil, and holds sweet commu-
nion with beings of another world. At
any rate, sneh were his emotions at this
time. He finished the composition in an
incredibly short space of time, and al-
though his mother lay dead in the room,
yet he took up his flute and softly breathed
into it what he had written. The strains
were all his enthusiastic dreams supposed
them to be. •All! it is done, he said to
himself. This is a composition I will
preserve as sacred as the popik of my eye.
will play it when friends forsake me,
It is an angel playing another
flute, and adding some notes to the piece.
Oh! how heavenly are those strains, and
how sweetly they come into my soul.
Oh! God! Let me go from earth that I
may hear that music nearer. Yes, it is
an angel; for earthly power can never
make such music." She was now quiet
and calm, and Francis continued to
breathe his whole soul into his flute, with
his eyes intently fixed upon his mother.
He played on, and it seemed to him that
he never played with such power before,
for having played what strains he had
written a few times over, he launched off
into an unbounded sea of music, and made
his instrument breathe out the emotions
which, moved his soul. Strain after strain
came from his flute until he was abso-
lutely astonished at his own performance.
Oh! he thought if he could write out
those strains from memory, he would
never cease to play them. While he was
thus enraptured with his own music, and
breathing his whole soul into his flute, he
cast his eyes upon his mother. A change
had come
over her countenance, — her | and darkness' hovers over my path. I
lips were gently moving, and a smile v was
in her face, He' took the flute from his
mouth and the music reased. There was
nothing left but its memory in the hearts
of the mother and son. When he ceased
to play a slight shuddering seized her
worn out frame, and her pore spirit
winged its flight far beyond the stars. Allrounded by ministering angels.. Tp then
was silent as the grave, and no sound the sounds will be most grateful, for they
*.
6
-
↓
will call it My Mother's Requiem, and nơ
moital ears shall hear its strains, for they
cane from another world, and are only fit
for angels' ears No buman ears shall
drink in the sounds; for do human heart
can properly appreciate such divine strains
will play it when I'm alone, or only sur-
•
t


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1
1
FRANCIS ABBOTT DROWNING IN NIAGARA RIVER,

Tuscarora Indian
Francis Abbott drowning in Nagara river, just below the Falls.
girl plunges in after him, and the ferryman puls off in his boat to rescue him, while Emeline
Clarendon and her female attendant stand upon the shore, witnesses of the appalling scene.





THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
31
are such as they hear in the bright and world. How quiet she lays! How beau-
pure heavens.'
tiful and serene her countenance as it
calmly reposes in death! This was the
music an angel played when her soul left
earth for Heaven.'
Thus sat and communed Francis Ab-
bott with himself, almost forgetting in the
inspirations which came over hin at that
time that the dead body of his dearly be-
loved mother was his only companion in
the solitude of the night. For more than
two long hours he was completely ab
sorbed in his own deep reflections, and
felt as if no earthly duties demanded his
attention. His body was in the room
with that of his mother, but his spirit was
soaring away far beyond the clouds, seem-and
ingly disdaining the earth and all its
scenes.
While he was in the midst of this
revery, and scarcely knowing where he
was, the nurse Nancy, who divided the
task of taking care of Mrs. Abbott with
him, having had her nap out, came into
the room. He started up when the nurse
opened the door, and he heard the sound
of mortal footsteps. Looking wildly
around as if he had just been awakened
from a strange dream, he said to the
nurse, why do you come thus early?'
6
Taking down the watch and looking at
it, she replied, 'Early! It is not so early
as I usually come. See! It is after two
o'clock, and I generally come about one to
relieve you from your duties.'
'I did not think it was so late,' he re-
plied.
6
Speak lower, or you may awake your
mother,' said the nurse, in a whisper. 'I
think she's asleep now. Did she rest
well through the night?'
'Asleep now!' he repeated, taking up
the notes of his new musical, composition
which he had just been playing. See!
These are such strains as she heard an-
gels playing when her spirit was leaving
its earthly body for a brighter and better
world!'
1
•
'What mean you?' anxiously inquired
the astonished nurse, examining the writ-
ten music, but being very far from com-
prehending it.
'Here! give me the paper,' he said im-
patiently. You can't understand it,' and
then pointing to the dead body of his
mother, he continued, 'See there! She
does sleep, never again to awake in this
.
The nurse burried to the bed, and pul-
ling the white handkerchief from the face
of the dead woman, saw at a glance that
her spirit had indeed left from earth to
Heaven.
'She's dead!' exclaimed the nurse, in
much surprise.
"
Yes, she's dead,' he calmly replied,
how sweetly she fell asleep!'
Why did you not call me when you as-
certained she was dying?" asked the nurse.
'Oh! of what avail could you have
been in that terrible hour!' he said. 'I
offered to go for a physician, but she for-
bade it, aud said no human skill could
arrest the progress of the fatal disease.'
6
But I should have thought you would
have wanted company,' she said. 'It is a
fearful sight to witness the death of any
one, and especially it is terrible for one to
see a mother die."
(
6
'I was calm and composed, for I knew
she must die,' he replied. And she said
she wished for the presence of no one but
me and the angels which hover around
the deathbed of the Christian.'
'Did she not struggle at the moment of
dissolution?' inquired the maid.
'No more than the nursed infant when
it falls asleep,' he answered.
'Did she not say any thing,' she asked.
'Only requested me to play the Moth-
er's Prayer,' he said. 'I played it, with
some variations I composed this very
night, and. she calmly breathed her last,
as the weary worn out winds expire.
And a smile sat upon her pallid conn-
tenance even after the spirit had departed,
as if to give evidence to the world how
calm was her exit from this vale of tears.
Ah! true! It was the death of a
mother - of a loved and fondly cherished
mother! But mothers must die, and
happy is that son who is privileged to
witness the death of a mother, if that sad
event must take place in his lifetime. I
saw her die, and may my death be as
calm, peaceful and happy as hers; then I
shall not have lived in vain.'
--
:


32
FRANCIS ABBOTT OR
Do you intend to reside in London
now your mother is dead?' she asked,
I think not,' he replied. I expect to
cross the Atlantic and take up my resi-
dence in America. Loudon has no more
charms for me.'
know how Francis got along with Emeline
Clarendon, and thought this a good time
to institute some inquiries. She knew
very well that the aristocratic young lady
had, since Francis, or rather since his
father, had met such reverses of fortune,
refused to receive him as her lover; still
she could not help thinking, as many
others did, who were acquainted with the
circumstances, that he would be finally
successful. This nurse could hardly con
ceive how any woman of taste and refine-
ment, however rich she might be, would
cease to love such an accomplished
scholar, good hearted, handsome young
man, as. Francis Abbott was. She was
not sensible of the power and influence
which ambition and a love of rank and
splendor has over some female hearts.
Being in the humble walks of life herself,
she was but illy prepared to conceive of
the influences which operate upon those
who move in the higher circles. If she
could wed such a person as Francis Ab-
bott, she never would think of rank or
condition, but her aspirations never soared
so high as this, and therefore she con-
cluded any woman in London would be
glad to unite herself to such a scholar and
accomplished gentleman.
'You've more to be proud of than she
has, if you have not so much money,' said
the nurse. 'Your education and your
talents will qualify you for. any station,
either here, or in the New World, whither
you dream of going.'
!
Having received such a severe rebuke
for meddling with affairs which did not
concern her, and greatly fearing the dis-
pleasure of Francis Abbott, the purse sat
herself about making preparations to lay
Money! he repeated. I hate it, or
its debasing effects upon the souls of men
and women more than ever. Its love is
the curse of the world in which we live.
It corrupts the morals, debases the heart,
and blints all its finer sensibilities. Yes,
it blots out the fair image of love from
woman's hearty and stamps in its place
pride and ambition with all their corrupt-out the dead body of his mother. Several
ing and blighting influences."
women were called in, and the ceremony
Does Miss Clarendon still persist in performed. Francis bore the death of his
refusing your addresses because you are mother with much calmness and resigna-
not now rick?” inquired the nurse, having tion; for he had long been preparing his
a great curiosity to know the secret of mind and heart for the melancholy event
that connection, and desiring to pry into He could bear to see his fond 'mother die,
matters which did not at all concern ber.but to be rejected by the proud and beau-
"Seek anorlier time, and another place tiful and fascinating Emeline, by her
to make suele inquiries, and perhaps who he had reason to believe once loved
might answer them, he sternly and re-him as she did, her own life, oppressed
provingly replied, but let not a woman's and weighed him down to earth. Upon
curiosity fead you astray on such a solemn all other questions he reasoned calmly
Occasion as tits. Let us first take care and philosophically, but upon the change
of the dead, and then we can talk about in Emeline's affectious he could not rea
the livig
son. The more he thought upon the
subject the more confused he became,
•
6
1.
It has one charm, I conclude, in the
person of Miss Clarendon
the proud
Miss Clarendon as your mother was wont
to call her,' said the nurse..
6
--
Oh! pronounce not the name in this
place, made solemn by the recent death
of my only parent,' he said with much
feeling and painful emotion.If she is
a proud and haughty girl, let her seek a
proud and haughty companion, that she
may be equally mated, for. I'm not proud
and haughty; and if I were, the dying
sceue which I have just witnessed would
have driven forever all such emotion from
my heart.'
The inquisitive nurse felt herself se-
verely rea kid, and made her retreat the
best way
e could. She was curious to
→
*
.
Gog
Upop one thing he was fully resolved,
and that was to seek an interview with


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA,
33
Emeline before he took passage for the
new world,
Dark as his prospects were,
and gloomy and sombre as the clouds
were which hung over his path, still his
heart was not the sepulchre of all hope.
At times he even went so far as to force
himself to believe that Emeline might be
induced to accompany him to Amèrica,
but these hallucinations would be scat
tered and chased away by his batter rea-
son and judgment, and the night of des-
pair would again settle upon his soul,
Thus for several days after the earthly
remains of his mother were placed in the
tomb beside those of his father, he was al-
ternately the subject of hope and despair.
In the morning he would wake up from his
troubled sleep, and resolve that he would
before night seek an interview with Eme-
line and learn his destiny; but before noon
of the same day he would change his
mind, and defer his visit to what seemed
to him to be a more convenient time, pre-
ferring a state of alternate hope and fear to
one of certainty, which might blast all his
hopes for ever.
The nature of man struggles against
despair, and as Sterne has, wisely said
somewhere, it is indeed surprising to con-
sider the strange force of this passion:
what wonders it has wrought in supporting
men's spirits in all ages, and under such
inextricable difficulties, that they have
sometimes hoped, as the Apostle well ex-
presses it, even against hope,-against
all likelihood, and have occasionally looked
forward with comfort, under misfortunes,
when there was little or nothing to favor
such an expectation. This flattering pro-
pensity in us, no doubt, is built upon one
of the most deceitful of human pas-
[sions that is, self-love, which at all
times inclines us to think better of our-
selves and conditions than there is ground
for. But experience has taught us all
that we must call in something to aid this
passion of hope, or will be like a ship
tossed without a pilot upon a troublesome
sea. It may float upon the surface for
a while, but is never likely to be brought
to the haven where it would be.


CHAPTER IV.
'What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's king,
Cheops, erected the first pyramid
And largest, thinking it was just the thing
To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid;
But somebody or other rummaging,
Burglariously broke his coffin's lid.
Let not a monument give you or me hopes,
Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.'
It will be recollected by the reader,
that when the rattle sounded, and arrested
the attention of the two watchmen who
stood before the house occupied by Fran-
cis Abbott and his mother, listening to the
sweet and heavenly strains of the flute,
that they hurried away to the scene to
which they were summoned by the notes
of this instrument of alarm. It will be
also recollected that Alfred Marquinay,
fearing that his rival, Thomas Sillendare,
might supplant him in the good graces of
Emeline Clarendon, threw out some pretty
broad hints, in the hearing of the young
lady and her mother, that the said Sillen-
dare was on very intimate terms with a
courtezan. Now Marquinay did not reckon
this time without his host, for he well
knew that his rival kept a mistress, to
whom he was much devoted; and how
he obtained this information, may be de-
veloped in the course of our narrative.
Before we proceed to give a description
of the scene to which the two watchmen
were summoned by the sound of the rat-
tle, we will take a peep behind the cur-
tain, and there we may learn the cause
which produced this uproar in the street.
After Sillendare had been accused, in the
hearing of Emeline, of associating with a
female of ill fame, he was determined, if
possible, to find out how Marquinay be-
came possessed of the information. He
had several times made unsuccessful at-
tempts to ascertain the facts from his mis-
tress, but she had always most adroitly
evaded his inquiries, till at last he became
jealous of her, and suspected that Mar-
quinay was on more intimate terms with
her than was altogether becoming the re-
lation in which they lived.
During the night the alarm was given,
Sillendare was with her, in a room splen-
didly furnished at his expense.
He was
continually catechizing her about Mar-
quinay, and endeavoring to ascertain
whether she had any acquaintance with
him; but her shrewdness and cunning
had never forsaken her until this evening.
She was a girl of very fair and captivating
exterior, and was endowed with much
more wit and art than fell to the share


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
35
Sillendare, I know you too well to be
frightened at any thing you can say or do.'
'Do you mean to insult me, after all I
have done for you?' he asked.
If there's any insult, it is all on your
part,' she replied, proudly walking the
room, and gazing upon him as if she
would look him through.
of Sillendare. Her name was Jane Del-
ano. She had hitherto managed with
such consummate art and skill, that she
had always controlled the weak but
aristocratic Sillendare, and fleeced him of
large sums of money in various ways.
He bore it all with much meekness and
patience, under the false belief that she
was very fond of him, and so much at-Will you tell me who gave the infor-
tached to him that she would spurn, from mation that I am paying my addresses to
her any other young man who might at- Miss Clarendon ?' he impatiently inquired.
tempt to address her. In this he was Upon one condition I will,' she an-
most lamentably mistaken; for, like all swered.
others of her profession, she was more
fond of variety than he dreamed of in his
philosophy.
€
"
I have several times asked you, Jane,
if you had any acquaintance with Alfred
Marquinay, but have never received a sat-
isfactory answer,' he said.
And I too have several times asked
you why you are so anxious to know,' she
replied. 'I have told you I know him by
sight, and have now and then seen him in
the street.'
"
Jane, you know that is not what I
mean,' he said, in a reproving manner, and
in a voice which evinced more impatience,
if not anger, than she had ever before
witnessed.
'You need not attempt to intimidate
me by your threats or looks, Mr. Sillen-
dare,' she sternly replied, for two can
play at that game, I can assure you. I
have quite as much reason to be jealous
of you as you have of me. I understand
you are making love to a Miss Claren-
don--yes, and on your knees, too. Do
you think such things are agreeable to
me?'
Has he ever been in this room?' he plied in much anger.
anxiously inquired.
I cannot say but you have invited
him here some times when I was out,'
she answered.
蜜
​'Who told you of all this?' he inquired
in a voice choked with rage. 'Speak,
and tell me, or by heaven, I will leave you
for ever.'
And what is that, pray?'
That you tell me truly, if it is a fact,'
she replied.
I'm engaged to her, I suppose,' he said.
'No, not yet engaged,' she replied; it
takes two to make that bargain. If you
had said you were seeking, on your knees,
an engagement with her, you would have
come much nearer the truth.'
*
'Don't insult me, or I swear I'll hurl
you through the windows into the street,
to be picked up by the watchmen,' he re-
'I dare thee to the task, thou cowardly
fool,' she said. 'I fear you not. Weap-
onless as I am, these hands should pluck
out your gray eyes, in case you offered to
lay a hand upon me. I owe you one,
and you shall have it. Mr. Marquinay is
the person who told me you were humbly
seeking the favor of Miss Clarendon.'
'Death and fury!' he exclaimed.—
'I see it all. Fool that I am to be thus
deceived by a false hearted woman!'
'Yes, you are a fool, and a poor weak
one, too!' she replied, while a smile of
contempt curled her proud lip, and her
dark eyes flashed fire. 'One night spent
with Marquinay is worth a year passed
with you.'
'The hottest curse of heaven upon you!'
he exclaimed, springing towards her, and
raising her by the hair of her head. I'll
strangle you on the spot if you utter a
single cry!"
Leave me for ever!' she tauntingly
echoed. Leave me for ever! Well,
leave me, if you please; for there are
others, better looking than you are, who
would be glad to supply your place.-go her hair and attempt to unclench her
The moment he seized her by the hair,
quick as thought she plunged her fingers.
into his eyes, mouth and cheeks. So sud-
den did she make this movement, and with
such energy too, that he was forced to let


36%
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR,
bands and sharp nails from his face.
ter a severe struggle he succeeded in doing
so, but not, however, before she had left
many marks, as the streaming blood gave
abundant evidence. He now with much
difficulty, held her by the wrists; and even
then she continued to kick and bite him
with the fury of a tigress that had lost her
young. In the struggle she bit his hands
severely, and once she left the print of her
teeth upon the end of his nose, and would
have devoured it at a single meal, if he had
not thrown her from frim half way across
the room.
Af-the tears flowed copiously down her flush-
ed cheeks.
She now rose from the floor, upon which
he had thrown her to save his nose from
further injury, and' with redoubled fury
came at him again; and again he burled
her upon the floor and planted his knees
upon her breast, endeavoring with all his
power to seize her by the throat; but she
struggled as for her life, and succeeded by
one powerful effort in kicking him from
her, when she suddenly arose aud flew to
the door, screaming murder with all the
strength of lungs she could command.
At that moment a watchman happened
to be passing the house, and hearing the
outery, he sprung bis rattle. In a moment
she descended the stairs and stood in the
outside door, leaving the discomfitted Sil-
lendare in the chamber, bleeding from ev-
ery pore in his face. In her struggle her
hair had escaped from its fastenings, and
her night dress was torn half round in the
skirt; and as she stood in the door, with
the light of a lamp, which was near by,
shining upon her agitated countenance and
dishevelled hair, she looked like a maniac
just escaped from her cell in some lunatic
asylum.
O save me from the hands of a mur-
derer!' she exclaimed in the agonies of
her soul, and assuming a most frightful at-
titude and manner.
"Where is the murderer?' anxiously
inquired the watchman, believing she had
most miraculously escaped from the hands
of an assassin.
She acted her part to admiration, and
at once enlisted the sympathies of the
guardian of the night. The other two
watchmen who have been previously in-
troduced to the reader now arrived. And
while the one who gave the alarm was
holding the frantic and apparently half
murdered girl, the others ascended the
stairs and entered the room, which had
just been the battle field and the theatre
of this nocturnal strife, just as the fright-
ened and bleeding. Sillendare was prepar-
ing to go out. The watchmen instantly
seized him, supposing they had nabbed a
murderer of the vilest stamp. Sillendare
made no resistance, but let the streaming,
blood plead in his defence.
In the chamber overhead,' she replied,
while her voice was choked with sobs and
Why did you attempt to murder that
girl?" inquired one of the watchmen, as
he held the poor fellow in one hand and
his rattle in the other. Come, you must
go with us.'
I have attempted no, murder,' said Sil-
lendare, in a voice tremulous with rage
and fear. I came the nearest being mur
dered myself, as the streaming blood will
testify."
This watchman knew very well the man
they had caught, and began to think there
was not so much murder in the case after
all as at first blush might appear..
"
You know me too well to believe that
I would deliberately commit murder,' said
Sillendare. The girl who has made such
an outcry is one that I have kept. You've
What is the matter?? exclaimed a heard me speak of Jane Delano? a pretty
watchman, seizing her by the arm to pre-creature enough when pleased, but the dev-
vent her escape.
il all over when mad. She became angry
with me and planted her nails in my face,
as you may plainly see. I attempted to
defend myself from her wild-cat claws, and
in doing so I was obliged to use consider-
able force. And after scratching my face
and almost tearing out my eyes, she hur-
ried down stairs, screaming murder with
all her might and strength, and alarming
the neighborhood.'
I have not the least doubt but Sillen-
!
'What!' exclaimed the other watch
man, in surprise, 'is, that you, Sillendare?
How in Heaven's name did you get into
such a scrape?'


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
37
dare has told the truth,' said the watchman
to his companion. I think it best to let
him off, on condition he makes us a pres-
ent."
'Thank you, sir. Here are two guin-
eas-one for each,' said Sillendare, hand-
ing them the money.
'He has bribed you with his money,'
exclaimed Jane, watching the movement
of one of the watchmen when he slipped
the guinea into the other's hand.
All right; but another guinea for the
watchman below, who now has the young
tigress in custody,' he said.
This abandoned female understood the
Sillendare gave them another guinea, character of the city watch much better
and he was permitted to depart in peace. than those who moved in the higher and
The watchmen now went below and as-purer walks of life, for she was somewhat
experienced in these matters.
sisted him who was guarding the girl.
Sillendare made his escape through a back
way, and did not come down with the
watchmen.
'Charge us not with bribery, in addition
to your other crimes,' said one of them,
'or we will have you hung up for a mur-
deress, or for an attempt to commit mur-
der. The gentleman's face, from which
blood is now streaming, will be a swift
'Where is the villain, the black-hearted
murderer?" anxiously inquired Jane.
has not escaped, has he?'
He has gone,' said one of the watch-witness against you in the hour of trial.'
men, but he is no murderer; such a wick-
ed thought never entered his heart. He
was acting in self defence; and if he had
not, you would have torn his eyes out and
all the flesh from his face."
'Away with her to the lockup,' said an-
other. "Tis not safe to let such she dev-
ils run at large through the city in the day
time, and much less so in the night.'
'Let me go to my chamber and get my
clothes, and I will go with you,' said Jane.
I'll yet be revenged on that dastardly Sil-
lendare. I care not whither I go to night,
for other days are coming which will give
me opportunity to wreak my vengeance
upon the mean scoundrel.
Let me go
and not keep a woman here in her night
clothes, and these hanging in tatters upon
her person.'
One of the watchmen now accompanied
her to the chamber, for the purpose of let-
ting her put on another dress. As she en-
tered the room, the thought struck her that
Sillendere might have forgotten his watch,
Ia very valuable gold lever. She knew
where he was in the habit of laying it
when he visited her, and there she cau-
tiously looked, but was very sly about it,
lest the watchman might discover what
she was about. As she expected, she found
the watch and concealed it about her per-
son. Sillendare, in his alarm and excite-
ment, never thought of his watch, but had
gone and left it.
While she was dressing, Sillendare
came round the corner of a street to
reconnoitre and see how the affair was
likely to end. Seeing two watchmen
He
go free, for the sake of the shining dust.
Whether the watchmen, in this instance,
would have let Sillendare escape if one of
them had not known him, may be some-
what doubtful.
Tis false as hell,' she exclaimed. 'He
first seized me by the hair of my head, and
if I had not scratched and bit him, he
would have torn it all out by the roots:
besides, he threw me down upon the floor,
placed his knees upon my bosom, and at-
tempted to choke the breath out of my
body. With such strength as I never felt
* before, I hurled the wretch from me and
sought the street; and here f am, having
just escaped from his ruthless hands to tell
the story of my wrongs.'
"
How came he to escape?' asked the
first watchman in surprise. Justice ought
not thus to be deprived of her dues.
believe he's-'
I know him well,' said another watch-
man, slily placing a guinea in his brother's
hand. Feeling the smooth, shining piece
of gold in his palm, the watchman thus re-
ceiving the money at once understood the
affair, and closed his lips. There is noth-
ing like the power of gold, under almost
any circumstance or condition in life, to
smooth the way and purchase friends.
Even the ministers of law and the officers
of government are not unfrequently indu-
ced to let the guilty escape, and prisoners
3


38
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
alone rear the door where Jane had made | I'm quite sure that Sillendare will not like
the alarm, he beckoned them to him.
•
I've been thinking,' said he, it will
be best for all concerned, to let the jade
go free; for if she's brought before the
city authorities she will bring my name
out before the public, and my character
will become implicated. I should rather
she be left in her chamber.'
'We will do so, if you wish it,' said
they. I don't suppose we could make
out much against her, if she were brought
to trial. Besides, it would become ne-
cessary to summon you as a witness.'
'O that will never do,' said Sillendare,
much alarmed; in that case my name
would be mentioned in the public reports,
and blazoned abroad before the public in
all the newspapers in the metropolis. I
would much rather have her set free
now.'
While they were thus talking, the other
watchman and Jane made their appear-
ance in the street. Sillendare, seeing
them upon the sidewalk, hurried away;
not, however, before he had secured the
liberation of his paramour, by the gift of
another piece of gold.
to appear as a witness. Come, lead off to
prison, and I will follow you. It is
much warmer there than in the street
here.'
The watchmen hesitated, for they were
somewhat embarrassed between the per-
formance of their duty and a desire to
please Sillendare, who had so liberally re-
warded them.
·
No matter for that,' she replied; you
say you can have me hung up as a mur-
deress, Let me see you do it, if you can.
Neither of you can swear you have seen
me take the life of any human being, and
'Come,' why do you hesitate?' she con-
tinued. 'Come, the murderess is ready to
go any where with you, and to appear be-
fore any court. Would not the offer of a
bribe quicken you in the performance of
your duties? If I had oceans of gold, I
would not give you a single atom, for I
know money would take me from your
hands, however guilty I might be; but now
I'm innocent I would prefer to have the
opportunity to establish my innocence.-
Therefore on, and let me see the pri-
son.'
'If we carry you there, you will never
come out, except to be led to the gallows,’
said one of the watchmen, thinking he
might frighten her. You are completely
in our power, and a few words from us
would swing you between the earth and
the heavens.'
6
6
The watchman who had accompanied
Jane to her chamber was now informed of
Sillendare's request, and he very readily
gave his assent.
•
6
After consulting together about your
case,' said be, we have concluded to let
yon go free. to-night, upon condition you
make a solemn promise never to disturb
the peace of the city again.'
I shall make no such promise,' she
firmly replied. Convey me to prison, if
6
you please, gentlemen. I'm ready to con-thrust me into prison, there to await my
trial?' she tauntingly and provokingly re-
plied.
front Sillendare before any court in the
city, and in fact I really wish to do so.—
Come, let us go along. The night air is
cold, and I do not wish longer to tarry in
the street,'
• Because we don't wish to feed you at the
public expense,' replied another watch-
man.
Yes, you might perjure your souls for
the sake of hanging a woman,' she replied,
but I do not fear that, for you have'nt
courage enough to do it, although you may
be as destitute of moral principle as the
evil one himself.'
"
You are a provoking, miserable wretch,
said he, 'and deserve to be hanged.'
Then why don't you hurry along and
•
You're a strange creature,' said one of More likely because you have received
the watchmen. You are the first female a bribe from that low and dirty Sillendare
lever saw who preferred a prison to lib-to let me go, lest his name should be
erty.'
coupled with mine, and bruited about the
city. He's afraid a certain young lady will
hear that he has sworn love to me.'
'Sworu love to you!' repeated the
watchman, and laughing scornfully.
'Yes, sworn love to me,' she replied.


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
NIAGARA.
39
He has told me an hundred times how
much he loved me, and I've no doubt he
told the truth, for he did love me as much
as much as he is capable of loving a wo-
man. He has a small heart, and therefore
his love cannot be very great for any body.
So long as his money lasts he will exer-
eise power over a certain portion of the
community, watchmen included, but when
his gold is gone, his power will be at an
end.'
|
The watchmen felt the truth of what
she uttered; at least one of them did, who
was acquainted with the dandy; for he
knew him to be a person of a very small
calibre.
A well known voice upon the outside
answered, 'Your friend, Marquinay.'
She opened the door, and Alfred Mar-
quinay entered the room, with a smile
playing on his face, and a devil lurking in
his heart.
I happened to be passing, and heard
the row,' he replied.
I concealed my-
self and awaited the result. What was
this all about, pray y?'
made the blood stream down and trickle
into his ‘royal' mustachios. O he was in
a dreadful pickle. If I had had a dagger
about me, I would have made a small hole
in his little beart.',
'I will find a room for you, and leave
directions by a letter in the post office,'
he said.
The watchmen now let her go, contrary
to her own expressed wishes. She went 'Very well,' she said. 'Do so as early
back to her chamber, and they upon their as convenient in the morning, although
several beats, in search of other adventures. I don't think there is much danger of his
After she got back to her chamber, the coming here to-morrow, or appearing out
thought struck her that she would write a at all until his face becomes healed over.
note to Emeline Clarendon, but before the I'll tell you what I was thinking about
thought was fairly matured she heard a just as you knocked at the door. The
knocking at her chamber door. At first thought struck me that I would write
she concluded that Sillendare had come Miss Clarendon a letter, and give her
back again after his watch, or for some some hints about his connection with
other purpose. She went to the door, but me. I could sign it Jane, and never be
before she unlocked it, she inquired, 'who | known. It would hit her hard, now
was there?'
you have thrown out such intimations to
her.'
'Why, he was jealous about you, and
became quite wolfish about the head and
shoulders,' she answered, smiling. 'A
more angry fellow I guess you never saw.
He actually frothed at the mouth; but
Fortunate then for you that you did
have no other weapon but your hands,'
said Marquinay.
Perhaps it is so,' she replied. In his
fright he has left his watch, and it will
be a lucky day for him when he gets it
again. To-morrow morning I intend to
pack up and remove from this room to
soine other place.'
Where in the world did you come
from?' inquired Jane. If you had been
here a while ago, you might have seen a
terrible battle between me and the coward, | he replied.
Sillendare. I tore his face some, at any
rate, and all the damage he did to me, he
tore my night dress, but I can mend that
long enough before the wounds in his face
will heal over.'
'A capital thought!' exclaimed Mar-
quinay. Write it now, and I will drop
it into the post office to-morrow. It will
raise the very devil with him and the
Clarendons."
Had you
not better write?" she
asked.
'O no, my handwriting may be known,'
'Well, you dictate and I will write,' she
said.
This was agreed upon, and she sat
down and wrote the following letter,
dictated in part by Marquinay.
LONDON, Nov. 19, 1828.
MISS CLARENDon,—
I'm a stranger to you, and perhaps
may always he, but still I can be a
friend. It is well known to
me that
Mr. Sillendare is paying his addresses to
vou, and that your mother is highly
pleased with them, much more so than


40
FRANCIS ABBOTT.
you are thought to be. It is a very easy
thing for Sillendare to say he loves, for
he has told me many times and oft that
he loves me. How many more he has
told the same thing to, is more than I
can tell. He and I have been on very
friendly and even intimate terms for many
months past, but whether we shall con-
tinue so any longer, is quite doubtful.- The above letter was carefully sealed,
He is not very pleasing in his manners and Marquinay placed it in the post office
to me, but I have put up with them the and anxiously awaited the results.
best way I could, for the sake of the
f
dresses he has bought for me, and the
money he has given me. I thought I
would write you a few lines, and then
you could govern yourself accordingly.-
have written nothing but truth; of this
you may be well assured.
Yours,
JANE
1
¿


CHAPTER V.
"Quod adest, memento
Componere aequus. Caetera fluminis
Ritu feruntur." Hor.
Yes, she's gone to the spirit land;-
a kind, a well beloved mother. Some
time has elapsed since I followed her
earthly remains to that narrow house ap-
pointed for all the living, and I'm still lin-
gering around the spot where she drew
her last breath, while I breathed my whole
soul into my flute- now my only com-
panion. How she listened to the sweet
strains! They seemed to smooth her
passage to the other world! How sacred
will that tune ever be to me! It is indeed
a Mother's Requiem. Never before was I
able to compose such a piece.. Did the
angels inspire me, as they hovered over
the dying scene waiting to conduct her to
a world of bliss? Ah! who can tell how
closely and intimately are the two worlds
connected together! Who in the flesh
can know how many "spirits walk the
earth unseen both when we sleep and
when we wake?" Poets must feel their
influence, and yet they know it not!
Musicians, too. Ah! who can know but
angels, at particular times, are especially
commissioned to inspire them, and give
them a shadowy view, a sweet foretaste
of the music which swells the bosoms of
the Heavenly Choir? When I played
those strains did not my dying mother say
she heard the angels playing? What
-
彩
​inspired me to breath such notes into my
flute? It must have been a good, and
not an evil genius. I will play those
strains again, and who can tell but her
sainted spirit will listen in company with
other angels? Happy am I that I wrote
them down ere the sweet tones escaped
my memory. Thus communed Francis
Abbott with his own soul, as he sat pen-
sive and thoughtful in the room where his
mother died, taking up his flute which
laid upon the table before him, and
breathing into it the same tune he played
when his mother died. The soft delicious
tones echoed about the room, and so intent
was the player that he fancied he heard
some answering strains. So absorbed
was his soul in the music that he thought
at one moment, that he was performing a
duetto with an angel, and that his mother
was listening. He even fancied, while he
played, that he distinctly saw her face,
and such a smile passing over it as ap
peared upon her pallid features even after
death had set his seal there. He played
on until he was almost a disembodied
spirit, forgetting that he was upon the
dull, cold earth, and fancying himself
among spiritual beings.
Laying his flute on the table, and gaz-
ing wildly about the apartment, he con


42
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OK
sweet voice with the music of Nature,
how happy would such a concert make
my soul! But alas! the pride of woman
is her downfall, and the plague of man.
It is now many weeks since I have seen
her, or heard her sweet voice. Who
kuows but her heart has again changed
and love again triumphed over pride and
ambition? Ah! no, I will not lay that
tinued his soliloquy. I'm here after all,
surrounded by material walls, and not in
the spirit laud. Oh! how imagination
did bear me away upon her wings? Ah!
music has power to raise the curtain
which haugs between Time and Eternity,
and give us a glimpse of the other world!
Did I dream? No: for I was not locked
in the arms of sleep, but continued to
play my flute. I could not play if I had | flattering_unction to my soul! She has
too many rich suitors seeking her hand tơ
allow her to bestow more than a passing
thought on me. Strange that such a fe-
male should love outward circumstances,
and disregard the man, or look upon
him with indifference amidst the dazzling
power of his wealth! The sun has gone
down, and soft twilight begins to shroud
the city! I will now go to seek an inter-
view with the fair Emeline; but I will
heed my mother's dying injunctions, and
not, on bended knees, plead for her favor.
I promised to be a man, and my mother
bore the promise to another world. It
shall be religiously kept. Emeline! thou
shalt hear me play the strains to which
my mother listened in dying her moments.
God has given thee a quick ear for music,
and thou shalt listen to such notes as
Heaven itself has inspired in my soul.'
been asleep; my fingers could not have
moved the keys, nor my breath have
given the proper tones. And yet it
seemed to me that I was in the company
of angels and my own dear mother. But
I'm in the material world, and it still has
claims upon me.'
He now rose and
walked the room. Looking out of the
window into the street, he continued.
"This morning, I promised myself that
another sun should not rise before I saw
and conversed with the proud, yet beauti-
ful Emeline. It is now almost evening,
and O! how I wish I had not made that
solemn promise, and yet why should I
longer defer that interview which I so
much desire? No time is better than the
present, and it is folly to put off until
tomorrow what can be done today. Soon
will my fate be known. London! Baby-
lon as thou art, still I love thee, and thy
many scenes. Here I first drew my
breath; here I felt the first inspirations
of Love, and alas! here, too, I first felt
the pangs of love unrequited. America!
the land of mountains, lakes and rivers!
soon will my eyes open upon thy shores;
soon my ears drink in the music of thy
cascades, and my soul revel in thy soli-
tudes. Niagara! the great waterfall of
the world! May Heaven spare my life
until I'm permitted to hear the roaring of
its mighty waters, and to see the rainbows
which God places over its terrible abyss!
Ah! happy will I try to be when I can min-moon had waxed and waned, and a new
gle the strains of my flute with the anthem one had hung out her silver crescent in
which those mighty waters are continu- the west, giving bright token to the world
ally sending up to Heaven. Upon those that she had not forgotten her wonted
wild and rugged cliffs will I sit and round.
breathe out iny Mother's Requiem, while
the deep roar of the waters are proclaim-
ing the power of a God, whose voice is
heard amidst all his works. O! could
Emeline Clarendon be there to join her
Taking his flute apart and carefully de-
positing it in his pocket, he rose and went
out into the street. It was a cold evening
in the month of November. A stiff
breeze from the North, during the day,
had swept away the clouds from the sky,
and dispelled the murky folds of smoke
which usually hung over the city. The
sky was clear, and the stars were out in
all their brightness. Occasionally a me-
teor would flash through the blue space,
leaving behind a stream of liquid fire, and
illuminating the tops of the church spires
with a pale light. The merry harvest
'How beautifully did Virgil, centuries
ago, describe the man who could look
through nature up to nature's God!' said
Francis as he slowly walked along towards
the residence of the Clarendons, repeating


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
the following lines from the great Latin | no, I must not deceive myself, and let
poet, of whose writings he was exceed- hope lead me astray.'
ingly fond,
*Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
At que metus omnes et inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis
avari!"
And the modest, unassuming, heavenly
minded Cowper, how many of my
feelings has he expressed?' he continued,
and repeated what follows, as he gazed
upon the ten thousand stars that twinkled
in the distant firmament,
―
"Tis folly all let me no more be told
Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold;
Delightful views of nature, dressed by art,
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart;
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth,
Makes mean the proud magnificence of
earth;
The straw, the manger, and the mouldering
wall,
Eclipse its lustre; and I scorn it all."
He passed along, and soon came opposite
the mansion in whose splendid apart-
ments he had spent so many hours in
months that were past. A brilliant light
was burning in the richly furnished and
spacious parlor, and all seemed to be
quiet about the premises. He stood and
listened a few moments to ascertain
whether Emeline or her mother had com-
pany that evening, but he could discover
no signs of it, and his heart beat with joy.
Soon the tones of Emeline's piano reached
his ears.
Ah! thought he, how familiar
are the sounds of that instrument, and
Heaveus! she's playing a song of my own
composition. And does she love to play
and sing my music?
The music now ceased, still the enrap-
tured and enthusiastic Francis stood in
the street. And while he was standing
there the following dialogue passed be-
tween Emeline and her mother, but the
lover could not hear it.
•
―
Why do you sing that song so much
of late, Emeline?' inquired her mother,
manifesting some impatience, and curling
her upper lip in scornful pride.
'Why, mother, it's a beautiful song, I'm
sure,' replied Emeline.
It may be, but then you have worn it
out,' answered the mother. Why don't
you practice some of the new ones which
have been recently published?'
I have tried several of them, but they
are flat-there's no soul in them,' an-
swered the daughter impatiently.
'No soul in them!' replied the excited
mother. 'There's no love sickness in
them, more likely. I don't like to hear
you sing it so much. It seems to me that
you sing it more lately, than usual. It is
no better now than it used to be, is it?'
·
'No, mother, but it is just as good,' re-
plied Emeline. The air somewhat re-
sembles the melodies of Bellini, and the
more I hear such music the better I like
it; for there is a soul in it, and it touches
the heart.'
Touches the heart!' echoed the moth-
er. "Why, Emeline I believe my soul
that you yet love that Francis Abbott,
who is as poor as a church mouse, or you.
would not he eternally singing his music.'
'I was speaking, mother, of Bellini's
melodies, when I said such music touched
the heart,' said Emeline.
'I know it,' said the mother, rather
shortly. But you said this song resem
bled Bellini's melodies.'
6
'And so it does,' replied Emeline. I
played it a few evenings ago to Mr. Sil
Did you tell him who composed it?'
asked the mother.
He now heard the tones of her sweet
voice mingling with that of the instru-lendare, and he was enraptured with it.'
ment. 'Yes it is the song I composed
for her the next day after I had declared
my passion to her. I named it, "He told
his love," from the first line of the poetry,
which I also composed. And she sings it
yet! This is indeed a favorable symp-
tom. I wonder if she sings it often? No,
'I did not; for if I had, no doubt he
would have disliked it,' replied Emeline,
smiling:
·
You made him believe, I suppose.
that it was the composition of some


44
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
"
True, mother, I did throw out some
hints, and could not help laughing in my
sleeve to see how readily he swallowed it
all, she answered. Mr. Sillendare has
not the soul to appreciate music of a very
complex kind, but he has enough of hu-
man nature in the elements of his consti-
tution to be touched when he hears a
simple melody like this song,-a pretty
good evidence that trne musical genius
composed it.'
great Italian master,' said Mrs. Claren-moment to hear Emeline's sweet voice
don.
again in that song, but he listened in vain ;
for she was too much engaged in con-
versing with her mother, to sing. The
young man now approached the front
door, and, placing his trembling hand upon
a silver knob, he cautiously rang the bell.
He heard the tinkling sound reverberate
through the spacious entry, and trembled
when he heard its music. He wished he
had not pulled the wire, and yet he most
anxiously desired to see the fair Emeline
once more before he took passage for the
American shores. Soon a servant came
to the door, and the trembling musician
was ushered into the brilliantly illuminated
parlor. When he entered, Emeline was
seated upon the stool, near the piano,
with her head turned towards her mother,
and a bright glow upon her cheeks. Mrs.
Clarendon sat, a few feet distant, at a
centre table. She had just taken up a
newspaper, and was glancing at a piece
of poetry, which very much arrested her
attention. The piece was headed, The
Lover's Last Look.' Emeline had read
the lines with a deep interest, and was so
much pleased with its fine touches and
tender sentiments, that she called the at-
tention of her mother to them just as
Francis was announced.
'Mr. Sillendare thinks of other things
besides simple melodies,' said the mother.
These will do well enough to fill up the
little voids in every day life, but Mr. Sil-
leudare's mind soars higher. He wishes
to move in a more elevated sphere-in
the fashionable and cultivated circles of
Eociety.'
He entered the parlor with fear and
trembling, but he concealed the emotions
which swelled his bosom, and appeared
calm and sedate.
Excuse me, ladies, for thus entering
the house which has almost become a
strange place to me,' he said. Perhaps,
after so long an absence, I ought to have
waited for an invitation, but being about
to leave the country, I thought I wou'd
just call and take a last look of my old
friends.'
'Mother, to be frank and plain, I must
say I don't think he has a mind that soars
at all,' replied Emeline. Take away his
money, and he would be an exceedingly
small affair about town, and scarcely
noticed. He's not half so much of a man
as Marquinay,-besides, he has not en-
tirely satisfied me concerning the intima-
tion which Marquinay threw out awhile
ago. When he was endeavoring to ex-
plain it the other evening, he looked to
me as if he was guilty. And surely you
would not wish to have me connected
with a man, however rich he might be,
who would be continually running after
other women.'
6
6
Marquinay, no doubt, insinuated false-
ly,' said the mother. He wishes to dis-
gust you with Mr. Sillendare, and then
take you himself, if he can get you. It is
all as plain as the light of day. Young
men in love frequently practice such tricks
upon each other. They will do any
thing sometimes to gain their ends. Mar-
quinay knows that Sillendare is much the
most wealthy, and therefore he fears him
as a rival, and would stoop to any thing,
if, by so doing, he could gain the ascen-
dancy over him. No, no, Emeline. You
must not believe one word of what that
sly Marquinay says.'
During the above conversation Francis
stood still in the street, expecting every
Francis Abbott was astonished at the
calmness and deliberation which charac-
terized this introduction; for he was fear-
ful that the deeply excited state of his
feelings would have greatly embarrassed
his manners, and somewhat deprived him
of the power of utterance.
But for many
weeks previous to this interview he had
schooled and disciplined himself with a
direct reference to it, and now he had ac-
quitted himself thus far better than he dared


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
45
to hope for. Mrs. Clarendon was glad to
hear him say he was about to leave the
ountry, for she still feared his influence
ver her daughter, as the dialogue about
ne song above recorded, fully demonstra-
ed. His declaration, that he was going
to leave London, very much took the
wire edge from her feelings, and made
her disposed to treat him less cavalierly
than she otherwise might have done.
Emeline was actuated by somewhat dif-
ferent feelings, still her pride and ambi-
tion forced her to rejoice that he was
going to foreign lands.
'O! Mr. Abbott, you need not make
any excuse for calling; for we are very
glad to see you,' replied the hypocritical
mother. I hope you will meet a good
fortune, to whatever country you may go.'
'I thank you kindly, madam, for your
good wishes,' he replied, in a voice so
tender and full of sensibility, that Emeline
felt an impulse given to her heart which
she found it difficult to control..
'What tune did you play?' inquired
Emeline.
'It was a composition I call the Moth-
er's Prayer,' he replied. 'I had written
one variation while she slept, and played
that also when she was dying. She knew
it was not the Mother's Prayer, and yet
she was greatly pleased with it.'
'O, I wish you had your flute here
now, so that we might have you play it,'
said Emeline, her eyes sparkling, and
her bosom heaving with emotions of
joy.
I have my flute in my pocket,' he re-
plied. 'It is now my only companion,
and I would not part with it for any con-
sideration. If it would afford you any
pleasure, I will play the piece and the
variation.'
'O! it is melancholy, I suppose, and
such tones always make me feel sad,' said
Mrs. Clarendon, fearing the music might
wake up in the heart of Emeline, feelings
which she trusted were dormaut there
You have buried your mother, recent-now, and therefore giving him a hint not
ly, I understand, she said. 'I was much to play.
surprised when I heard of her death. I True, Mrs. Clarendon, the tones are
did not dream of her being so sick, or somewhat melancholy, and yet they are
I should certainly have called and seen her.' | sweet and soothing to the troubled spirit,'
6
'She did indeed make her exit from the he said. 'I would not play the piece, if
world rather suddenly, perhaps, but I was it would in the least degree mar your
fully prepared for the sad event,' he re-pleasure.'
plied. 'For several weeks I had been
expecting her dissolution, and therefore
when it came I was the better prepared to
meet it. We all play our parts on the
world's stage, and must all make our exits
as well as entrances. Mrs. Clarendon,
we must all die, and that before long.
is well if we are prepared to meet this
great change, with joy and not with grief.
My mother's death was truly a happy one.
Just before she closed her eyes upon all
scenes, she requested me to breathe into
my flute an air, of which she was very
fond. I did so, and while I was playing,
her spirit took its flight to other and
brighter regions. A smile still lingered
on her pallid countenance, as if to give
evidence to the world that her spirit was
happy when leaving its tenement of clay.
Ah! it was indeed a Christian's death,
and my only prayer is, that my death may
be as calm and peaceful as hers."
•
Now Francis desired to perform the
composition, because he thought it bave
precisely the same effect upon the heart
of Emeline which her mother so much
feared.
'Do, Mr. Abbott, play it,' said Emeline.
ItMother will like it, I have no doubt.'
'With her consent, I will play it to
please you,' he replied.
'If you wish to hear it very much,
Emeline, I will make a sacrifice of my
own feelings, and give my consent,' said
her mother in a cold, heartless manner.
Knowing the pride and haughtiness of
Mrs. Clarendon, and wishing to please the
daughter, he took his flute from his
pocket, and a paper containing the notes
of the Mother's Prayer, with the variation,
and the notes also of what he played after
his mother was dead-a composition
which he called, My Mother's Requiem.
The tunes were all on one large sheet of
*


46
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
paper, carefully folded within a silken en-
velope, as if he valued the music very
highly..
The
Placing the paper upon the piano, he
commenced playing, while Emeline stood
bebind him, looking at the music.
tones of the flute were clear and en-
chauting. In some parts of the tune,
where the movement was marked slow
and soft, it seemed to the enraptured
Eineline that a spirit was breathing into
the instrument, and that she did not hear
with her material organs of hearing, but
rather with her soul and with her spirit.
It seemed to her that the music was too
fine and ethereal to be conveyed to the
soul through the ordinary channel, but
must find its way there through some
other medium. After playing the first
part of the piece, he commenced the
variation which he composed just before
his mother awoke from her last slumber,
on the night she died. This was still
more thrilling than the first part, and very |
sensibly affected the nerves of the fair
auditor. She watched the passages as he
played them over, with much excited feel-
ing. As he played, he could hear the
secret sighs escape from her swelling
bosom, and, at one time, when he was
breathing out a very soft passnge, he fan-
cied he could hear her heart beat, but of
this he was not certain.
I regret exceedingly I cannot comply with
it,' he replied.
6
Why not?' inquired Emeline, in ap-
parent surprise. I always supposed you
could play almost any music at sight
however difficult of execution it might be,
and surely you can play any of your own
compositions.'
True, Emeline, I can execute very
difficult passages in music with my flute,
and I could execute this, but it is a com-
positiou not designed for the public ear,
and therefore you'll excuse me, I trust;'.
he replied.
•
Not for the public ear!' repeated Mrs.
Clarendon. Why, Mr. Abbott, you don't
consider our ears public, I hope.'
6
'O, no, madam, not in the sense you
seem to suppose,' he answered, smiling.
What I intended to convey was this;
it is a composition which I said I never
would play in the hearing of mortal ears,
and when I make a promise, either to
myself or to another, I always keep it
most religiously. I might have acted a
foolish part when I made this promise, but
the circumstances under which I was
placed, at the time, were very peculiar,
and cannot happen but once in the course
of a man's or woman's life.'
'How is that?' inquired Emeline.
'There seems to be some mystery over-
hanging this musical composition which
woman's curiosity would like to penetrate.'
To be frank with you, Emeline, I felt,
when I composed this piece of music, that
it was not the production of my own
genius in the ordinary way.'
'Your explanation, if such it can be
called, only serves to make the mystery
still more dark and unfathomable,' said
Emeline.
'It may be so,' he replied. 'I will ex-
plain. I composed this piece, or rather
played it just after my mother's eyes were
Mrs. Clarendon was forced to believe
that the music was very fine, and most
admirably executed, but she was so much
excited, lest Emeline might be overcome
by the divine strains, that she could not
hear without prejudice. Every motion
she made, and she was very restive,
evinced how much she feered the music
of the artist. When he bad finished the
variation, he took the flute from his lips,
and laid it upon the paper. For several
moments not a word was spoken by either
of them. A profound and almost oppres-sealed in death. It seemed to me that I
sive silence reigned throughout the apart was at that moment, the subject of a pe-
ment. At last Emeline broke the still- culiar and special inspiration. After play-
ness, and said, 'I believe you did not playing what you have heard this evening, at
all that's written upon the sheet, if my the request of my mother, and after she
eyes did not deceive me. I should like to had ceased breathe this vital air, I con-
hear the remainder, if it would not be tinued to play on, as I seemed to be
asking too muck.'
moved by an unseen power. I knew not
The request is a very proper one, and what I was going to play, but a power


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
47
was given me to know what I had played with manifest impatience, 'you've gone
and to write it down. I did so, and gave quite far enough, considering the relations
to the piece the name of "My Mother's Re- you sustain to each other. I hope I shall
quiem." I have never yet played it within hear no more such fulsome compliments
the hearing of mortal ears; and should I between you. Flattery finds no favor un-
do so now, I should violate a solemn prom-
der my
roof.'
ise which I have made and which is re- 'If Heaven has planted in my heart a
corded in heaven, as I religiously believe. love for your daughter, shall I not be al-
The music is not of this world and mortallowed to speak of it? An 1 to be called
ears must not hear its divine strains. In a flatterer because I divulge the honest
solitude I play it; and when I do so, it feelings of my soul? No, no, Mrs. Clar-
seems to me my mother and a host of an- endon. God has given me the organs of
gels incline their eyes to hear it. This all speech, and a heart to feel, and a mind to
may be a sort of hallucination of the mind, think, and no human being has a right to
but I must yield to its power if it be so.' deprive me of their use.'
'Mr. Abbott, your mind is shattered,
your heart diseased, and your tongue runs
at random,' said Mrs. Clarendon. Re-
member, sir, where you are. You are in
6
Emeline and her mother were astonish-
ed, not only at what he said but also at his
manner and look when he said it; for he
* assumed a very solemn countenance and
appeared to be under the influence of very
intense feelings. They began to think he
was laboring under a species of derange.
ment, and yet he seemed to be very cool,
calm and deliberate.
|
my own house, sir, and you must conduct
yourself accordingly.'
'Did you, madam, deem it a crime when
your husband, in his younger days, declar-
ed to you his love?' inquired Francis, in
a tone of voice which clearly evinced that
love had not yet destroyed his reason nor
diminished his independence of spirit.
'No; it was not criminal in my hus-
band, for my ears were willing to hear the
declaration,' she replied.
But would you
force a young lady to hear such a confes-
sion against her will and the natural in-
stincts of her heart?'
'I would not, Heaven is my witness,' he
answered, feeling his spirit dampened as
if a cold wave had been dashed upon it.
Let your daughter speak, and say if I
have offended.'
"
'What you have said seems strange and
mysterious to me,' said Emeline, and
makes me exceedingly anxious to hear the
music, but I would not have you violate
any promises for the sake of gratifying my
curiosity. The Mother's Prayer is most
beautiful and touching music, and if the
Requiem exceeds it, then I think you have
gone beyond the genius of Bellini; and
you know he was always a favorite of
mine. I do think his melodies are the
most enchanting in the world.'
The hypocritical and aristocratic mother
was very uneasy, and looked sour when
she heard Emeline pass this compliment
on the music of young Abbott. He saw
her movements, and was not at a loss to
divine the emotions which were pressing
her proud heart; therefore he framed his
answer accordingly:
'Permit me, Emeline, to return to you
my sincere and heartfelt thanks for your
good opinion of my musical compositions
and my skill on the flute,' he replied.
'Believe me when I say, no woman's
opinion I prize so highly as I do yours,
and no female exists whom I would more
cheerfully gratify than you, if I could do so
without violating the promise I have made.'
'There, there,' exclaimed the mother,
She has spoken in months that have
passed, and her mind has not changed,'
said the agitated mother, turuing her anx-
ious eyes upon Emeline as if she would
compel her to speak against her best feel-
ings. 'Say to him again, Emeline, that
your heart remains the same as at your
last interview with him.'
Emeline's heart was sorely oppressed
with conflicting emotions, and she hardly
knew what to say. To say that she did
not love Francis Abbott's mind and person
better than she did any, or even all her
suitors, would not be doing her justice.
And never had she felt the power of love
more sensibly than she did this evening;


48
FRANCIS ABBOTT.
but pride and ambition had still a hold up- that world from whose bourne no traveller
on her.
The glittering gold of Sillendare has returned. O, Emeline, beware of the
still blinded her mind, and somewhat power of gold, or your heart may be fatally
blunted the finer sensibilities of her heart. ensnared. It has a charm, I well know,
The heavenly plant of love had taken root but beware of the serpent; and although
in her soul, and it struggled to grow, to he has a shining skin, and may lay beauti-
bud and to blossom, but it was choked by fully coiled among flowers, yet he has a
the thorns and thistles of this world. sting, and poison is under his tongue.
One word more, and I leave you for ever.
You directed the attention of your mother
to a piece of poetry which is in the paper
on the table, entitled, "The Lover's Last
Look." You have read it once, and will
you not read it again when I say to you
that I am the author? O, Emeline, read
it, and you will have some faint conception
of what a sincere lover feels when he takes
the last look of her whom he loves.'
Enough, Emeline, I ask no more,' he
said, in a tone of voice made firm and bold
by the recollection of his mother's dying
injunction. 'I know the power which
pride, ambition and the love of splendor Taking his flute apart and carefully fold-
which riches can purchase, exercise over ing up his music, he deposited them in his
the human soul. That I love you as but pocket and took his leave. With a heavy
few in this world can love, there is no heart he sought his chamber, and there he
doubt. I will seek the pleasure which the passed a sleepless night. The feelings of
scenes of foreign lands may afford, and Emeline Clarendon, after he had left the
wander in the wilderness of the new world. house, we will not undertake to describe.
There, amidst the wildness and solitude of A more severe conflict of feelings she nev-
that wide spread country, I will play my er passed through than she suffered that
mother's Requiem, and mingle its heavenly night; but her proud and haughty mother
strains with the music of the beautiful cas-rejoiced when she heard him pronounce
cade, and the thunders of the mighty cat- the word farewell. But alas! she was not
aracts. No mortal ears shall hear its sweet aware of the extent of the power which
echoes, but angels will join in the song, was at work in her daughter's heart.
and this, mingling with the sound of many Time, the great revealer of secrets, may
waters, will ascend to heaven in one great yet show her the power of love, and the
anthem of praise. We shall meet no more folly of the world's grandeur.
on earth, but we may meet each other in
'Mother, why do you press me to speak,'
said Emeline, impatiently. Mr. Abbott
has already been made acquainted with
my determination, and what reason has he
to expect that any change has come over
me?'
6


CHAPTER VI.
"Hath God indeed given appetites to man,
And stored the earth so plenteously with means
- To gratify the hunger of his wish?
And doth he reprobate, and will he damn
The use of his own bounty? making first
So frail a kind, and then enacting laws
So strict, that less than perfect must despair?
Falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth
Dishonors God, and makes a slave of man.'
IN three days from the time Francis
Abbott took his final leave of Emeline
Clarendon, he might have been seen bus-
ily engaged in packing up all the valua-Thames, and the love-stricken and talented
prayer to heaven for the happiness and
prosperity of Emeline Clarendon.
The ship went gallantly down the
ble articles he had, and making hasty
preparations for a voyage across the At-
lantic. Although he was poor, in the es-
timation of Mrs. Clarendon, and was not
rich in his own view, yet he had all the
property his mother left, and this was by
no means inconsiderable. The household
furniture he sold, and the proceeds of
this, together with a casket of jewels and
some money, which his mother gave him
before her death, made up quite a snug
little fortune, enough to make him com-
fortable, with prudence and economy, and In the evening of the same day when
induce the American people to whose Francis Abbott set sail for the land of the
country he was about to go, to believe he Pilgrims, Emeline and her mother were
was actually rich. His flute, music and sitting in the same room where, four days
the casket of jewels found the safest place before, he took such an affecting leave of
in one of his trunks. Every thing was in the fair damsel. Emeline, expecting to
readiness, and on the fourth day he took hear of his departure every day, was anx-
passage in a ship bound for Boston, bid-iously looking over the lists of vessels and
ding his native land farewell, and sending passengers in an evening paper which
up from the unseen altar of his heart a was issued that day, when her eyes fell on
Abbott strained his eyes in the direction of
London, his native city and the residence
of the loved one of his heart, till he saw
nothing but a heavy cloud of black smoke
that hung like a pall over the place which
gave him birth. In a short time the noble
ship was gliding over the waves of the
broad Atlantic, where no land could greet
the eye of our voyageur. We leave him
for the present on the bosom of the great
deep, and turn our attention to other actors
in this drama of human life.


50
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
"
the name Francis Abbott, which was put |
down among several others who had taken
passage for America, in the ship 'Duke of
Wellington, Bruce master.'
Mrs. Clarendon now read the name,
and, throwing the paper upon the carpet
in a manner which plainly told her feel-
ings, said, 'I'm glad Abbott has gone at
Ever since he was here, a few even-
Then he has indeed gone!' said Em- | last.
eliue in a voice which betrayed the feelings ago, you have acted strangely, and
ings of her soul, dropping the paper upon conducted yourself very foolishly. Why
the table, and covering her face with her you should think of a man who has no
hands.
property to support you in style, is a mys-
tery to me. Away with your foolish no-
tions, and once more look at the prospect
which lies before you. Sillendare not
only loves you quite as much as ever Ab-
bott did, but he has wealth in abundance
to make you shine in the first circles of
London.'
'Who has gone?' inquired her mother,
anxiously, for she suspected the person to
whom her daughter referred.
Emeline made no auswer to her moth-
er's interrogatory, but still continued with
her face buried in her hands. Her mother
saw the tears gush out between Emeline's
fingers, and several large drops fell upon
the very paragraph in the paper which she
had been reading.
'Mother, he hasn't the mind and heart
to love as Francis Abbott loves,' she re-
plied. I feel more and more doubtful,
'What in the world ails you?' contin- every day of my life, whether gold can
ued the mother. 'I wouldn't make a fool supply the place of love in the married
of myself, if I were you. Who has gone? state. You know I do not love Sillendare,
Are you so far gone that you cannot an- and can never love him. His manners
swer my question? Why, the girl is be-disgust me more every time I see him.—
side herself!'
Don't you think he has a disagreeable way
with him? And besides, I'm not yet sat-
isfied about the purity of his moral char-
acter. He seems to me to be a libertine,
and the more so since he has attempted
an explanation of the insinuation which
Mr. Marquinay threw out against him.'
The door bell now rang, and the verita-
ble Sillendare entered the room. We
must pardon Emeline for the thought that
passed her mind the moment the rich
dandy made his appearance, for she could
not help it. The devil is always near
when we are talking about him.' This
was the thought that involuntarily came
into her mind when she first set her eyes
upon his nicely curled and formally cut
hair that grew upon his upper lip and
peaked chin. Sillendare had not shown
himself to the fair Emeline since his se-
vere struggle with Jane Delano, and he
was not now in a very becoming state to
visit the ladies, for many parts of his face
were dotted over with court plaster, to
conceal the wounds which´ Jane had in-
flicted upon him with her fingers and
nails.
6
Emeline pushed the paper towards her
mother, and with her trembling finger
pointed to the paragraph which had thus
broken open the fountains of her heart.
Mrs. Clarendon hurriedly put on her
spectacles, and began to read; but Eme-
line's tears bad so obscured the print that
her mother did not readily discover the
-name of Francis Abbott among the list of |
passengers, for those dew drops of the soul
had wet aud obscured his name more than
any other.
I see nothing here to cry about,' con-
tinued the mother, "
Why should you
shed tears because the ship Duke of Wel-
lington has set sail for America ?'
Emeline again took up the paper, and
anxiously looked over the list of names,
not knowing but she might have made a
mistake, and hoping she had. But álas!|
it was too true. Again she discoveaed the
name of Francis Abbott, although it was
wet with her tears, and much obscured.
• Well, do you find any thing so terribly
alarming?' said the mother.
Emeline again handed the paper to her
mother, and pointed the name which had
thus made her tremble in every muscle,
and started the tears from her eyes.
Why, Mr. Sillendare!' exclaimed the
anxious mother, how did you hurt your
face so ?'


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
51
"Sure enough!' said Emeline. It
looks as if it had been through the wars,
and a charge of shot fired into it by the
enemy,'
Indeed, my dear Emeline, I can assure
you it is nothing but the salt rheum which
sometimes breaks out upon my skin. I
thought I was entirely cured of it, for it
has not troubled me for a long time until
now. My physician says he can entirely
cure it in a short time, now that it has
appeared again.". 0136
• I certainly would pay strict attention to
it, and neglect no means which may effect
a cure,' said Mrs. Clarendon, examining
through her spectacles very minutely theject.'
several patches of court plaster which
were sticking to his face, and considering
why the disease should develope itself so
much out of the usual way.
· Marry a man with the salt rheum in
his blood!' said Emeline within her heart.
The thought is dreadful; I fear it may be
something worse thau even that disease.'
How long since it broke out before?
inquired Emeline. 'I never saw your
face so marked during my acquaintance
with you,'
6
-I
'O it has been several years,' he re-
plied. I have not been troubled with it
since your bright eyes made me happy,
until within a day or two.'
:
upon his face, but also on account of the
peculiar emotions excited in Emeline's
bosom from reading in the paper the
departure of Francis Abbott. She was
just in that state of mind which Sil-
lendare had reason to fear niore than any
other.
O my physician will cure it in a few
days,' he said, 'and then my face will be
almost as smooth as yours.'
• Saving and excepting your horrid coarse
beard,' said Enieline.
"
'Mr. Sillendare,' said Emeline, disre-
garding the admonition of her mother,
and gazing sternly into her lover's face,
I'm not yet satisfied with regard to the in-
sinuation which Alfred Marquinay made
against you, a few evenings ago. Your
explanation does not clear my mind from
all doubts and misgivings upon the sub-
It has been there, I suppose, all that
time, lurking in your blood,' she replied,
being disgusted with the thought of it, and
feeling the blood creep coldly about her
heart when she looked at his scarred face. | she
“You must be bled until you nearly faint | the
for the loss of blood, or it will spread all | saw before.'
over you, and make the people think you've
got the leprosy.'
I wish I could,' thought Emeline, for
she was never so much disgusted with
him as at that moinent. It was truly an
unfortunate time for Sillendare to make a
visit, not only on account of the scars
3
• Indeed, Emeline, you must not for a
moment believe any thing that villain of a
Marquinay may say,' said he, trembling
and showing guilt. 'He's my bitterest
euemy, and would do any thing to injure
me, if thereby he could win you; but he
never will, I trust and believe. I will lay
my whole fortune at your feet, if you will
consent to be mine. Money, horses, car-
ringes, servants, any thing that you want,
shall be yours.'
'There, Emeline, it is just as I always
told you,' said her mother. 'I knew
Mr. Sillendare would be generous to-
wards you, and have often told you so.'
The penny post now arrived, and the
servant girl brought a letter to Emeline,÷
She looked at the superscription, but could
not tell whose handwriting it was. n
1 reckon I have a new correspondent,'
said, breaking the seal and unfolding
letter. The hand writing 1 never
،
Sillendare was on the qui vive to ascer-
tain whether her correspondent was male
or female. He was much troubled lest
she might have another suitor, and she
thought yes, and hoped, too-when she
was opening the letter, that she might
find Francis Abbott's name at the bottom
Why, Emeline, how you talk!' said of it. With sparkling eyes and beating
her mother; you'll frighten Mr. Sillen-heart she reads. The letter is finished.-
dare from the house.'
•
-
She suddenly dropped it from her fingers,
as if it were heated sheet iron that burned
them, and suddenly rising from her seat,
she exclaimed, while scorn curled her
lip, and fire blazed in her eyes, ‘Read,
and hide your patched face in shame!',


52
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
His struggles were so severe, and the
contortions and writhings of his limbs so
violent that Mrs. Clarendon began actually
to fear that nature was about making her
last effort to keep his soul and body to-
gether. With this impression strong upon
her, she ran for a smelling bottle, and
thrust it, entirely unstopped, up to his
nose. The bottle, having been recently
replenished, gave out a strong effluvium.
Its powerful and stinging evaporation so
affected his olfactory nerves that he in-
voluntarily raised his right leg, and acci-
'Why all this alarm?' he inquired in | dentally kicked the kind hearted woman
much agitation.
'Who wrote the letter?' over. Being somewhat fleshy, and pos-
.
Jane, the beautiful Jane; your para-sessing, through the effects of wine and
mour, of course,' replied Emeline, point- sumptuous living, great rotundity of form,
ing her finger at him with scorn and con- she rolled over upon the carpet, very much
tempt. 'Read and tremble.'
to the dishevelling of her hair and the
rumpling of her dress.
When her mother applied the bottle to
the nose of the panting and nervous dandy,
Emeline broke out into an immoderate fit
of laughter, in spite of all her efforts to
restrain herself; but when she saw him
kick her mother and beheld her prostrate
upon the floor, her feelings changed, and
she flew to her assistance, utterly regard-
Clar-less of the spasms of her lover, as he lay
writhing and struggling upon the sofa.
Mrs. Clarendon, with the help of her
daughter, soon regained a perpendicular
position, and turned her eyes upon her pa-
tient. Through the sanitive properties of
the bottle's contents, or some other cause,
Sillendare, was very much revived, and
soon rose from the sofa.
Standing a moment and gazing wildly
about the room, as if he had just been
awakened from some terrible dream, he
said, 'Excuse me, ladies, I'm sometimes
subject to such spasms, but not often.'
'Perhaps they may be caused by the
salt rheum in your blood,' said Emeline,
most provokingly, while a smile of con
tempt passed over her countenance.
'What is the matter, Emeline?' ex-
claimed her mother, rising and picking up
the letter from the carpet.
Read and you
will know,' replied
Emeline in great agitation. The proof
thickens. A lucky escape from a villain's
arms.'
6
The mother reads the letter, and looks
over her spectacles upon the astonished
and trembling Sillendare; but why he
trembled he could not tell, for he knew
not the contents of the letter, or who
wrote it.
The word Jane struck him like a shock
of electricity, and almost lifted him from
the floor. Poor fellow! He trembled in
every joint, as if his dandy frame would
shake into a thousand pieces. No more
proof of his guilt was needed; for both
mother and daughter were now satisfied
that Marquinay did not talk without a
book, or reckon without his host.
·
Yes, read the letter,' said Mrs.
endon. Read it and be ashamed.'
6
Sillendare seized the letter with a
trembling hand, and undertook to read
it, but his nerves trembled so he could
not keep it still enough to read.
No poor drunkard ever held the cup
to his feverish and parched lips with a
more palsied and trembling hand than
Sillendare's, when he held that fatal letter
before his eyes. With all his trembling
and agitation, he saw enough, however,
to satisfy him that the hand writing was,
in fact, Jane Delano's. When he learned
this, he let the letter fall upon the carpet,
and sank away upon a sofa which stood
near by him. Did the reader ever see a
dandy in a swoon? It must have been a
rich and ludicrous spectacle. There the
poor fellow was, reclining upon the sofa,
with one hand upraised towards the ceil-
ing, his knees smiting against each other,
and his gray eyes turned back in their
sockets, as if his little soul was indeed
about to escape from its shattered and
frail tenement.
Hearing this, he could bear no more, but
immediately took his leave, much to the
relief of the ladies. On looking about the
room which had just been the theatre of
such strange and ludicrous scenes, Eme-
line found no damage done, except the
breaking of the smelling bottle, which flew
out of her mother's hand when the ner-


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
53
•
'What has happened, pray?' he in-
quired. I shall esteem it the happiest
moment of my life, if I can be of any ser-
vice to you or your daughter.'
O, Sillendare is a villain, and has kept
a mistress while he was addressing Eme-
line,' she replied. 'The whole matter has
come out now. We owe you ten thousand
thanks for for friendly intimation the other
evening. Emeline received a letter a short
time ago, giving her warning of the double
game Sillendare was playing.'
'A letter!' he repeated in mock sur-
prise. From whom, pray?'
'The Lord only knows who she is!' she
answered. 'Her name is signed Jane.'
A very short, and, I presume, sweet
name to Sillendare,' he replied. "I really
rejoice if the hint I threw out the other
evening has had any good effect in placing
you and your daughter upon your guard.
Mar-I would not willingly injure the character
of any young man, but circumstances com-
pelled me to give a friendly hint. I felt it
to be my solemn duty.'
'You did right, Mr. Marquinay, and we
shall esteem you highly for the act of kind-
vous and spasmodic Sillendare so uncere-
moniously kicked her over.
The discomfitted and chop-fallen young
man sought his lodgings, swearing eternal
hatred and revenge upon Alfred Marquinay
and Jane Delano. Sillendare, although the
most arrant coward that ever strutted
through the streets of London, was yet
capable of strong feelings of revenge. As
he passed along he met Marquinay, and
would have been tempted to stab him in
the streets, if he had possessed a weapon
and courage enough. Had he known the
dark game his rival was playing, he would
have insulted him on the spot, and per-
haps a severe fight might have been the
consequence. Sillendare was the stronger
person of the two, but Marquinay had more
courage, which amply compensated him
for his want of strength. The two rivals
met and passed each other in quiet, but
their feelings were highly excited.
quinay was no better at heart than Sillen-
dare, but he possessed more talents and
greater shrewdness to conceal his deviltry,
and therefore he had great advantage over
his rival. All the power Sillendare was
master of lay in his riches, but now thisness,' said the mother.
4
Emeline did not feel very social after
what had occurred that evening. The
thought that Francis Abbott had left his
|
charm was broken, so far as Emeline Clar-
endon was concerned. Marquinay was
now on his way to visit Emeline, to see
what was the effect of Jane Delano's let-native country, and perhaps for ever, preyed
ter; for he presumed it had been received
ere this, and its contents devoured. Had
he have known precisely the true state of
the case, and how seriously affected Sil;
lendare was, he would not, perhaps, have
visited Emeline that evening, but have de-
ferred the visit, and let the matter work.
As it was, he passed on, and soon supplied
the place which poor Sillendare had va-
cated. He was suspicious that his rival
had been there that evening, but he con-
cealed his suspicions, and thought it the
best policy not to make any allusion to
Sillendare, unless Emeline or her mother
introduced him as the subject of conver-
sation, and then he would be prepared to
follow up the work of detraction which he
had so successfully begun.
upon her heart and bore her spirits down.
Sillendare was now out of the question, and
even Marquinay did not appear to her so
well as usual. There was something at
work in her heart which had, in a very
short time, wrought a great change in ber
feelings. 'Shall I never see Francis Ab-
bott more?' This kept running through
her mind, in spite of all her efforts to drive
away the thought.
'And well did you perform that duty, Mr.
Marquipay,' continued the excited mother.
'O if you could have seen Sillendare when
he undertook to read the trollop's letter, you
would have seen a most ludicrous sight.
Upon my soul, I believe he had a con-
vulsive fit. Such trembling and such
spasms you never witnessed in suffering
humanity.”
'O, I'm glad you have come,' said Mrs.
Clarendon, as soon as he entered the room.
We have had a terrible time here this
evening.'
'And some kicking, too, mother,' said
Emeline, with difficulty repressing a smile.
'Yes, I'm a swift witness to that,' re-


54.
FRANCIS ABBOTT.
plied her mother. 'Don't you think, Mr.
Marquinay, he actually hit me with his foot,
in his struggles, while I was holding a
smelling-bottle to his nose to keep the
breath of life in him, for I was seriously
alarmed lest he might breathe his last upon
the sofa.'
Marquinay laughed heartily, and now
felt assured that his own prospects were
very much brightened; but he knew not
the emotions which were agitating the
bosom of Emeline.
'Did this Jane you speak of give you
this information?' inquired Emeline, feel-
ing a strange suspicion rising in her heart,
and easting on him a very searching look.
(
He was embarrassed for a moment, not
knowing how to answer her question, but
soon recovering his equilibrium, he replied,
O no, Emeline; I hope you do not enter-
tain the suspicion that I have any acquaint-
ance with such a character as Jane seems
to be. I got my information from one of
the watchmen who was present at the
How did his face appear?' inquired melee.'
Marquinay.
This explanation perfectly satisfied him-
All covered with patches of court plas-self and Mrs. Clarendon, but it did not en-
ter,' replied Mrs. Clarendon. Do you tirely quiet the suspicions of Emeline.—
know what ails him? He said he was She looked more at his manner than at
troubled with the salt rheum.'
what he said. To her he had the appear-
ance of guilt, and this made her watchful
and cautious in all subsequent interviews,
Marquinay, after tarrying awhile, and
making, as he fondly believed, good pro-
gress in his suit for the hand of the fair
Emeline, took his leave.
'Salt rheum!' repeated Marquinay,
laughing most heartily. If one Jane was
here, she could tell a different story. He
had a flare up with her, and she scratched
and bit him severely; besides, she has got
his valuable watch.'
"


CHAPTER VII.
Bur passion most dissembles, yet betrays
Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
Its workings through the vainly-guarded eye,
And in whatever aspect it arrays
Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy :
Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.'
THE emotions of Mr. Thomas Sillendare,] Now his rival, Alfred Marquinay, was a
after his spasmodic demonstrations at Mrs. very different character, and much more
Clarendon's, can be better imagined than to be feared. He had more courage than
described. When he left the house on Sillendare and more shrewduess to con-
that memorable evening, he was determin-ceal the moral obliquities of his heart, and
ed to wreak his vengeance on Jane Dela- therefore be was a greater hypocrite. Al-
no, and had actually screwed his courage though he was too cunning to have a flare
up to the point of spilling her heart's blood. up with the abandoned women be associ-
Now this was a dreadful thought to enter ated with, and never had his face scratch-
the soul of any man, and especially terri-ed and bitten by courtezans, yet he was
ble did it seem to the weak nerves and guilty of the same thing which caused the
imbecile mind of Sillendare, for he had rupture between Sillendare and Emeline
never been accustomed to dwell upon such Clarendon. Even Jane Delano was one
a horrible subject as outright and wilful of his favorites, and he always exercised
murder. The more he reflected upon it more influence over her than Sillendare,
the more dreadful and revolting it seeined. who kept her, as be vainly believed, for his
It was quite evident that nature never cut own exclusive use: but even Marquinay,
him out for a deep, blackhearted villain. with all his shrewdness, had but partially
His crimes had always been of a lighter learned the character of this courtezan.
grade, and of a less appalling character. He was not aware how much power mon-
During his whole life thus far, he had nev-ey could exercise over her, and this he
er manifested such a puguacious spirit and was never so lavish in expending as his
given proofs of so much personal courage rival was. And in fact he had not so
as were developed in his encounter with much to sport with and purchase power
Jane Delano, when she mangled his face as Sillendare possessed.
in such a shocking manner.
The next day after his rupture with the


56
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
Clarendon family, Sillendare's excitement
was so great that he actually purchased an
ivory hilted dagger and concealed the shin-
ing blade in his bosom, fully bent on com-
mitting the foul crime of murder upon
Jane Delano, if he could find some con-
venient opportunity when no mortal eye
would be a witness. This fatal weapon
he carried with him a whole day; but as
the shades of evening fell upon the city,
and the time drew near when he contem-
plated to plunge it into her heart, his cour-
age somewhat oozed out at the ends of his
fingers and his spirit flagged.
'No, I cannot commit the awful crime
of murder,' he said to himself, as he sat in
his chamber just at nightfall, preparing
himself for the deed that very night. He
withdrew the shining steel from his bosom
and deposited it in his trunk. 'Ah!' he
continued to soliloquise, 'a happy thought
has just struck me (and it may seem
strange to the shrewd reader that the
thought did not strike him before); I will
seek an interview with Jane and forgive
her all, if she will betray the character of
Marquinay as she has mine. She's fond
of money and, no doubt, will do any thing
if the sum is only large enough. Like
many others she has her price, and I will
pay it for the sake of defeating Marquinay.
He must not and he shall not rival me in
the good graces of Emeline Clarendon, if
my whole fortune is large enough to pre-
vent it.
What is money compared with
the sweetness of revenge, when one has
been abused as I have been? Ah! I'll
have revenge, cost what it may. How
much better this will be than murder! O,
the thought is dreadful! Jane shall live,
and become my willing instrument of re-
venge upon Marquinay.'
out her flag. He rang the door bell and
the mistress of the house came to the door.
She had a slight acquaintance with Sillen-
dare and knew of the scrape that occurred
between him and Jane, as the latter had
very minutely related all the particulars to
her.
The keeper of this establishment was
about fifty years of age; fat, good looking,
cunning and shrewd, and totally destitute
of moral principle, as all women in such a
station must necessarily be. Her love of
money was great, and for the sake of it she
was willing to lend her assistance to any
enterprise, however wicked and appalling,
provided she was sure her own neck would
not be jeopardized, for she always kept a
weather eye open upon her own safety.
She bid the excited Sillendare welcome to
her house, knowing him to be rich, and
thinking to secure a good customer in
him.
Is Jane Delano here?' he anxiously in-
quired.
'She is, but engaged this evening, I be-
lieve,' she replied. 'There are others here
quite as pretty as Jane, and many gentle-
men think more so. Shall I introduce you
to them?"
"
'No, no, madam,' he impatiently replied.
I want to see Jane Delano; I came on
purpose, and must see her.'
'I regret to say that you cannot see Jane
to-night,' she answered, knowing the dif-
ficulties which existed between them, and
fearing he had come to do violence to
Jane. 'She would be afraid to meet you
alone, lest you might injure her. You
know, Mr. Sillendare, that you and she
have had one fight, and you must not have
another under my roof. It would discredit
my house. No, no, Mr. Sillendare, you
must not see Jane. You can be accom-
modated with others.
You can take your
choice out of a score of them, and all
very pretty indeed, and some but recently
arrived from the country. Certainly you
can be suited, Mr. Sillendare; I should be
pleased to see you often at my house; you
Thus communed our hero with himself,
until he was actually overjoyed with the
bright prospect before. He now had but
a single thought, and that thought was re-
venge upon him whom he considered his
rival. In this feeling was almost every
thing else forgotten. Even the charms of
the fair Emeline were, for the time being, | shall be well accommodated.'
lost in oblivion. With this feeling burn-
'But Jane Delano is the girl I wish to
ing in his heart be hurried to the boarding-see,' he replied. Let me see her, and it
house of Jane Delano, for he had previous will put money in your pocket.'
to this time ascertained where she hung This last clause of the sentence quick-


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
57
ened her feelings, and excited her curios-
ity.
'Let me fix upon the price,' said Jane.
'I can tell how much to ask when I talk
with him. I shall give him to understand
it is a very hard thing for me to break
friendship with Mr. Marquinay, and there-
fore he must pay liberally for it.'
While they were thus talking and lay-
ing their plans in the chamber, Sillendare
was waiting below with great impatience,
expecting every moment to meet Jane.—
It seemed to him he had been waiting an
hour, when not a quarter of that time had
elapsed. At last Jane and the mistress of
the establishment came into the room.—
This being the first time he had seen Jane
'Revenge!' she repeated, not under- since she scarred his face so egregiously,
standing what he meant, and supposing he he felt some strange emotions when she
might intend some violence to Jane Dela-entered the room. And she, too, could
'It cannot be had in this house, Mr. hardly keep her countenance when she
Sillendare.'
discovered the black patches on his face,
'I'll give money,' he continued. 'Jane but she restrained herself from laughing,
shall not be hurt. It is Alfred Marquinay and was ready to hear his propositions.
upon whose head I would wreak my ven-
geance. Let me see Jane. Here, take
this, and let me see Jane.'
no.
'Good evening, Mr. Sillendare,' said
Jane. 'It has been some days since I saw
you.
What a foolish scrape we got into.
I've been sorry for it ever since; but Mr.
Marquinay is more to blame than I am.'
'I believe it,' he hurriedly replied; 'and
now I wish you to help me pay him for it.'
'What do you wish, Mr. Sillendare?'
she inquired, assuming an air as if she
were an entire stranger to the business
which brought him there.
"
He placed in her hand a guinea, which
had a wonderful effect in stirring her up
to make further inquiries. He finally
made her acquainted with the object of
his visit, and she flew to Jane's room,
and communicated the information to her.
'Jane,' said she, 'Mr. Sillendare has
come upon a curious business, and I think
we can make some money out of it, if we
only manage adroitly. He's rich, and in
a terrible fever. His iron is hot, and now
is the time for us to strike. He wants
you to make Marquinay as odious in Em-
eline Clarendon's sight as you did him;
but this inust not be done unless he forks
over the tin. His feelings are such that
he will give a good round sum to have
them gratified. Let me manage with you;
and putting our wits together, I think we
can please him to the tune of a hundred
pounds.'
'I wish you to let Emeline Clarendon
know that Marquinay has been familiar
with you.'
'He'll pay more than that,' replied Jane.
"You don't know him so well as I do.-
He's very generous where he takes.
I
have his watch, you know, and this must
be thrown into the bargain.'
'Well thought of,' replied the mistress.
'Now, Jane, we will go shares in this en-
terprise, and get all we can from him.'
'How put in money in my pocket?"
she inquired. I'm always willing to do
that, if I can safely and consistently.
Why are you so anxious to see Jane ?
'I wish to make a bargain with her,' he
replied; and if you will assist me, you
and she too shall be generously rewarded.'
'What kind of a bargain, pray?" she
asked.
'I must have revenge, cost what it may,'
he answered, manifesting much earnest
ness, and gazing most wishfully upon this
she devil.
·
6
'But I should lose the friendship of Mr.
Marquinay, if I should do that,' she replied,
and he has always been very good to me.
To be sure, he never gave me quite so
much as you have, and he's not so well
able to do it.'
'I will give you more than he ever has,
or ever will, if you'll consent,' he said. 'I
long to see the villain punished. He de-
serves it, for he's no better than I am,
and yet he is attempting to pass himself off
upon Miss Clarendon as a very moral man."
I hate such hypocrisy, in either man
or woman,' said the mistress. 'Let a man
come out and show his colors, I say, and
not attempt to pass along under the garb
of virtue and religion, when he's no better
than other people.'


58
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
'In that you're right,' said Sillendare,
and this is the very thing I wish that
Jane would make him do. She has the
power over him, and can make him feel
as bad as I have felt for some time past.'
you, and I think not half so good. Jane
has the power of putting down the hypo-
crite, if she can be induced to exercise it,
but I suppose she will have to make a
great sacrifice of her feelings. I hope you
can prevail upon her. I hate to see such
hypocrites pass themselves off as pure and
virtuous persons.'
Jane and her mistress could hardly
keep from laughing at the simplicity which
characterized his movements, for they
were now well assured they had got a
flat in their net, and were determined not
to let him go until they had bled him free-
ly. Both had their eyes upon him, and
watched every motion he made.
What shall I give you, Jane?' he most
anxiously inquired.
Now this question was one that led di-
rectly to the point which was nearest the
hearts of these reckless and abandoned
I hardly know what to say to you,' women. If they could fleece their vic-
said Jane; ‘Mr. Marquinay, since our rup- tim, it was all they asked, and the charac-
ture, has been very kind as well as gen-ter of the means to be used to effect their
erous to me. He now pays my board, object they were not at all particular
and gives me something besides. I don't about.
see how I can break up my connection
with him. You know, Mr. Sillendare, it
would make a great difference with me.'
6
'I declare, Mr. Sillendare, I hardly
know what answer to give your question,'
replied Jane. The more I reflect upon
it the harder it seems to be. What would
you be willing to give, to have the work
thoroughly done up?'
'Yes, I see where the shoe pinches,'
said the mistress. 'These girls always
have their particular favorites, and hate to
part with thein. I was just so, myself, I'll give you a hundred pounds,' he re-
once, and even now I like some men aplied, and if you succeed in breaking up
great deal better than I do others.'
6
the connection between them, I'll add
another hundred afterwards.'
Sillendare understood this perfectly, or
thought he did, for he had been suspicious
that Jane liked Marquinay better than she
did him. The sentiment operated upon
him just as this artful woman intended it
should, for she only uttered the remark to
magnify the sacrifice which Jane was
called upon to make, and therefore a large
sum of money would be required as a
compensation for it.
This made Jane and the cunning bawd
open wide their eyes. A good begin-
ning? thought the latter.
He'll give
more, or he would not offer so much the
first time. I must put in a word.' Jane
east her eyes upon the floor and looked
sad.
I'm afraid Jane will not consent, she
looks so sober about it,' said the mistress.
She Lust-she will consent,' said the
auxious Silendare. Til give her my
There,' interrupted Jane, 'You've let
the cat out of the bag, after all. Strange
you can never keep any thing back. Girls watch into the bargain, if she knows where
don't like to have their private feelings ex-it is.'
posed.'
Jane pulled the watch from her bosom,
and, smiling, held it up before him. It
was a splendid gold watch, and an elegant
chain was attached to it. I found your
watch, Mr. Sillendare, in the chamber,
after you left the room so suddenly the
other evening, and I would not keep it
from you,' said Jane, handing it to him,
and assuming a very honest appearance,
while a demon was lurking in her heart.
·
Keep it, and here is a hundred pound
note,' he said, holding out the valuable
paper to her.
'Never mind, Jane,' replied this artful
bawd, Perhaps Mr. Sillendare will make
up all your losses.'
'I will,' replied Sillendare,' if she will
expose the true character of Marquinay.
He has shamefully abused me, and I must
be revenged upon him. He must not de-
ceive and marry that beautiful and rich
girl.'
'I don't blame you at all, Mr. Sillendare,
for wishing to come up even with him,'
said the mistress. He's no better than


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
59
Jane shook her head, and still held out | indeed, a great sacrifice for her to give up
the watch to him.
the man she loves. Only think of it, Mr.
Silleudare. Make the case your own,
and I'm sure you will not blame Jane for
feeling such reluctance. Offer her five
hundred pounds and your watch, and it
may be she will consent,'
6
Do you think she will?' he anxiously
inquired.
I would not say for a certainty, but
there's nothing like trying,' she answered,
feeling that she had not set the sum so
high as he in fact would be willing to
give, as he appeared not to express any
surprise at her naming five hundred
pounds.
'Let me see,' continued the wily and
heartless woman. It is a hard case for
Jane, for I know she likes Marquinay.--
Well, on reflection, I don't know as she
would; but I think a thousand pounds
would do the work for you.'
เ
A thousand pounds!' be repeated,
apparently somewhat surprised. That's
a good deal of money. The interest of it
would nearly support her.'
I know it would,' she replied; but
then she would not be so happy as she is
now.'
'There, Mr. Sillendare, it is just as I
thought it would be,' said the bawd.
told you where the shoe pinched.
girl likes Marquinay, and hates to
him up.'
'I
The
give
Sillendare walked the room in great
agitation, feeling, for the moment, as if no
money, however great the amount, would
induce the wily girl to sacrifice the feel-
ings she seemed to have towards Mar-
quinay, and comply with his request. He
was really in great trouble, and these wo-
men were really glad to see him make
such manifestions of it.
་
I wish, Jane, you did'nt set so much
by Marquinay,' said the mistress. But
there, young girls will have their own pe-
culiar notions; I once had mine. There's
nothing very strange in it, after all. It is
human nature, acted out,'
After violently walking the room a few
minutes, Sillendare stopped suddenly be-
fore Jane, and said, will you comply with
my wishes at any rate? I must do some-
thing to prevent the villain from triumph-
ing over me, or I shall be most miserable.
I'll run him through, murder him, poison
him he must not have the fair Emeline.'
Never let such dreadful thoughts enter
your mind, Mr. Silleudare,' said the mis-
It is terrible to think of; besides,
you would endanger your own life.'
6
tress.
'I know it,' be replied in great anxiety,
6 but what can I do? I must do something,
The artful women now put her mouth
close to his ear, and whispered so that
Jano could not hear, Offer her more.
She will yet consent, only give her enough.'
Miss Delano, will you consent on any
conditions, and make me a happy man ?'
"I don't know what to say, Mr. Sillen-
dare,' she replied.
6
6
The mistress now asked Mr. Sillendare
to step into another room with her, and
he gladly followed, leaving Jane, not
grieving over the love for Marquinay
she was requested to sacrifice on the altar
of Sillendare's convenience, but laughing
in her sleeve at his earnestness.
"You didn't offer Jane enough, Mr. Sil-
lendare,' said the mistress. She will yet
consent, only show her the money. It is,
•
The selfish creature now actually thought
of naming two thousand, and then she
would have one thousand for herself.--
And the more she thought of it, the more
anxious she felt. A hundred pounds
looked large to her, at first; but now she
could'nt be satisfied with any thing short
of two thousand, for she began to think
that he would finally come up to that
sum, rather than fail in his enterprise.
I will go and talk with her a few mo-
ments,' she continued, anxious to let Jane
know the prospects; before she finally ac-
cepted any proposal he might make. “I
will do all in my power, Mr. Siflendare, to
induce her to comply with your wishes.—
I can have some influence with her, and I
will exercise all I possess, for I should be
glad to see that hypocrite punished as he
deserves.'
I wish you would go, he replied, not
dreaming of the game she was playing.
She now went out and told Jaue all that
had passed between her and Sillendare.-
She gave it as her opinion that be might


60
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
be brought finally up to the point of giv-
ing two thousand pounds, a very large
sum for a man to give for the sake of
gratifying his spirit of revenge, but men
will give more for this than for almost any
thing else.
determined to gratify his revenge, at alf
hazards, and at any expense, so wrought
up were his feelings. He was silent, but
the artful women knew by his appearance
that the thing was working well, and so
they let it work without disturbance.-
Soon she went back, after admonishing Jane too appeared very thoughtful and
Jane to stick for the two thousand pounds. | sober, as if she were really ahout to sac-
'What does Jane say?' he inquired, rifice all her earthly happiness upon the
manifesting an increasing anxiety, which altar of mammon.
was far from displeasing the selfish wo-
man.
'How much must I give?' he inquired,
breaking the silence, and gazing most im-
ploring into Jane's countenance.
'I have reflected upon the question
deeply, Mr. Sillendare,' she said. I have
looked into my own heart seriously, and I
find there many formidable objections. I
feel that I shall be unhappy, if I don't
have money enough to make me inde-
pendent, and indeed I fear I shall be mis-
erable even if you should give me such a
sum as might seem to insure my inde-
pendence of the world.'
'O Jane, how often do these little
trammels of the heart stand in the way of
a good fortune!" said the artful mistress.
I would shake them off and rise above
them. Money is the great thing, after all.
It will purchase any thing this world
affords.'
'I will give you a thousand pounds!'
said Sillendare, and that will make you
independent.'
I fear it would not compensate for
the pangs of heart I might feel,' replied
Jane, in a well counterfeited voice. 'Two
thousand pounds might raise me above
these anticipated troubles, but yet I'm not
sure.*
'O, she hates to have a rupture with
Marquinay,' she answered. 'I don't know
what she may yet be induced to do. I
urged her every way I could think of. I
have no doubt money will make her con-
sent, for gold has great power; but how
much, whether five hundred, a thousand,
or two thousand pounds will be necessary,
is more than I can tell.'
'We'll go and see her again,' he said,
leading the way, followed by the mistress.
'Jane, I've always been generous to
you, and have made you a good many
handsome presents,' said Sillendare.
'You have, Mr. Sillendare, but you
never asked me before to make such a
sacrifice of feeling,' she replied. To be
frank with you, I must confess it is very
hard indeed for me to think of making
Marquinay my enemy, for he is now one
of my very best friends.'
'I will give you five hundred pounds,'
he said.
But Jane still cast her eyes on the floor,
and appeared very thoughtful, making use
of every means within her power to de-
ceive the silly man, and induce him to
offer the largest sum he would be willing
to give.
Will you accept my offer?' he con-
tinued, manifesting increased solicitude
and earnestness.
'I wish I could, Mr. Sillendare, but I'm
afraid I shall be unhappy,' she said. 'A
small sum of money can't make a person
happy under such circumstances. It
would require enough to make me inde-
pendent of the world.'
This looked reasonable to Sillendare,
ut generous as he was, he did not like to
ave such a great draft made upou his
irse, if he could avoid it; still, he was
'O, such an amount of money, I'm sure,
would make you quite comfortable,' said
the mistress. You could then do any
thing you pleased. It might procure you
a good husband. Money works wonders
in this world."'
Sillendare heard two thousand pounds
named, but the sound fell heavily upon
his ear, and he was silent and thoughtful.
Their eyes were upon him, and although
they now had some doubts and misgivings,
yet they thought he would finally come up
to the demand that had been made upon
him.
'It is a large sum, and I wish Jane could


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
61
see her way clear to take less,' said the
mistress. 'But there, we cannot dive into
the hearts of others and see what is oper-
ating there; for it is frequently difficult
for us to know our own hearts. If I were
you, Mr. Sillendare, I would be revenged
upon that hypocrite of a Marquinay.-
How it would make him feel to witness
the scorn of Miss Clarendon's lip, and see
the frown on her brow, when she told
him to depart, and never visit her more.
I should admire to be a witness of such
a scene. I reckon the poor fellow would
shed an abundance of tears, and burst his
heart with grieving. Well, it would be
good enough for him. He has been an
agent in driving you from the young lady's
presence, and now I hope you will be in-thirsting for revenge as he was, he hap-
strumental in driving him away.
pened to be so prudent and thoughtful.
and every word told upon the heart of
poor Sillendare. Finally, he was induced
to give Jane two thousand pounds, upon
her agreeing to go in person to Emeline
Clarendon, and to expose the character of
Alfred Marquinay. One thousand pounds
were paid down, and the watch thrown
into the bargain. He gave a written ob-
ligation to pay the other thousand after
Jane had completed her work. He evinced
some shrewdness in withholding half the
money until the exposure was made; for
if he had paid her the whole he might
have never set eyes on her again. It is
due to the excited Sillendare to give him
credit for this shrewdness, for it is really a
wonder, that in his excited state, and
Thus did this artful woman discourse,
-


6
CHAPTER VIII.
LONDON engulphs them all! The shark is there,
And the shark's prey.
*
*
O, thou, resort and mart of all the earth,
Chequered with all complexions of mankind,
And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see
Much that I love, and more that I admire,
And all that I abhor.'
*
*
*
NEARLY a week had elapsed, and Jane
Delano had not yet fulfilled her engage-
ment with Thomas Sillendare. Twice,
during that time, she had called at Mrs.
Charendon's, but it so happened, in the
order of events, that Emeline was not at
home. Almost every night Sillendare supposed, and Francis Abbott had gone
sought a hearing with Jane, to ascertain ¦ on a voyage across the ocean, to that
the result, but as often was he disap- the coast was low clear, and his hones
pointed. Yet he bad confidence in her strong, and his faith quite frm. He Had
that she would execute her work, for she lied his arts to well, and exercised Lis
continually made fresh promises, and ep-skill so adroitly, that Emeline's mother
peared disposed to do every thing she did rather favored his suit than otherwise.-
promise. Marquinay occasionally visited This he considered an important point
Jane, and, since the disclosure she had gained, and very much encouraged Lim
made of Sillendare's character, he had to persevere in his enterprise. It was
treated her with more kindness and geo-true that Emeline, since the exposure of
erosity, but dreamed not of the plan which Sillendare, and especially since she learned
she and Sillendare had concocted to be that Francis Abbott had departed for a
revenged upon him. Of this he was foreign country, never, perhaps, to return,
very shrewdly kept in utter ignorance.- was low spirited, and at times received
Jane and the woman with whom she had his addresses with coldness, if not with
her bed and board understood how to absolute indifference; but all this he vainly
manage with great adroitness and skill; imagined he should be able to overcome
and even Marquinay's shrewdness, much by degree, and ingratiate himself firmly in
as he had, was hardly a match for them. her good graces.
He still continued his attentions to Eme-
About a week after Sillendare had
line Clarendon, and he now believed his
courtship was in the full tide of success-
ful experiment. Sillcadare's character
had become so black and revolting, in the
estimation of Eineline, that he had noth-
ing to fear from him, as he very naturally


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
63
And I can guess the reason why you
think your regard for him has been dimin-
ished,' replied her mother. •You're
eternally playing and singing some of
to
made the agreement with Jane, Emeline I don't like him so well as I used to,
and her mother were alone. It was in and you seem to like him a great deal
the early part of the evening, and they better.'
had been talking about Marquinay, Fran-
cis Abbott, and other matters, when Mrs.
Clarendon said, Emeline, who do you
think that young lady can be who has
called twice to see you when you were Francis Abbott's musical compositions,
gone?
You know I told you she hes-and, for aught I know, dreaming about
itated to give her name. That looks very him every night. You must cease
suspicious, to me. Still, she may be a think of him so much, Eureline. He's
virtuous female, for all that. She said now far away, and will probably never
she had some private matter to reveal return. Then why should you spend so
to you of much interest. I wish she much of your time in vain regrets about
would call again. I have quite a curios-him ? '
ity to know what she wishes to say to I never knew, until he left London
you; for she's a very pretty and modestly for a foreign land, how much I loved
appearing young woman. I liked the bim,' said Emeline, frankly and openly.
looks of her much; but why she refused
to give her name is more than I can di-
vine. It is, at best, a very suspicious cir-
cumstance, and ought to place you on
your guard when you do happen to meet
her.'
There, Emeline, you have done it
now,' answered her mother impatiently.-
'It is just as I always feared it was.
Would you marry a beggar, because you,
happened to fancy him? Foolish girl!
Drive him for ever from your thoughts;
for you'll never see him again, it is not at
all probable. Mr. Marquinay loves you as
much as Abboit ever did, and his estate
is quite large. His fortune is more am-
ple than I supposed it was; so he tells
me, and no doubt he speaks the truth.”
True it was that Emeline had a great
curiosity to see this young lady, but she
did not once dream of what her errand
really was. Sie ingined a flousand
things, not oro of which was the riut
one. What struck her mind the strongest
was, (and it is was quite notum2) that the
gil minst bi ve sond tidings Low Fricis
Abbot, or that he must lave left solve-
thing with her waich she wis But to
communicate until he Lad set sail for
America. This suspicion roused her cu-tude to bring about.
riosity more than any thing else; for He may tell the truth, for aught I
since young Abbott had left the country, know,' replied. Emeline, but will money
she had leard somewhat of the height furnish a substitute for love in the married
and depth of her attachment and love for state? That is a question which exceed-
him.
ingly troubles my mind, and the more I
think of it the more perplexing it be-
comes.'
Marquinay, as Mrs. Clendon inti-
mated, Lad been artfully wlaspurng into
her ears the value of his extre
and, in
his anxiety to please her, bad unguified
it more than four fold; knowing this am-
bitions woman's weak points, be had
most sure, sshily made attacks upon them,
and sle veis no y quite korably onsposed
towards the match he felt so much solici-
6
6
6
I'm sure, mother, I can't tell who it is,
for the life of me,' replied Emeline. I
too have quite a curiosity to know her
business.'
'She said she would call again, and
now I think of it, it seems to me she said
she would call this evening,' replied the
mother.
'0, I'm glad of it,' said Emeline. I
hope she will come this evening, for
there's no one here now to interrupt us,
although Marquinay may come. Some
how or other, mother, it seems to me
Strange these love-sick notions and
sickly sensibilities should so much occupy
your mind, to the exclusion of high and
ambitious thoughts,' said the proud moth-
er. It was not so once. You gave Ab-
bott his walking ticket like a girl of spirit
and ambition, and seemed to be looking


64
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
for the high places in life, from which | sent lover through the hands of this fe-
you could see a large portion of the world male.
lying at your feet; but now your feel-
ings, it seems, would force you into the
lowly vale, where you would be for ever
shut out from all the beauty and splen-
dor which you have it in your power
to possess, if you will but exercise that
power.'
'Is not one much more exposed to
rough winds, in the elevated places of life,
than in the vales?' inquired Emeline.
'There, that is one of Francis Abbott's
morbid sentiments,' replied the impatient
mother. 'I have frequently heard him
utter such sickly opinions. Such senti-
ments will do well enough for a love-sick
poet or sensitive musician; but a lady
who loves rank, and expects to rise in the
world, will never be governed by such
doctrines. I tell you what it is, Emeline,
you must get these foolish notions out of
your head, or you will never shine in the
higher circles.'
'I suppose, mother, it may be so, for
Francis Abbott always said there was not
much real mind among the more fashion-
able part of society, because such never
have much time, and less disposition, to
think of any thing but the change of
fashions and the etiquette of high life,'
replied Emeline, feeling more and more,
every day, a disposition to adopt the opin-
ions and practice the precepts of Francis
Abbott.
'I never saw a girl change so fast as
you have for the last few days, in all my
life,' said the mother, manifesting an unu-
sual degree of impatience, and almost on
the point of giving Emeline a severe lec-
ture, for what she conceived her impru-
dence and folly.
Their conversation was interrupted by
the announcement of a servant that a lady
wished to speak with Emeline.
'Bid her walk in,' said Mrs. Clarendon
to the servant. Then, turning to Emeline
she continued: 'I should'nt wonder if
that girl had called who has appeared so
anxious to see you.'
Emeline's heart beat quick at the sug-
gestion of her mother, for she still was
strongly impressed with a belief that she
might receive something from her ab-
Jane Delano now very modestly entered
the room, and Emeline wished her mother
would go out, and leave them alone; but
Mrs. Clarendon had no idea of doing any
such thing, unless the strange female
should particularly request it.
'I suppose I have not made a mistake
in the house,' said Jane, assuming a very
modest manner, and eyeing Emeline very
narrowly; 'Miss Emeline Clarendon lives
here, does she not?'
'That name was given me in infancy,
replied Emeline, admiring the look and
manner of Jane.
'Then I would not be in a hurry to
change it, before I were put in possession
of all the facts intimately connected with
such a change,' answered Jane, smiling.
Both Emeline and her mother were sur-
prised at such a declaration from a stranger.
At the first blush, it seemed to them like
a piece of impertinence, but notwithstand-
ing this, Emeline kept calm and cool, anx-
iously expecting something of interest.
6
'I'm not aware that I am in a hurry to
change my name,' said Emeline; You
are the person, I presume, who has called
twice before to see me; if you have any
thing of a private nature to communicate
to me, we can step into another room.'
'Is this your mother?” inquired Jane,
looking at Mrs. Clarendon, whose curiosity
was now excited to the highest pitch.
'She is my mother,' replied Emeline.
Then I've no wish to retire into a pri-
vate apartment, for I've nothing to com-
municate to you which may not, with pro-
priety, be heard by a mother's ears,' said
Jane.
·
If it is any thing which concerns my
daughter, then sure her mother has an in-
terest in it,' said Mrs. Clarendon, rejoicing
that she was not requested to leave the
room.
'Very true, Mrs. Clarendon,' replied
Jane. 'Mothers ought to watch over their
daughters in these days of libertines and
deceivers. Perhaps if I had had a good
mother to have watched over me, I should
not now be leading the abandoned life I
do.'
"May I be permitted to inquire your


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
65
इन्द्र शब्द
be
2 553
沂
​el
'Jane!' repeated Mrs. Clarendon, 'you'How ignorant such ladies are of their
must be the person then who wrote my characters! Abandoned as I acknowledge
daughter some time ago? We thank you myself to be, still I have better opportuni-
ten thousand times for giving us such ties to learn the true characters of young
timely warning.'
men than you can possibly have, so long
as you lead a chaste and virtuous life.'
'I am the same person,' answered Jane,
'and if I have been of any service to you,
I really rejoice at it.'
'But you have not answered my ques-
tion,' said Mrs. Clarendon, impatiently.
'I have no doubt but London is overrun
with young men of dissolute habits, but
that is no positive evidence that there may
not be some virtuous ones.'
"
to
DE
'You did indeed do us much good ser-
vice,' said the mother. Before you wrote,
a young gentleman gave my daughter
th some hints about Mr. Sillendare, which
roused our suspicions, and then your let-
ter and his actions confirmed them all.
It was indeed lucky, for my daughter has
kescaped a libertine whom she might have
¿married, but for your timely letter, and
our friend's kind inuendo.'
F
et
I.
to
נוס
ed
name?' asked Mrs. Clarendon, feeling | cording to the company they meet,' replied
great surprise and astonishment at the Jane.
course Jane was pursuing.
&
'I'm usually called Jane, and sometimes
Jane Delano; but the name my parents
gave me when an infant is Joanna Lee,'
she replied. 'I usually write it Jane,
when I have occasion to write, which is
not very often.'
'Who was the young gentleman who so
kindly befriended you?' inquired Jane,
feeling much difficulty in repressing a
smile which she felt rising to her lips.
'Mr. Marquinay, who appears to be a
very fine man,' said Mrs. Clarendon.
6 Think no more of him, Emeline, I
entreat you, if you value your peace of
mind,' replied her mother. There is
more than one virtuous young man in
London, I trust.'
'I know not that there is one now,' said
Emeline, emphasising the last word in the
'Mr. Marquinay!' repeated Jane, as- sentence more than any other one.
suming a look of surprise.
'I hope there are many,' said Jane,
'I have about the same acquaintance
with him I had with Mr. Sillendare,' said
Jane.
'Do you know him?' anxiously in- laughing; 'but after all, the less there are
quired Emeline.
of virtuous men the worse it is for those
who live as I do. I speak the truth frank-
ly, for whatever my character may be in
other respects, I love those who tell no
falsehoods.'
'Do not keep me in suspense any
longer,' said Mrs. Clarendon. 'Again I
ask you if you know aught against the
character of Mr. Marquinay?'
There are a great many libertines in
London who move in the most fashiona-
ble circles; more, perhaps, than virtuous
ladies dream of,' replied Jane.
"
Why, mother, how anxious you are
about Mr. Marquinay?' said Emeline;
**
'Keep me no longer in this cruel sus-You seem to be more auxious than I,
pense,' said Mrs. Clarendon. Speak! and who am the most interested. Do you
tell me if you know aught against the suspect him?'
character of Mr. Marquiuay.'
'No, indeed, I do not,' she replied. 'I
always thought he was a high-minded,
honorable man. Do not interrupt again,
but let the girl have an opportunity of an-
Am I to understand then that Mr. Mar-
quinay is one of these characters?' asked
Emeline.
'I have often laughed in my sleeve
when I've thought of the swells and the
figures many young men cut with the vir-
tuous females of London,' said Jane.
'Heaveus! what mean you?' exclaim-
ed Mrs. Clarendon. 'Speak! Is Mr. Mar-
quiray a libertine too?'
'Many of the rich and fashionable
young men of our city have two charac-
ters, the one or the other they assume ac-
There was one virtuous one, but he
has quit this island for the continent of
America,' said Emeline, whose mind was
now continually running on Francis Ab-
bott.


66
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
swering my question. If you are more thought every body was wicked, and
interested than I am, let her tell what she therefore resolved to go with the crowd,
knows, and we may both be satisfied.' and elbow my way along. I became a
wanton, and the man who deceived and
(
Well, ladies, I will be frank with you,
said Jane, · Marquinay is as much a liber-betrayed me taught me how to deceive
tine as Mr. Sillendare.'
his own sex.'
How do you know that?' inquired
Mrs. Clarendon, with doubt and anxiety
depicted on her countenance.
"
By the same means that I knew Sil-
lendare to be a libertine,' replied Jane,
I have practical evidence-experience,
my dear madam. He has staid ail night,
and this not unfrequently. Is not this
sufficient evidence?'
Enough! enough!' exclaimed the
mother; I wish to have no more; I'm
satisfied.'
'Do you always intend living such a life
as you now live?' asked Emeline, in a
tone of voice which found its way to Jane's
'Gracious Heavens!' exclaimed Eme-hardened heart. It was a voice full of
line, Twice have I been saved from the
touch of libertines! Twice have I been
rescued, and by whom, and for what?
Ah! Heaven has dealt kindly with me;
and shall I not repent of my folly? If
the goodness of Heaven leads to repent-
auce, then indeed have I much cause to
become repentant! I have slighted the
love of Francis Abbott, and he has left bistions for rauk and splendor had choked
fresh feeling and sympathy-such an one
as the new convert always expresses; for
Emeline, by the disclosures that had been
made and by her lucky escapes from the
embrace of libertines, was truly repentant
herself. She now saw clearly, in the light
of conviction, how foolish if not absolutely
wicked she had been. Pride and aspira-
6
6
Do you now think every body is wick-
ed?' inquired Emeline, beginning to feel
an interest in this abandoned girl, and a
wish spring up in her heart that she might
become reformed.
"O no,' replied Jane. There must be
some virtuous people, or how could the
city be saved? But, like angels' visits,
they are few and far between.'
native land. I was wrong, and now I see
it most clearly. He loved me as few men
can love, but pride and ambition forbade
me to receive him as a lover.'
the growth of that tender sentiment which
had been awakened in her heart, and
through their power she would have mar-
ried a man she did not love. A true-
hearted lover had been driven from the
"
Mrs. Clarendon's powers of utterance
were paralyzed by these astounding dis-land of his birth by her cruelty. Ah! if
closures, and the returning sense of her she could now meet Francis Abbott, how
daughter. She sat in silence, deeply ber heart would leap for joy! Riches,
wrapped up in her own reflections.
splendor-every thing now gave place in
her heart to that love for young Abbott
which once burnt pure and bright. And
strange as it may appear, she now felt a
sympathy if not a friendship towards Jane,
and actually conceived the project of at-
tempting her reformation.
'I sometimes feel gloomy and sad, and
at such moments I resolve to become vir-
tuous; but temptation again besets me,
and I keep along upon the downward path.
I feel that my life will be short, and I press
onward to ruin. Strange infatuation!——
Now I clearly see the end; but an hour
hence, perhaps, when I again mingle with
my abandoned associates, I shall forget all
these serious impressions. Thus it is with
life, prd thus it has been for a few
6
Then, Miss Clarendon, you did not
love Mr. Marquinay," said Jane. Lucky
for you, indeed, that you did not love him.
I rejoice at your good fortune in escaping
from the arms of two such libertines as
Marquinay and Sillendare. To marry a
man whom you do not love, merely be-
cause he is rich, must have made you
miserable. I once loved a cruel man,
who deserted me. He deceived me. I
lost my reputation, and with it all my
pride. The world, for a while, looked
dark and gloomy. Ah! I began to hate
the world, and this hatred roused me to
action. I resolved to get a living out of
it by any means in my power. And
while this hatred was in my heart, I


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
67
short years.
But I must go. Perhaps in the same way when he visited here,'
you may soon have company, and I would she replied, casting upon him a very
not so much disgrace you as to be found searching glance, as if she would read his
your visiter.'
inmost soul.
He felt the searching power of that
‘I hope I shall see you again,' said Em-
eline; you may yet be virtuous and hap-glance, but by dint of great exertions he
py. Sincere repentance is what we both kept his balance and continued the con-
need, and may Heaven inspire it in our versation.
hearts.'
6
Ah, my dear Emeline, I flatter myself
that there is a wide difference between
Mr. Sillendare and myself,' he replied.
There may be some difference,' she
answered. 6 You do not wear mustachios
and he does, and he may have the com-
mand of more gold than you have. These
make some difference, it is true.'
'I am glad to find you in a joking mood,'
he answered, turning his eyes on the moth-
er, who sat in a moody silence. 'I do not
Emeline conducted Jane into another indeed wear mustachios, and Sillendare
apartment; and giving her directions how | may have more gold at his command than
to make her exit after the person who I have, but that is not quite certain. I
rang the bell had made his entrance, then made a splendid business operation to-day,
returned to the room again. Mr. Marqui- the results of which will add several thou-
nay made his appearance, and soon after sand pounds to my estate. It was a bold
Jane took her departure, having most faith- and perhaps a dangerous enterprise, but I
fully discharged her obligation to Mr. Sil-ventured, and the result has met my most
lendare.
sanguine expectations.'
Mrs. Clarendon opened her eyes at
this announcement, but she soon closed
them again and made no reply. He
thought her silence very singular, and
could not account for it, for she was al-
ways very talkative upon such subjects,
and he had invented this very story for
her especial benefit.
'You are fortunate indeed, Mr. Marqui-
nay,' said Emeline; and if money could
purchase absolution for crimes, there might
be some hope in your case.'
"
to
Why, Emeline, you're really disposed
joke this evening,' he replied, laughing.
I never was farther from joking in my
life,' she said. 'You said you had made
several thousand pounds to-day by a very
hazardous speculation. This was intend-
ed for my mother's ear, no doubt, Mr. Mar-
quinay; but I fear such、 made-up tales
have lost their charm even for her, and I
am sure they only disgust me.'
What mean you,' dear Emeline?' he
anxiously inquired.
6
Mr. Marquinay, hark you!' she said in
'Mr. Sillendare was accustomed to talk a reproving tone, which cut him to the
At this moment the door bell rang and
all were much excited. Even Mrs. Clar-
endon was aroused by its tones from her
revery.
'It is, perhaps, Mr. Marquinay,' said Mrs.
Clarendon; the ring sounds like his.'
'Let me go into another room,' exclaim-
ed Jane; for I would not meet him here
at this time: he might be tempted to mur-
der ine.'
Marquinay entered full of smiles, and
appeared unusually pleasant. Before he
came in, Emeline requested her mother to
be silent and let her manage the affair;
for she did not wish to break the matter
to him at once, but to lead him along
awhile, that she might make the more im-
pression upon him. He thought, when he
first entered the room, that he was not re-
ceived so cordially as usual, especially by
Mrs. Clarendon; but he did not discover
much difference in Emeline's manner.
•
It does indeed afford me great pleasure
to have the privilege of calling here and
passing some of my evenings,' said Mar-
quinay.
·
I suppose the evenings you spend else-
where are much more pleasant than those
you pass under this roof,' replied Emeline.
Indeed they are not,' he answered.-
The evenings I pass bere are the happi-
est moments of my life; and I hope the
day is not far distant when I shall be per-
mitted to spend all my evenings with you,
Emeline.'
"


68
FRANCIS ABBOTT.
"
that you are a base deceiver, a villain, a
libertine; and the sooner you pass from
under this roof the more agreeable will it
be to me and to my mother, who has been
more grossly deceived than I have.'
quick. This very night I have learned | the greater the truth the greater the libel,'
she replied. We have had no paper evi-
dence-no letter signed by Jane, but from
her own lips we have heard your guilt;
aud deny it before Heaven if you dare!
He trembled like a guilty criminal at
'Ah, I see how it is,' he replied, in a the bar of justice, when the jury had re-
tremulous voice. 'Sillendare has been turned a verdict of guilty. The sudden-
pouring his poison into your ears. Be-ness of the accusation and a consciousness
lieve him not, he's a liar and a scoundrel.' of its truth, threw him into great embar-
C
No poison from Sillendare's lips has rassment before he had time to collect his
reached our ears,' she answered. We forces and prepare himself for the astound-
have the same evidence that you are a lib-ing announcement. Mrs. Clarendon also
ertine that you procured to prove Sillen- put in her tongue, and the young scoun-
dare one; and common sense, as well as drel was completely overwhelmed.
the law, forbids you to impeach your own
testimony.'
'Leave my house!' exclaimed the agi-
tated and provoked mother. 'Libertines
shall find no quarters here.' The discom-
fited Marquinay took his departure with
curses on his tongue and deep and dark
revenge in his heart.
Who? what? how?' he exclaimed, in
the bitterness of his soul. 'Who has been
slandering me?'
'No one has been slandering you, un-
less you adopt as true the false notion that


སྨ
CHAPTER IX.
TIME, as he passes us, has a dove's wing,
Unsoiled, and swift, and of a silken sound;
But the world's time is time in masquerade!
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged
With motley plumes; and, where the peacock shows
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red,
With spots quadrangular of diamond form.
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblem of early graves.'
THE first day of January, 1829, had ar- | Abbott, who had made the passage across
rived, aud our scene is changed; or, as the Atlantic, and was safely landed on the
the lawyers say, we now lay our venue, not | American shore. After dining, he took a
in the metropolis of the British empire but walk along Tremont street as far as the
in the Athens of America, in the metrop- Common. Every thing was new and
olis of New England, where people of all strange to him. The buildings all looked
nations do love to congregate. The day new and clean, and the Common wore the
was clear, and not a cloud obscured the aspect of the country in a winter's day.-
sun; but the air was keen and frosty, bit-The noble trees stretched out their bare
事
​ing a person's nose and nipping his ears
before he was conscious of the fact.
About a week previous, there was quite a
heavy fall of snow, and the sleighing was
good. The merry sleighbells were ring-
ing joyously through the streets, and the
inhabitants of the city, of both sexes, seem-
ed determined to welcome in the new year
with every demonstration of joy. Although
the morning was cold, yet the sun shone
so pleasantly, and seemed to be doing all
he could to warm the air, that State street
presented a large group of citizens who
were wishing each other a happy new place where my father and mother are
year, and intently talking over commercial buried? And Emeline Clarendon ! shall
matters or canvassing the next presidential I never see thy fair form and beautiful face
campaign.
again? Has fate decreed that we must
for ever live separate? Must the broad
Atlantic for ever roll between us?
God! why didst thou implant within me a
'How different from London!' he said
within himself, as he stood gazing upon
this pleasure ground, and upwards to the
clear sky, which was drawn like a blue
silk curtain over his head. How clear is
the air-no clouds of smoke to obscure
the view, as in the city where I first drew
my breath, London! Have I left thee
for ever? Shall I never again behold the
O my
The news was soon spread on 'Change
that the British ship Duke of Wellington,
had arrived with a large cargo and quite a
number of passengers. The Tremont car-soul so sensitive? Why were I not made
riage was early at the wharf where the gal-
lant ship was moored, and several of the
passengers were soon landed at the Tre-
inont House. Among them was Francis
5
of coarser materials, that I might have
borne the ills of life with more fortitude
Strange that man should be made to love!
And yet how happy must those be whose
arms towards the clear blue sky as if they
were imploring the sun to give them heat,
and the beautiful grounds lay buried be-
neath the cold snows.


70
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
love is reciprocated! I could have been nor the ear,' replied Abbott. As you
happy and useful to others, but now-O say, it is not a very pleasant part of the
God! spare me from crimes of every grade! year to travel in this section of the
Let me not repine at thy goodness! I country,'
will strive amid the new scenes of Amer-
ica-among its mountains, and lakes, and
noble rivers-to rise above, that power,
and be myself again.'
While Francis Abbott was thus com-
muning with his own soul, a dark com-
plexioned but rather handsome man was
gazing upon him with much curiosity.
He had dined with him that day at the
Tremont House, and knew he was a for-
eigner; and when Abbott walked out after
dinner, this man followed him, intending
to have an interview with him, if he could | remain in this city, or to what part of the
country I may go,' replied Abbott.
'I am
indeed a pilgrim in a foreign land."
It is not, but the city is a very com-
fortable place to pass the winter,' said
Gandolpho. 'I conclude you will pass
the winter with us, and when the spring
opens, you will then have a fine opportu-
nity of visiting our watering places, and
of beholding our noble rivers, lakes and
mountains. Your English brethren speak
in high terms of the scenery of this coun-
try, if they do not so much admire its
democratie institutions.'
"I am unable to say how long I shall
find a convenient opportunity. The name
of this man was John Gandolpho, a Span-
iard by birth, but he had resided in this
country from his earliest youth, and, for
the last ten or twelve years, had made
Boston his home. He was one of the most
shrewd and finished gamblers to be found
within the precincts of the city, and always
upon the lookout for customers. When
Abbott first entered the Tremont House,
this blackleg had his eye upon him, and
thought he might be game.
These were the motives which indu- |
ced Gandolpho to seek his acquaintance.
While Abbott was thus wrapped in deep
meditation, and thinking of his own
native land, Gandolpho approached him
and very politely said, 'I presume you are
a stranger in this country, sir. Came in
the ship which arrived to-day from Lon-
don, I suppose.'
'I did, sir,' replied Abbott, fixing his
dark eyes on the stranger who addressed
him. This is my first appearance in
America.'
'Rather a cold season to land upon this
northern coast,' said Gandolpho, and not
a very favorable time to travel for pleasure.
I conclude you came over on a tour of
observation, to see how the people this
side the water get along. Almost every
vessel from London and Liverpool brings
over some English gentlemen, who are
desirous of looking into the free institu-
tions of this country; a very worthy object
for those who have the means.'
6
'You will enjoy yourself much better
here this winter than you could in travel-
ling,' said Gandolpho. We have every
kind of amusement, and all sorts of exhi-
bitions, musical, theatrical, and a great
variety of entertainments, such as cannot
fail to suit the taste of every individual
who is disposed to be amused and di-
verted.'
Then you have musical exhibitions
here, do you?' inquired Abbott.
O yes; Boston has always been cele-
brated for the cultivation of music,' re-
plied Gandolpho. Both sacred and sec-
ular music finds its patrons in this city;
no place in the Union where there is a
better musical taste than is to be found
here. And the rich and fashionable are
really generous in patronizing this art and
science.'
'I am myself very fond of music,' an-
swered Abbott. It is an art which has
thus far in life afforded me much plea-
sure.'
'Then I'm quite sure you will find
much to gratify you in our city,' replied
his wily companion.
From what part of
the "fast anchored isle" do you hail?'
London is my native place,' he re-
plied. In that city I have always lived.'
'You have friends residing there, I pre-
sume,' said Gandolpho.
6
'No relatives, but I trust I have some
friends among my acquaintances in that
'True, but the eye is never satisfied, city,' he replied. 'My parents are both


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
71
dead; my mother died but a short time
before I set sail for this country. I never
had any brothers or sisters, so that I have
left no relatives behind.'
'Ah, he's an only son, and heir to much
wealth,' said the gambler within himself.
A rich subject, if he can only be brought
up to the sticking point. I must invite
him to go with me this evening.'
Indeed! you are left quite alone.
But you have a wife, perhaps, who may
now be mourning your absence,' said
Gandolpho.
'You're very kind,' replied Abbott; 'I
will see how I feel when evening comes.
'A wife!' repeated Abbott, apparently
much overcome by his feelings. AI don't feel much like mingling in the
wife! If you are my friend, you will not
again allude to that subject.'
crowds just now.'
Gandolpho's curiosity was much ex-
cited, but he refrained from making any
more inquiries on a subject which seemed
to affect bis companion so seriously, sup-
posing he might have lost his wife by
death, or that she had proved disloyal to
his bed, and eloped with some gay Lo-
thario.
'I'm sorry, sir, that I have awakened
any unpleasant associations in your breast,
for if I have, I did it unintentionally,' said
Gandolpho.
Gandolpho thought this was rather a
'bad symptom; still it was not conclusive,
in his opinion.
erage, myself, but I found my temper-
ament so excitable and nervous, that wine
was quite injurious in its effects upon me,
and so I entirely abandoned its use.'
"
They now parted, and Abbott went to
his room in the Tremont House, there to
meditate upon his lonely state in the new
world. He sat down and took his flute to
while away a few moments. The first
tune he struck was his 'Mother's Prayer.'
The tones of his flute echoed softly
through the room, and its heavenly strains
fell enchantingly upon the ear of a young
lady from the South, who was in an ad-
joining apartment. She listened, and the
subdued tones filled her soul with strange
emotions. She put her ear close to the
wall, and in that attitude listened to the
plaintive notes.
|
<
'O, sir, I attach no blame to you at all,'
said Abbott. All men have their rough
places in life, as well as their smooth.-- 'O, what heavenly music!' she said to
And sometimes a very small circumstance herself. I have heard most celebrated ar-
will touch a chord and make it vibrate un-tists on that instrument many times, but
pleasantly.'
never before have I heard the flute breathe
Both remained silent for a few mo-out such enchanting music. He must be
ments, and each was wrapped up in his an Italian, who intends to give a concert
own reflections.
here. I wish there was a hole in the
At last Gandolpho broke the silence and | wall, that my ears might drink in more of
said, "The air is rather cold and I feel those heart-moving notes. How full of
chilled; shall we step into an oyster sa-holy feeling in every strain! I wish I
loon and take something to warm the in- could see him, for he must be handsome.'
side ?'
Abbott played away, unconscious of the
I thank you, sir" replied Abbott, I power his music was exerting over a
never drink any thing stronger than cof-heart alive with sensibility. He did not
fee and tea.'
dream that any one could hear him, for he
played very softly, yet with great feeling.
While he was playing, the chamber
maid was also listening with evident de-
light, for she stood near the door, with
her head bent over, as if it were attracted
by the strains which issued from the
flute. The young lady in the room ad-
joining now gently opened the door, hoping
Well, every man must be his own
judge, in these matters,' said Gandolpho.
'I do not indulge to excess, but occasion-
ally take a glass with a friend. If you are
not otherwise engaged this evening, I
should be pleased to accompany you to
some place of amusement, and show you
how we do up things in this country.'
'Gentlemen from your country, I believe,
are generally fond of wine,' replied Gan-
dolpho.
"
Many of them are, and I was, once,
a moderate drinker of that kind of bev-


72
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR!
she might hear the music more distinctly. she was from the South, and her name
She did not at first discover the chamber was Caroline Davenport. She was the
maid, neither did the chamber maid hear daughter of a rich planter in South Car-
the door open, so intently was she listen- olina, and was now on a visit to the North.
ing to the music. Both females now If beauty of face, symmetry of form, and
stood listening to the plaintive notes of lively, animated manners constitute a belle,
Abbott's flute, unconscious of each other's then Miss Davenport might be called one;
presence, with scarcely any more power for the Southern States boasted of but few
to change their positions than the flutter- such beautiful females.
ing bird has when its eyes are fastened der twenty years, and
upon those of the serpent that lies coiled as a new blown rose.
near it.
was warm as the sunny South from which
she came, and her sensibilities as easily
roused as the strings of an Eolian harp.
She had herself paid much attention to mu-
sic, and was a great admirer of it. Her
A
3
At last Abbott ceased to play, and the
charm was broken. The listening females
gradually recovered their self-possession,
and their eyes met. They were not a
little astonished that they had not discov-skill on the piano forte was equalled by but
ered each other before.
few young ladies of her age. Why she
still stood in the door, she was almost afraid
to ask herself, but she did stand there until
Abbott returned again to his chamber.
'Come here,' whispered the Southern
lady, beckoning the almost spell-bound
chamber maid. 'Do you know who that
is that plays so splendidly on the flute?'
'He's a stranger, a foreigner, I pre-
sume; arrived in a ship from London, to-
day,' replied the maid.
I thought so,' said the lady. I dare
say he's some Italian, who intends giving
a concert.'
True, indeed; it was most enchanting
music,' said the lady. I wish he would
play again. Can't you find out his name
from some of the servants, and what na-
tion he belongs to ?'
'I think I can,' she replied. 'I will
try; and if he has told any one, some of
the servants will know.'
Her age was un-`
her heart as fresh
Her temperament
'Quite a cold day; but yet the air is
clear and bracing,' said Abbott.
6
'I should'nt wonder,' replied the maid.
'I don't know much about music, but I
never heard such sweet playing before.
I was ashamed to have you see me so near
the door. I couldn't help it, for my ear
was drawn towards the key-hole before I'I thought I played so softly that I should
was aware of it, so sweet and fascinating not disturb any one.'
were the strains he breathed from his flute.'
'It is indeed, she replied; but I hope
it is not so cold but you will again play on
your flute. I'm a great admirer of music,
and love the strains of the flute.'
'Did you hear me play?' he inquired.
'Disturb any one!' she repeated.—
That kind of disturbance I should be
willing to meet at any and all times.—
What tune were you playing? It must
have been the composition of some great
master but I have no recollection of ever
having heard it before.'
The flute player now came out of his
room, and passed by the lady. She gazed
upon him as he passed her, and he re-
turned her look, bowing very politely. A
shade of sorrow was on his countenance,
but grace in all his movements; at least,
so thought the lady of the warm South.-
The chamber maid now went about her
work, while the lady continued standing
in the door of her chamber. We said
As he was passing her, he nodded more
familiarly than before. Well bred and po-
lite as she was, yet she could not resist the
temptation to nod as familiarly as he did.
This induced Abbott to speak to her.
The young musician stood silent, while
a smile passed over his sad but highly in-
tellectual countenance. She saw him smile
and thought she might have betrayed, by
the question, her ignorance of music.
'You smile, but do not answer me,' she
continued. 'Did I ever hear it, be-
fore? Is it an extract from some old
opera?'
"O no,' he replied, in a voice almost as
musical to her ears as the enchanting
music of his Ante. It is my own com-


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
73
"Your own composition,' she echoed,
with unaffected surprise and astonishment.
'Excuse me when I ask the name of the
composer of such music.'
position, and perhaps I ought to blush for of truth in what you say,” replied Abbott.
having acknowledged it.'
'But there are certain musical strains
which will affect some hearts differently,
and more than others. Music, it is true,
speaks an universal language, but yet there
may be some peculiar tones which would
| fall without effect upon some ears, while
they would seriously affect others. The
heart must be schooled, must be experi-
enced, yes, must suffer, before it can duly
appreciate every variety of change which
may be rung from the simple octave,' said
he, placing a strong emphasis on the
words, must suffer.
'A very humble name, my dear madam.
One scarcely known to the musical world,'
he modestly replied. Francis Abbott is
the name with which I was christened in
my infancy, in the old world, and I know
of no cause for changing it in the new.'
'Abbott! Francis Abbott!' she repeat-
ed over.
'I don't recollect of ever seeing
a musical composition under that signa-
ture; and yet I may and have forgotten.'preciate such a composition as I heard
f
"Must the heart suffer before it can ap-
you play, a short time ago?' she asked.
I loved it, and appreciated it, and yet I am
not conscious of having suffered.'
}
'I told you I was but little known in
the musical world,' said he, 'and probably
never shall be. When I compose a piece
of music, it is not intended for the public
ear, but to amuse myself. I write not for
fame; 1 care not for the world now, and
yet it is well adapted to man's convenience,
and may please those whose hearts are
full of joy and gladness.'
Had you lost a mother, as I have, per-
haps you might have listened with more
intense feeling,' he replied.
2
'It seems to me that any person's heart
must be full of joy and gladness, and
goodness too, if he can compose such mu-
sic as I heard from your flute, a short time
ago. What is the name of the piece?'
I call it My Mother's Prayer!' he re-
plied.
C
Every uncorrupted heart must feel the
power of such heavenly strains,' she an-
swered. Suppose you should play a sen-
timental song; do you not think I could
appreciate it, even though I never loved
any one?'
'If I should play you a song designed to
express the feelings that press the heart
when love is unrequited, do you think you
could appreciate the music, having never
experienced the emotions those strains
were designed to express?' he asked.
"And well do its strains breathe a moth-
er's prayer,' she said. Have you a
mother living?"
4
Both my parents are dead, and lie
buried side by side in London,' he an-
swered. This piece I composed before
the decease of my mother, and the varia- "Listen, while I go and play,' he said,
tion on the night she died, and but a few going into his chamber and playing a song
moments before that sad event took place. which he had composed while on his pas-
I played it, at her request, when she was sage across the ocean, entitled, 'My hopes
struggling with death. For me it has are crushed.' She stood and listened to
charms, and awakens in my bosom the deep-the wild and mournful notes, until her
est and tenderest emotions, but for you or
the world it cannot afford such pleasure.'
(
'Human ´ hearts are the same, on both
<sides of the Atlantic, and when peculiar
strains of music touch a chord in one, it
will also 'vibrate in another. This divine
art has a language which speaks to all
hearts, and tones which awaken the same
emotions, the world over."
blushing cheeks were wet with tears. He
finished the song, and closed the chamber
door. The young lady went into her own
room with such emotions in her heart as
she never felt before, and she was actually
afraid that she loved that stranger.-
Throwing her fair form upon the bed,
and placing her white hand upon her pol-
ished forehead, she gave herself up to
}
L
'There may be, and probably is, much strange thoughts and wild emotions.
1
r
Can you play such a song, of your own
composition?' she inquired. I hope
your heart has never been schooled for
such music.'
8
**


1
CHAPTER X.
'THERE, in a moment, we may plunge our years
In fatal penitence, and in the blight
Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears,
And color things to come with hues of night:
'The race of life becomes a hopeless plight
To those that walk in darkness: on the sea
The boldest steer but where their ports invite,
But there are wanderers o'er eternity
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be.
6
ning,' said Gandolpho. But there will
probably be one shortly, which you can
attend, and I should be pleased to accom-
pany you.'
EVENING Came, and John Gandolpho still
entertained the thought that Francis Ab-
bott might become a good subject in the
gambling room. He was quite sure in his
own mind that the stranger must have in
possession a large amount of money, and
if he could but lead him to one of these
hells, he hoped he might become the shar-
er, to some extent, of the fortune which he
supposed his parents had left him. With
these views he sought Abbott for the pur-
pose of giving him an invitation to accom-
pany him to one of those saloons in which
so many young men have ruined their mor-
als, and laid the foundations of their mise-quiet manner. Gandolpho introduced Ab-
ery in after life.
bott to some two or three of the company
and then called on some wine; but Ab-
bott, as on a former occasion, refused to
drink on this, notwithstanding Gandolpho
and those to whom he had been introduced
urged with considerable importunity.
Having confidence in Gandolpho, and
withal being somewhat pleased with the
manner of the man, Abbott consented to ac-
company him, without much thought where
he was to be taken. The gambler led the
way, and they soon entered a saloon where
were assembled ten or a dozen young men,
fashionably dressed and with beards of
formal cut, who were standing before a
counter and taking their liquor in a very
1
Abbott was in his room and Gandolpho
went to the door and knocked, but with
rather a trembling hand, for there was
something in the manner of Abbott, and
a peculiar expression in his intellectual
countenance, which made the gambler feel
some misgivings; but the hope of gain
pressed him on, in spite of all his fears.-
Abbott opened the door and invited him in.
You will recollect that I spoke to you
about accompanying me to
to a place of
amusement this evening; and if you are
not otherwise engaged, I should be pleas-
ed with your society,' said Gandolpho.
'I'm not particularly engaged,' replied
Abbott. 'Is there a concert of music this
evening? I think that would afford me
as much pleasure as any thing, for I should
like to see how the Americans manage
musical exhibitions.'
The party now retired to another apart.
'I believe there is no concert this eve-ment in the rear of the driuking saloon,
'Don't you never liquor ap on any oc-
casion?' inquired a black whiskered, sharp
eyed fellow, who seemed to be a sort of
leader in the gang,
'Never any strong liquors or even wine,'
said Abbott in a firm tone of voice, which
plainly told the young men that it would
be in vain to urge him any more.
'Very well, all right,' said Gandolpho.
We all have our peculiar tastes: some
love to drink and some prefer to let it
alone; and every one has a right, in these
matters, to consult his own judgment and
do as he pleases.'


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
which was lighted up and the tables all
arranged. Abbott now begau to be suspi-
cious of what the evening's entertainment
was to consist, but he thought he would
not unceremoniously leave the room, and
thereby offend Gandolpho, who had been
so polite to him.
'We propose to take a small game at
cards, Mr. Abbott, and hope you will join
us,' said Gandolpho. It is a pleasant way
of killing these long winter evenings.'
'A sure way of killing the best feelings
of the heart,' thought Abbott, but he did
not say it.
'I'm really ignorant of cards,' said Ab-
bott. I once played whist a few times,
but it has been so long since, that I should
now hardly know one card from another.'
'Ah, you needn't talk to us about your
ignorance,' said the aforesaid sharp eyed
fellow. A man who was born and bred
in London caunot well be ignorant of
cards. I dare say you're more than a
match for any of us.'
'I assure you, sir, upon my honor, I'm
quite ignorant of games of any kind,' said
Abbott. 'I never played for a shilling in
my life, and I feel quite certain I never
shall, if Heaven spares me my reason.'
Not only the words but the manner and
tone of voice in which he uttered them,
and the shade of melancholy that rested
upon his countenance, made these gamb-
lers feel that they had a hard case to work
upon, still they did not despair.
'Are you really in earnest,' inquired the
black whiskered fellow, or are you joking,
and trying to deceive us, so as to get a
better haul out of us?'
Gandolpho expressed his regret that his
friend was so conscience bound that he
could not join them in the evening's
amusement, and took a seat at the same
table with his black whiskered friend,
whose name was Patterson. They begau
to play, while the others arranged them-
selves for the sport. Gandolpho and Pat-
terson were two of the most accomplished
blacklegs of the whole group. They were
not particularly friendly to each other, al-
though they had played much together and
sometimes for pretty large sums. Francia
Abbott remained a while a spectator of
this scene of vice and iniquity. He was
several times on the point of leaving, but
thought he would tarry during a portion
of the evening, that he might witness the
operations of one of these bells.
Gandolpho and Patterson continued the
game. Their countenances betrayed the
extreme agitation they felt as the stakes
increased in value, for every game became
more and more important as the excite-
ment became greater.
"Well, you can preach and we will
practise,' replied he of the black whiskers,
sitting down at a table and giving out a
challenge to any one to confront him.
"Stop!' exclaimed Patterson, 'that trick
is not yours. You did not follow suit in
the one before. My eyes are upon you.
Beware how you attempt to cheat, for I
swear I will not endure it patiently. This
is not the first time, by many.'
'Don't accuse me of wilfully cheating,
for I will not bear that,' replied Gandol-
pho, in a voice of angry threatening.
'Accuse you!' repeated Patterson, tak-
ing up the last trick and exhibiting proofs
of the fraud practised. See here! you
played a spade on the trick when, by the
rules of the game, you ought to have play-
'I am in earnest, as God is my witnessed
as well as judge,' replied Abbott.
'Why, Gandolpho, you have brought us
a preacher of the Gospel!' continued
black whiskers, laughing and eyeing Ab-
bott very closely.
'It were well, perhaps, if I could preach
the Gospel in its purity, and make you
listen to its divine precepts and terrible
denunciations,' said Abbott, while his eye
lightened up and his voice sounded like a
trumpet in their ears.
a club. Don't your eyes see how it is?'
A mistake!' replied Gandolpho; 'but
don't call it a cheat.'
6
#
"Such mistakes occur too often,' said
Patterson. "There's too much method in
them, and they happen too often to suit
my taste.'
They continued to play and for higher
and higher stakes, until the sum became
so large that the game was very exciting.
'By G- that's a deliberate cheat,' ex-
claimed Gandolpho. See here! you did
not follow suit.'
•
'A mistake, of course!' replied Patter-
son, and don't you call it a deliberate
cheat.'


76
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
20
Now there was no question at all but
both intended to cheat. The game went
on and their blood became hotter and hot-
ter. Abbott expected every moment to
see the affair end in blows between the
two gamblers, but they played on in breath-
less silence, each one intent upon the
game. The stakes were large and the
game close. At last Gandolpho swept the
board, and was about to pocket the money,
when bis antagonist leaped over the table
and sprang upon him like the tiger upon
his prey, seizing him by the throat and
exclaiming in wrathful tones, Touch not
the money, for it was won by fraud.
saw the trick, and said nothing until you
began to pocket the money. Give it back
or will have your heart's blood in ex-
change!'
6
I
1
**
'Hands off!' shouted Gandolpho, pull-
ing a dagger from his bosom and pointing
it at the side of Patterson, while the latter
still held him by the throat with both hands.
'Never, until you give back the money
you have so unjustly and fraudulently
taken,' replied Patterson, still clinging to
the throat of his antagonist, as if he would
tear out his windpipe, and glaring upon
him like a maniac.
•
They struggled for a few moments
longer, when Patterson shouted in a fear-
ful voice, 'He has stabbed me, and the
blood is streaming from my side!'
"
Release your grasp from my throat, or
I'll give you a second plunge, that shall
drain your heart of all its blood!' replied
Gandolpho, again raising the fatal instru-
ment to make a second plunge, but before
he could do so, Francis Abbott seized the
gambler's uplifted arm, and arrested the
blow.
M
'The money is mine, and by G- I'll
hold it, if it costs your own blood,' an-
swered Gandolpho, in a voice made hoarse
by rage and the pressing fingers of Patter-
sou.
'Hold!' cried Abbott, "remember, that
whosoever sheddeth man's blood by man
shall bis blood be shed. It a fearful thing
to take human life. Forbear, for we shall
be swift witnesses against thee.'
"
•
*
confused and strangled by the hands of
his opponent. It was some minutes be-
fore either arose from the floor. While
they were thus prostrate, the other gam-
bler's looked on with apparent composure,
for they did not suppose that any thing
like murder had been attempted. Several
times previous to this they had quarrelled
in the same room, but not with such rage
and desperation.
-
Patterson arose first, notwithstanding
his wound continued to discharge the
purple current, and drew a pistol from his
pocket; but before he pulled the trigger,
his brother gamblers seized him, and pre-
vented any farther mischief. This was a
desperate effort of Patterson, but when his
friends seized him, he dropped the pistol
upon the floor, and fainted from loss of
blood. They stripped off his clothes and
stanched the blood with a handkerchief.
And while they were doing this, Gandol-
pho got upon his feet, but his eyes rolled
wildly about, and he could, hardly stand,
so severely had his throat been compressed
by his antagonist.
"Have 1 killed the rascal?' inquired
Gadolpho. He deserves deah, b
would not be his executioner.'
"He's not dead, but very weak and
faint,' said Abbott. "Whether the wound
is fatal or not, remains to be proved. He
may die, and then who can save your life?
Ah! much have I read of the fatal conse-
quences of gambling, but now my eyes
have seen them. You invited me to a
place of amusement! And do you call
this soul-destroying vice amusement?
May God preserve me from the corrupt-
ing influences of such a place.'
'Call a physician,' faintly said Patter-
son, arousing from his fainting fit, and
attempting to rise. I feel weak, I fear
the wound is fatal.'
A physician was sent for, and Francis
Abbot, having seen enough of the wretched
vice of gambling, found his way back to
his hotel. On examining the wound, the
doctor found that no vital organ was ma-
terially injured. The dagger passed
through the flesh and glanced upon one
The combatants now rolled upon the of the ribs, not penetrating far enough to
floor, and ceased their strife, one weak-reach the heart or lungs. But no thanks
ened by the loss of blood, which still were due to the gambler who wielded the
flowed freely from his side, and the other weapon; for his rage was such that he
#


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
cared not where it went, whether into one
part or into another.
It was not late when Abbott reached his
lodgings. During his absence, Caroline
Davenport kept her room, wishing he
might return and wondering where he
could be. Her father had invited her that
evening to the theatre, and although she
was extravagantly fond of theatrical ex-
hibitions, yet she declined going, but her
father knew not the cause.
I
ติ
While she was anxiously waiting in her
chamber, every footfall in the passage
made her heart beat quicker; for she was
expecting the arrival of the flutist every
moment. And when he did come, and
she heard his door open, emotions were
awakened in her bosom to which she had
hitherto been a stranger. Why she should
have such impressions she could not tell,
but they were upon her, and she could
not shake them off.
t
7
"
Francis Abbott, as might reasonably be
supposed, was most seriously affected,
after his return from the scene of gam-
bling and of blood to which he had been
invited as a place of amusement. He
threw himself into a chair, and, taking his
flute in his hand, gave himself up for a
few moments to deep reflections. When
he first sat down he intended to have
recourse to music to drown his sorrows,
but his thoughts were too intense to ad- Again he raised his flute to his lips, and
mit of such an exercise. O, how differ-breathed into it such strains as his own
ently have I passed this evening from peculiar feelings at this time suggested.
those when I used to sit beside Emeline When she heard the soft notes she rose
Clarendon, and join with her in conversa- and reclined her head against the wall
tion and in song! Then I was indeed which separated his apartment from hers,
happy, and the world and its crimes and O, how she wished that material bar-
passed almost unnoticed. What a scene rier could be removed, and that partition
of human corruption and wickedness have wall torn down. She listened with her
I witnessed this night! Ah! could I find whole soul, but she could not hear enough
some solitary place where I could pass of those bewitching strains.
my days amidst the beauty and grandeur
of Nature's works, far away from the cor-
rupting influences, and perplexing annoy-
ances of human society, I might be com-
paratively happy. Such scenes can only
chase away melancholy! Human society
cannot. Even lovely woman has lost her
charms with me, since my love has been
once rejected, and the night of Despair
settled upon my soul. Ah! did I not
hear the soft tread of that beautiful female
in the next chamber? Yes I hear her
I will open my chamber door, and
perhaps I can hear more distinctly," she
said to herself, softly walking to the door
and opening it.
now. How fresh and beautiful and inno-
cent she is! How full of sensibility is her
heart to the charms of music, and how
much the expression of her countenance
reminds me of the far-off Emeline! O
God! I wish I could love her; for I be-
lieve she would return my love. But she
must not love me. My heart is sick, and
a fatal morbid disease has seized upon my
soul! How fresh and pure is her spirit?
It is as it came from Him who made it, un-
corrupted by the world; and cursed be he
whose touch shall soil it.
O, may she
never feel the sorrows of unrequited love!
She is now, perhaps, waiting to hear me
play, and I will play ;' for music corrupts
not the heart. I will breathe softly into
the flute, my "Mother's Requiem." That
will fill her soul with divine strains; for
Heaven inspired me when I composed it,
and angels listen when I play it.'
He put his flute to his trembling lips,
and, suddenly taking it away again, he
continued his soliloquy. No! I promised
never to play it when I knew that mortal
ears were listening. My promise has been
made on earth and registered in Heaven,
and it must be kept. Pure and innocent
as she is, and like an angel as she may be,
yet this music must not sound in her ears.
I will play some other piece, and she shall
hear.'
?
The music was now much more clearly
heard, for the chamber door of the flutist
was left very little ajar. She stood just
outside her door in the passage way, and
there listened to such strange, wild, plain-
tive notes as she never heard before. At
one moment the tears would stream down
her cheeks, and the next a cold shudder


78
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
would come over her heart and her frame
would tremble with fear.
What strange music, and yet how I
love to hear it;' she said within herself
'What can he be playing? I wish I could
get the notes from him. Perhaps he
would give them to me. But could I play
or sing them? Not as he plays them.'
While she was thus communing with
herself, she had approached, unconsciously,
quite near his door, so that she could see
a small part of his person. When she
found herself in this near proximity to the
door, she instinctively drew back a step or
two, but the music again drew her for-
ward until at last ber ear was placed close
to the open space. As he turned his eyes
Suddenly removing the instrument from
his lips, he said in a low voice, but loud
enough for her to hear, 'Ah, I was wrong,
I thought I was with my dying mother and
an angel was listening, but I was under a
delusion of the imagination; I must not
play that tune.'
'I cannot oblige you by repeating that
tune; but I wish I could, consistently with
my promise never to play it to human
ears,' he replied.
It is delightful music,' she said; I
could listen all night to such sweet strains.
Why did you make such a promise?'
It is my mother's Requiem,' he an-
swered. 'It was inspired within me after
the vital spark Had left her frame, and it is
not suitable music for earth; such strains
'But didn't you compose that?' she in-
quired.
in that direction he saw the whole of her
ear, a single curl of her bright hair, and a
small portion of her flushed cheek. As
he continued to play, strange emotions are only breathed in heaven. Any thing
pressed his heart and peculiar thoughts of my own composition I will willingly
occupied his mind. He fancied to himself play in your hearing.'
that he was playing to a listening angel, for
he could not see enough of flesh and blood
to undeceive him and break the bewitching
illusion. This fancy, which for a few mo-
ments flitted across his excited brain,
brought up before him the image of his
dying mother and all the associations con-
nected with that scene. Forgetting for
the moment where he was, and utterly re-
gardless of earthly things, he commenced
playing his Mother's Requiem; but before
he bad played it half through the delusion
passed away, and he once more came to
his sober senses.
'I think not,' he replied. 'At any rate
it is not the production of my own unas-
sisted genius. I was especially inspired.
You may call this superstition, but to me
it seems far otherwise. I hold it sacred,
and only play it as I am especially moved
by an unseen power.'
'I would not urge you to play it if you
are not disposed,' she replied.
'What was
that you played just before you struck
what you call your Mother's Requiem?'
'Indeed, madam, I have no name for
it,' he answered. I was attempting to
make my flute express my own peculiar
feelings at the time. I played from im-
pulse, altogether. The music, if such it
may be called, was never written; and
even now I could write out but a very few
of the strains.'
Here he checked himself and was silent.
The few strains of the composition which
Caroline Davenport heard so wrought up-
on her feelings, and her curiosity to hear
again was so much excited, that she could
not resist the temptation to speak, howev-
er improper under other circumstances she
might have deemed it.
4
'O, sir, will you play that tune again,
you played last?' she said in a low, trem-
ulous voice.
He arose and opened the door a little
wider, but in doing so he did not act as if
he expected or even désired her to enter
his chamber. As he opened the door, her
first impulse was to start back, but he look-
ed so mild, and so much kindness seemed
to beam from every lineament of his coun-
tenance, that she stood still and waited for
his answer.
'Some of the tones were exceedingly
sorrowful, and made my tears flow freely,
while others were full of horror and chill-
ed my blood,' she said.
'Then, indeed, I succeeded in making
my instrument express my own feelings,'
he replied.
'Why should you have such feelings?'
she inquired.
This night I was invited to a gambling
room, not knowing where I was going, and


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
79
le
there I saw the horrid effects of this wretch- i 'Did she not return your love?' she in-
ged vice,' he answered. I saw two men quired.
t fight with desperation, choking and stab-
bing each other. Murder would have been
committed if I had not arrested the arm of
el one of them, who was about to plunge the
In dagger a second time into his antagonist's
for side.
O it was a horrid spectacle, enough
to chill the blood of the most hardened on
earth.'
'She once loved me, but my father lost
his property and died, and then pride and
ambition made her bid me leave her,' he
answered. 'Her mother's influence, too,
urged her on to the cruel deed.'
'I would drive all remembrance of her
from my thoughts,' she said. 'I'm an only
child and my father is wealthy; but if I
should once love, I should always love so
long as the life of him I loved should be
continued. Do you not believe in loving
a second time?'
R
lal
in
Ι
8.
T
3
N
&
d
2
0
7
'But the sorrowful tones you played-
the sentimental—why did you play those?'
she inquired. 'Such a murderous scene
could not suggest them, could it?'
6
'More and more do you show me that
you have indeed a heart to appreciate mu-
sic,' he replied. Those tender and affect-
ing notes were not inspired by such a
scene, but occasionally my memory would
bring before me the image of her whom I
shall never see again. Ah, those feelings
rise up from the depths of my soul under
all circumstances, and I have not the pow-
er to keep them back.'
'I have lost a mother too, and would to
Heaven I could play such a requiem as
yours,' she answered, with great feeling.-
'I would never try to keep such feelings
back, but let them gush up at all times,
from the fountains of my heart.'
-
'You did not understand me,' he said,
in a tremulous voice. I did not allude
to any emotions which the death of my
mother stirred within me. I once loved
another woman besides a mother, but
she-' Here he was so overcome by his
feelings that he did not finish the sentence,
but wiped a tear from his eye and remain-
ed silent a few moments.
'Excuse this weakness of my nature,' he
continued; 'I regret I spoke of her at all
to you.'
Caroline's curiosity was now much ex-
cited to know all the particulars.
6
You was about to say she died, I sup-
pose,' said Caroline, in a voice full of sym-
pathy.
'No, my dear lady, she's not dead, or
was not when I left the shores of England,'
he replied.
'Not dead!' she repeated in surprise;
then why did you leave her?'
'Ah, I had as good a reason for leaving
England as her death would have been,
and one more painful,' he replied,
'My own experience would teach me to
auswer your question in the negative,' he
replied. I never have loved but once, and
Heaven only knows whether I shall again.'
'You have awakened in my heart a deep
interest in your history,' said Caroline.
'Let not that interest ripen into love,'
he replied sorrowfully.
'I fear it approaches that sentiment too
nearly already,' she answered. • Excuse
my frankness. Ladies of the South are not
coy or prudish.'
"
6
You are worthy of a better heart than
mine,' he replied. My feelings prompt
me to seek a retreat from the world. I
have some jewels and money left me by
my mother, which, with prudence and
economy, will support me.'
'Would you not like to travel South?'
she inquired. My father is a generous
man, and would be happy to see you on
his plantation.'
6
'I know not whither I shall go when I
leave this city,' he replied; but I must
see the great cataract of America. Niag-
ara Falls have a charm for me, and that
place I shall visit. You know something
of the private history of my life, more than
any other one this side of the ocean, and
more, probably, than any other will know.
Peculiar circumstances have induced me
to be frank and free with you. Your heart
is innocent and pure, and I know you wish
me well. Tell not even your father why
I came to this country. Respect me, es-
teem me, pray for my prosperity while I
sojourn on earth, and you shall have my
prayers, but do not love me, for no woman
must love me again. This interview must
now end,' Agreeably to his request they
separated,


CHAPTER XI.
O, Love! thou hast no home
Save in the universe ;-and sweet, methought,
As through the parting air I mounted up,
I heard the stars reply to stars with songs
Ringing for ever! And within the heart,
Unchangeable by time or place, thou reign'st
With a deep passion,-making all things change
Even with thy hues!'
Francis Abbott, cold and indifferent as request, and her efforts to prevent such a
'he believed his heart was to every woman, consummation. She had been there but
save Emeline Clarendon, from whom he a few moments before she again heard his
was separated by a space, three thousand flute softly breathing out its strange music.
miles wide, could not but feel some
strange emotions after he parted with the
beautiful and warm-hearted Caroline Da-
venport.
"Why does he again play his betwitch-
ing music, if he told me truly that he did
not wish me to love him?' she said within
herself. I fear I shall love him, if I con-
tinue to listen to the enchanting strains of
his flute. He may be artful, and takes
this course to excite within me the tender
passion; but it seems to me to be a sin-
gular way, and yet it affects me strangely.
I wish I really knew what his feelings
are.'
After he had closed his chamber door
upon the fair girl of the South, he sat
down to hold communion with his own
thoughts. 'Ah! and she would have
reciprocated my affection! I wish I had
never seen the beautiful Emeline. No!
I dare not indulge such a wish. I was
made to love her, but the decree is in-
scrutable to me.'
He took up his flute and played a tune
he had composed for the following verse.
Love, wanton child of Earth and Heaven,
Whose home is in the human heart,
When once thy piercing shaft is driven,
Nor God nor man can pluck the dart.
As he played, the power of music and
the associations which its peculiar tones
awakened in his bosom, drove the thoughts
of Caroline Davenport from his mind, and
made him feel most sensibly that he could
never love a second time, however much
he might be loved by Miss Davenport or
any other lady.
|
*
When Caroline Davenport went into
her chamber, after he had so unceremoni-
ously closed his door upon her, with the
singular injunction that she must not love
hin, she felt a fearful foreboding that she
would love him in spite of his peculiar
1
Thus thought and felt this beautiful
female, while she listened to the soft
music of the flute. When he ceased
playing, and songht his bed, she also at
the same time disrobed her beauteous
form, and laid down, but not to sleep for
some hours, for her mind was too much
agitated for repose. Either the tones of
his flute, the music of his voice, or the
peculiar expression of his dark eyes had
made a deeper impression upon her heart
than she ever felt before. It was nearly
midnight before she fell into a slumber,
and then it was only to dream of sweet
music, or dark eyes. Abbott also bad
seen too much that night, and been a
witness of too many exciting scenes to
allow sleep to visit his eyes until a very
late hour. And when it did come he also
was carried back, in-imagination, to the
land of his birth, and stranger dreams dis-
turbed him through the night.


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
81
The next morning at the breakfast table
Caroline pointed out Francis Abbott to
her father, and after the morning meal
had been taken she told what she knew
of the history of his life.
·
"
O, father,' said she, he is one of the
strangest men you ever saw. I wish you
would converse with him and learn more
of his character.'
• Why Caroline, how enthusiastic you are?'
replied the father. 'I never heard you
talk so earnestly about any man before.'
'And for the very good reason, I never
saw a man before in whom I felt so deep
an interest,' she frankly replied.
'From your earnest talk and manner, I
should think you had fallen in love with
him already,' he said. 'You must be
eareful how you look at foreigners, for
many of them assume false characters and
pass themselves off upon the Americans
for counts or some other great men, when
they have nothing but a fine suit of
clothes and their upper lip covered with
hair, to recommend them.'
6
'He don't wear mustachios or very
fashionable clothes,' said Caroline. He
don't assume any false character, or even
wish to pass himself off for more than
he's worth.'
'How do you know that?' he inquired.
'You have not, I presume, any acquaint-
ance with him,-have not been intro-
duced or conversed with him.'
She was somewhat embarrassed by her
father's questions, but of a frank disposi-
tion and a mind incapable of prevarication,
she told him the whole truth.
'If there is much deception in the
world, I don't believe this gentleman
makes any part of it,' she answered.
'Look at his countenance-see the benev-
olence that's beaming from every lineament
of it--observe the melancholy shade that's
on his features,-here him converse, and
listen to the enchanting strains of his music,
and then say, if you can, that he's either a
strolling musician or a deceitful man. 0,
no, no, father. He's not only a great
genius, but he's a good man. I cannot be
deceived, it seems to me, for if I am I
shall never dare to form an opinion again
about any one.'
Mr. Davenport was much astonished at
his daughter's remarks concerning this
stranger, but more by the enthusiasm
manifested in her manner.
He began
seriously to think that her heart was
touched with the talismanic power of love.
6
Now Mr. Davenport had great confi-
dence in his daughter's opinion in relation
to music, for being very fond of music
himself, and a good singer, he had given
her a most thorough musical education.
Why, what did he say to you?' he in-
quired, anxious to ascertain whether the
| man had introduced any thing like love to
her, or practised any of the arts of a
libertine.
'Conversed with him!' he repeated in
surprise. How happened that? I hope, 'O, he said many a good things,' she
Caroline, you have not made yourself too replied, still keeping up the enthusiasm
familiar with this gentleman merely be- of her manner, and showing by her ex-
cause he is a good player upon the flute.pressive countenance, how deeply she felt.
He is some foreigner who has come over He spoke of the death of his mother,
here to seek a living by teaching music,
perhaps, a strolling musician, without
money or character. You must be cau-
tious how you form acquaintance with
such individuals.'
'I have conversed with him, and heard
him play upon his flute, and such music I
never heard before in my life, and you
would say the same if you could hear
him,' she replied.
1
'I heard him play and stood near his
chamber door to listen, and he spoke to
me,' she said. But he behaved like an
accomplished gentleman. O, father, I
wish you could hear him converse, He
has fine conversational powers, and no
doubt he's a man of learning and of
genius. He not only plays, but composes
the music he performs.'
'He might have told you so, and yet it
might not be true,' replied the father.
You've yet to learn how much deception
there is in the world. Pure and innocent
yourself, you are inclined to believe every
body else to be so, but Caroline, let me
assure you that you have much yet to
learn, and my great anxiety is, that you
may not learn it too dear.'


82
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
played a piece of music he called his | Abbott's face which denoted the gambler,
Mother's Prayer, and O, such plaintive, or any other dissolute or abandoned char-
deep, heart-moving strains I never heard, acter. With all his prejudices, he could
and never shall in this dull, cold world, not but admire the manly beauty of Ab-
unless I again hear him play them.' bott's countenance, the brilliant expression
of his dark eyes, the noble expanse of his
polished forehead, and the intellectual cast
of his head generally.
'Why, Caroline, you're beside yourself!'
he replied. I never heard you talk so
enthusiastically upon any subject, and you
do not generally lack for enthusiasm.'
'See him, hear him, talk with him!'
said Caroline, in great earnestness.
At last Abbott finished reading, and laid
the paper upon the table. A deep drawn
sigh escaped from his bosom, and a tear
Did he make love to you?' he anx- stood trembling in his eye. Davenport's
iously inquired.
curiosity was now excited to the highest
'I will thank you for the paper, if
you've done reading it,' said Davenport.
'No, indeed; unless his sweet, heaven-pitch. He was at a loss how to construe
ly music can be considered making love,' such conduct in the stranger.
she answered. He told me I must not
love, for no woman must love him again.'
'He must be insane then,' he replied.
< Told you not to love him! No woman
must love him again! Why, the man's
love-sick already, and deranged. I will
see the poor, unfortunate fellow, and at-
tempt to console him.'
ness.
I have,' replied Abbott in a tremulous
voice, handing Davenport the paper very
politely, who took it and read the account
of the fight last night, in a gambling
house, of which Abbott had been a wit-
The account stated that one of the
parties was very severely stabbed in his
side, but that hopes of his recovery were
entertained. Then followed a severe re-
buke upon the city authorities for allow-
ing such hells to exist in the moral city of
Boston.
'A sad affair, truly,' said Davenport.—
Very near a deliberate murder, and it
may turn out so, yet.'
It was a desperate encounter, indeed,'
said Abbott. I presume you refer to the
fight last evening between two gamblers.'
I do, and it is much to be regretted
that such scenes are almost nightly wit
nessed in our large cities,' said Davenport.
We have got to be as bad as the old
countries, for aught I know.'
6
Not much difference, I apprehend,'
said Abbott. Human nature is corrupt
on both sides the ocean, and it will devel-
ope itself, in spite of the restraints which
the law imposes. Gambling is indeed a
great evil, and produces sad effects upon
the morals of the community where it ex-
ists. I did hope that America would es-
cape some of these evils, at least, but
I'm met with them on my first landing
on these shores.'
'You're then from the old country-
England, I suppose,' said Davenport.
'London is my native place,' replied Ab-
Do see him, father, but he's not crazy,'
she said. 'No deranged man can con-
verse and play as he does.'
Mr. Davenport was really anxious, from
the description his daughter had given of
this stranger, to see and converse with him.
It was not long after the above conver-
sation took place between Caroline and
her father, before he saw Francis Abbott
sitting in one of the parlors, reading a
morning paper. Seeing that he was
much engaged in reading a particular par-
agraph, Mr. Davenport had the curiosity
to look at the paper, (and especially to
that part of it to which Abbott's eyes
seemed to be directed,) as he passed back
of him, and took a seat in another part of
the room. He thought he saw, as he
passed by him, a paragraph headed in
staring capitals, More sad effects of gam-
bling.' 'Ah! thought Mr. Davenport, he
may be a gambler as well as an accom-
plished flutist, or he would not be so in-
tently reading that paragraph over so many
times. I wonder what it is that seems so
deeply to interest him.'
C
Mr. Davenport continued to keep his
eye upon him, watching the movement of
every muscle of his face as he read, and
noting every expression of his countenance,
but he could not discover any thing in
6


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
83
bott.
In that city I was born, and there
I have lived until I came here yesterday:
but go where I may, among the people
who inhabit this world, I find crime and
corruption marking the course of men and
staining their souls with guilt. Would to
Heaven I might find some sequestered
spot where I might spend my days in
peace and quiet, far removed from the
vice and corruptions of human society!'
'You seem gloomy and sad,' said Dav-
enport, in the voice of sympathy and love;
for he began to feel almost as deep an in-
terest in this stranger as his lovely daugh-
ter had previously expressed.
'Did I not see you at the breakfast table
this morning beside a lovely female; and
is she your daughter?' inquired Abbott.
She is my only child and the hope of
my declining years,' he said. I heard
her speak of you. She pointed you out to
me at the table.'
'She's a lovely girl, but you must have
a care over her and observe a strict watch,
for her heart has many fine sensibilities,
such as libertines love to sport with,' said
Abbott.
'I am aware,' said the father, 'that she's
very fond of music, and possesses a very
lively disposition; but I have yet to learn
that she can be easily led astray. She has
already, young as she is, refused some very
good offers, such as I should be willing to
approve.'
Abbott was either a most pure-minded
man or a consummate rogue; and if the
latter, he thought he was devising an ex-
ceedingly shrewd plan to entrap not only
the daughter but her father also. He
looked at him, observed his manner, not-
ed the very tones of his voice, and watched
every movenient of his fine, intellectual
countenance as a cautious, prudent father
would under the pressure of such peculiar
circumstances.
6
6
Your theory may be correct, for aught
I can say to the contrary,' replied Daven-
port; but 1 hope, in the case of my daugh-
ter, its application may fail, for I would
not have her marry a mere strolling musi-
cian, who had no other good qualities to
recommend him,' said Davenport. I'm
excessively fond of music and so is my
daughter, but I trust this fondness will not
blind my judgment nor lead her heart
astray. Why is it that so much sympathy
has sprung up between you and my daugh-
ter? She esteems you very highly, and
sure you speak as if you had a very exalt-
ed opinion of her.'
Music may be the cause, for aught I
know,' he replied. She has a soul to ap-
preciate this divine art, and she heard me
play my own composition. She may es-
teem the man who can give birth to such
strains as my flute has discoursed. It
seems to me it is the music of the soul;
for I cannot compose such every day of
my life. Peculiar circumstances must
combine to make me feel before I bring
out the notes from the depths of my soul.
'I knew her great love for music, but I
was not prepared to witness such effects
from it,' answered Davenport. She al-
most loves you, I fear, and if she should,
could you love her in return? I would
not have her young and tender heart
blighted.'
I told her she must not love me, nor
any other woman, for my heart is given
to another, and I have no power to get it
back again,' he answered.
That may all be true and yet her heart
be very susceptible,' replied Abbott. She
has a heart to love, and to love most ar-
dently and sincerely too, and she might
bestow her affections upon a man her
father would not approve. Here lies the
danger. I have had some conversation
with your daughter, but I trust I have
treated her as becomes a man of honor.
She has listened to the strains of my flute
with such feelings as show that she is in-
deed passionately fond of music. And
with this peculiar taste so strongly devel-
oped, might she not be charmed with the
musical powers of a man when he had no
other qualities to recommend him? There
have probably been such instances in the
world and they may occur again.'
Mr. Davenport was much embarrassed
for an answer. He firmly believed that
'And do you expect to marry the wo-
man to whom you have given such a
treasure,' asked Davenport. Do you ex-
pect to return to your native land, and
there consummate all your hopes and
wishes in alliance for life with that lady?'


84
FRANCIS ABBOTT.
'O, no, sir, I never expect to return,' | bott, struck Mr. Davenport as something
he answered. 'I shall finish my course very novel, and yet he could but duly ap
ou this continent, and never become a preciate the motives which led to such a
husband.'
conclusion. Most young men would have
gladly embraced the opportunity to play
in the hearing of Caroline, if they could
have anticipated such results as Abbott
seemed to fear, for she was not only a
very beautiful and accomplished female,
but also the heir apparent of an inde
pendent fortune.
'Why not marry the woman you love?'
inquired Davenport. Should you not be
happier with her in London than you can
be here, far away from her.'
'Her pride, and haughty mother's in-
fluence, forbad our union, and therefore I
sought this western world,' he answered.
'I would not continue to love one
whose pride had driven me from her,' said
his friend. 'I would rise above such an
influence, and seek out other objects of
interest in the world.'
Ah! little do you know the power of
that love which my heart feels,' said Ab-
bott.
'I know we can only judge for our
selves,' replied the kind-hearted, generous
Davenport. 'But I would shake off the
dust of my feet against a woman who
would not reciprocate my affection.'
'I have shaken off the dust of my feet,
but I cannot so easily shake off my love,'
he replied.
'Perhaps you have never experienced
the pains of unrequited love, and before
you have experienced such bitter expe-
rience you cannot judge of my peculiar
emotions. My irresolution may seem to
you, a weakness which ill becomes a man.
Were our circumstances reversed, I might,
and probably should, entertain the same
views you do, but now I cannot change.'
Abbott now went to his chamber, and
Davenport called his daughter, who most
willingly accompanied him to the same
place. Caroline was all life and animation
at the prospect of again hearing the hand-
some and skilful flutist. When she en-
tered the chamber, Abbott was just pre-
paring his instrument. She now stood
quite near him, nearer than she had ever
been before. In spite of all her efforts to
restrain herself, her heart beat violently,
and the red blood rushed to her cheeks.
Her father and Abbott too, noticed her
agitation, but he was not essentially
alarmed, for he had always placed great
confidence in the firmness and resolution
of his daughter. And well he might, for
she had always conducted herself with
great propriety on all occasions, especially
in the management of the offers of mar-
'You may be right, and I will not cen-
sure you, nor accuse you of imbecility,'
said Davenport. 'We will drop the sub-riage which had been made to her.
She may listen to your music once
more when I am present to hear it too,'
replied Davenport, feeling quite sure there
would be no very imminent danger, as he
was about to start for home, in the South,
in the course of a day or two, and take
Caroline with him.
ject; for I perceive it is a painful one to
you. My daughter expressed a wish for
you to play again, and was particularly
anxious that I should hear you.'
6
'Will it be well for her to hear me play
again?' he inquired. There are many
things exceedingly pleasant in the present,
but full of sorrow and regret in the future.
I will play if you desire it; for you appear
to be my friend. And your daughter may
hear me with your consent. I had come
to a conclusion, this morning, before I
rose from my bed, that I should not let
her hear any more of my music.'
This determination on the part of Ab-
'What shall I play?' inquired Abbott,
looking up and addressing Caroline.
'O, sir, play the Mother's Prayer,' she
replied. I want father to hear that; it is
such sweet, plaintive music.'
6
'If the music is as good as the name,
I think I must admire it,' said the father.
Your mother, Caroline, was a praying
woman, and many were the prayers she
breathed out in her last sickness, for you
and me.'
'Would to God I could obey the last
request of my mother in her dying hour,'
said Abbott, in a very tremulous voice.


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
85
e
81
'What request did she make?' inquired|
Caroline.
That I might forget the proud Emeline
Clarendon, who refused my love,' he re-
plied. But, alas! I have not power to
yield obedience to her dying wishes.'
He now gently put his flute to his
trembling lips, and began to play the
piece she requested him to play. Both
father and daughter stood gazing upon
him in utter astonishment, and listening
to his music in an extacy of delight. Be-
fore he had half finished the piece, Mr.
Davenport was satisfied that all his daugh-
ter told him was true. And when he
closed, the father embraced Caroline with
more than parental fondness.
'It is wonderful music,' he exclaimed.
'It reminds me of the death of your
mother. Will you have the kindness to
play it again, Mr. Abbott, for it is good
for us to have such scenes brought to mind.'
'I wish he would go South and play it
over my mother's grave,' said Caroline in
a voice which told how deeply she felt.
'I could stand on that sacred spot and
hear such strains forever.'
'Perhaps I ought to apologise for asking
the question,' said Mr. Davenport. 'You
have money enough, I presume, without
resorting to such means for a livelihood.'
'O, my fortune is quite limited,' he re-
plied. 'I'm not wealthy.'
• Will you accept a present?' asked his
rich friend, holding out to him a hundred
dollar bank note.
Thank you, sir, for your generosity,
but I must decline to accept your present,'
he replied. My means of living are
enough for the present, and I should not
feel justified in taking your liberal gift.'
C
'You would be entirely welcome, but I
will not urge it upon you contrary to your
own feelings,' replied Mr. Davenport. Do
you not intend to go South?'
"
'I know not where I shall go,' he re-
plied. 'I have heard of the solitude of
the prairies in this country, and the grau-
deur and sublimity of Niagara Falls. The
latter place I shall visit, and perhaps the
And so could I,' rejoined her father. former. God only knows where I shall
'Do play it again.'
Abbott again breathed into his flute
those heavenly tones, and Caroline was so
much overcome that she sank away into a
chair and gave herself up to tears. All
was now silent save the gentle sobbing of
Caroline.
'O,' thought the flutist, I was fearful
the young lady's feelings would be greatly
excited. I would not have played to her
without the consent of her father. And I
wish now I had not.'
As soon as Mr. Davenport could com-
mand his own feelings so as to speak, (for
he was much excited and overcome) he
said, 'Do you intend to give any concerts
in this country?'
6
'O, no, sir, not to any larger audiences
than you and your daughter make,' he re-
plied. 'Music is not my profession. I
only play for amusement.'
spend my days.'
'O, sir, do go with us to our plantation
in the warm South,' said Caroline.
• We
have beautiful groves there, and quite›
romantic places.'
'You heard my daughter's request, and
if you will comply with it, I can assure
you that you shall be most heartily wel-
come.'
'Receive my thanks, kind sir, but I
must first seek a more retired situation,'
he said.
Mr. Davenport and his daughter now
left the chamber, but she would have tar-
ried hours if her father had been willing.
She went away with a heart deeply im-
pressed by the flutist.


CHAPTER XII.
Whom call we gay? That honor has been long
The boast of mere pretenders to the name.'
THREE days had passed since Mr. Da-
venport and his daughter listened to the
soft breathings of Francis Abbott's flute,
and the morning arrived when they were to
start for their homes in the South. Unex-
pected news had reached Mr. Davenport,
which called him home some two or three
days sooner than he calculated. Caroline,
during this time, was in a state of great
excitement. For the first time in her lifeline.
she was made to feel the power of love.
Abbott had not played since he per-
formed the Mother's Prayer for the benefit
of Mr. Davenport, and he neglected this
exercise from the purest of principles and
the best of motives. Caroline was in great
trouble when the day arrived she and her
father were to leave the city. Up to that
time she indulged the hope that Abbott
would accompany them to their plantation,
and now that the day had come when they
were to start, and she found that they were
not to have his company, she wade most
bitter complaints to her father, and impor-
tuned him with all the eloquence she could
command, to urge Abbott to go with them.
Why will not Mr. Abbott go with us?'
anxiously inquired Caroline of her father,
while they were preparing for their
ney. 'Do urge him to go with us.'
I have invited him,' he replied, but
he's not inclined. You would not wish
me, Caroline, to urge him so much against
his inclination, would you? It seems to
me your sense of propriety would forbid
such importunity.'
'I shall be miserable, if we go and
leave him here,' she said. 'I have tried
all in my power to drive the thoughts of
him from my mind, but I cannot.'
'Why, my dear daughter, he says he
can never love another woman,' he repli-
ed, and how can you, under such circum-
stances, wish him to accompany us?'
6
6
'He may change his mind,' said Caro-
He has too much sense to con-
tinue his love for a woman who does not
love him. Besides, she is far away, and he
will never see her again. His feelings will
change, father. Do talk with him again.'
'He has indeed fine talents, but these
furnish no shield to guard him against the
influences of love,' said her father; his
mind is most strangely organized. One
thought seems to absorb all its powers, and
I fear that derangement may be the result.'
<
'If he should go with us, it might pre-
vent that calamity,' she answered. O, if
he should become insane, and take his
own life, what a dreadful thing it would
be! A warmer climate might be beneficial
to him, and guard against that morbid ac-
tion of the mind to which you allude.'
'Climate, nor change of place and ob-
jour-jects, I fear, will never draw his mind from
that one thought,' he said. The image
of that woman is indelibly stamped upon
his heart, and death alone can blot it out.
I'm satisfied, Caroline, all you and I can do
would not move him. I have conversed
with him when you were not present,
and I have no hope he will ever change, for


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
87
he frankly tells me he shall seek out some against each other to sit at the same table.
retired spot and there end the remainder of Patterson's wound in his side had nearly
his days. He seems bent on going to Ni-healed over, but there was a deeper one
agara Falls, as soon the spring opens. I festering in his heart. The thought of
have asked him too pass the winter with us, having been stabbed and also the loss of his
but he declines, and 1 dare not urge him money stung him to madness, and stirred
more.'
within him the fell spirit of revenge. The
more he reflected upon the matter, the
more angry and desperate he grew; until
the thought of murder entered his soul.—
His mind was so wrought upon that noth-
ing but the blood of Gandolpho would
slake his thirst for revenge. For more
than a week he had been seeking for an
opportunity to gratify this spirit. During
two or three evenings he had stood near
the place where Gandolpho spent the
greater part of his nights in gambling,
watching for him when he came out, but
had found no convenient opportunity to
carry his murderous plans into execution.
One evening, not far from midnight,
Patterson was on his watch, anxiously
waiting for his victim. While he was
thus prowling about, Gandolpho and sev-
eral others were engaged in their nefarious
business in the same room where Patterson
received his wound. Why does not Pat-
terson make his appearance at these
boards?' inquired Gandolpho. 'I under-
stand his wound has healed over.'
6
6
'Why has he avoided me for two or
three days past?' she inquired. Why
has he ceased to play upon his flute? I
have not offended him, have ]?"
No, Caroline, you have given him no
offence,' he replied. 'Do you not remem-
ber he told you not to love him? He
would not have you love him, because he
cannot return your affection. Feeling the
bitter pangs of love unrequited himself, he
has too much kindness, too much sympa-
thy and feeling, to witness the same emo-
tions in another which agitate his own
breast. He fears you may love him, and
therefore has purposely avoided you. In
In
the spring, which will soon be upon us,
he will go to the Falls of Niagara, and
then you may visit that place. Until then,
you must remain quiet, and not let your
thoughts of him disturb your mind.'
'Can I not see him before we go?' she
anxiously inquired, feeling somewhat rec-
onciled with the idea of meeting him at
Niagara.
'He does not wish you to see him now,
lest your parting from him might be ren-
dered more painful by the interview,' said
the father.
O, if he should become crazy!' she
exclaimed, shuddering at the thought, and
looking inost anxiously into her father's
face.
The carriage now drove up to the door,
and they left the city for the South. We
will not follow them, nor attempt to de-
scribe the emotions which agitated the
bosom of the beautiful and accomplished
Caroline Davenport. She has gone to her
home in the sunny South, and time alone
will develope the results of the interviews
she had with the strange flutist.
Nearly a fortnight had passed since the
fight took place between the gamblers
Gandolpho and Patterson. The latter had
recovered from his wound, and was able to
resume his demoralizing business, but he
and Gandolpho were too much exasperated
'I have met him in the streets several
times within a day or two,' said his com-
panion. 'I asked him why he did not
take you before the court. He said that
would never satisfy him, but meant to
seek revenge in some other way.
So you
must be on the look out, or you may feel
the point of a dagger tickling your side.'
I fear him not, and he knows it,' re-
plied Gandolpho. I should have been an
end of him the other evening, if that par-
son-like Englishman whom I introduced
here had not caught my arm just as I was
about to give him the second touch.'
'Lucky for you that you brought with
you that night an English parson, for he
probably srved your neck from the halter,'
replied his companion.
'It may be, but no man must take me
by the throat,' he answered.
You was not born to be choked to
death, I suppose you think,' said his com-
panion, laughing at his own joke.
6


88
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
'I think I was not, for this trusty steel revenge. I warn you to be watchful, or
will make Patterson or any one else who you may feel his revenge before you are
dares put his fingers upon my throat, re- aware of it. He's in a dreadful fever, and
lease his hold,' replied Gandolpho, drawing in his present excited state would not stop
from his bosom the saine weapon with short of downright murder.”
which he had stabbed Patterson.
Let him come on, when and where he
pleases,' he replied haughtily.
He may
not again find a friendly arm to arrest the
blow, as he did before. I shall be careful
in the future how I take such a compan-
ion with me as that Francis Abbott. He
is not the man for such scenes as we are
accustomed to witness. There is too
much music in his soul, or something else
to make him a fit companion for me.'
'Have you seen him since you intro-
duced him here?' inquired his companion.
Then you always carry a dagger with
you,' said his companion. 'Having been
born in Spain, you adopt the customs of
your countrymen, I conclude.'
'Yes, and a good custom it is, too,' he
answered. 'I have worn a dagger ever
since I was a small boy, and the other
evening was not the first time I found it
useful in making a man release his grasp
upon my throat.'
"
'It is a dangerous practice here in Bos-
ton to use such weapons,' said his brother
gambler. 'You may yet use it once too
often, and feel the twisted hemp about your
throat, instead of a man's fingers. Such
cases have happened and may occur again.'
Well, I'm not so much of a coward as
to die before my time comes,' he replied,
laughing. Patterson and all such as he
must be cautious how they approach me.
I've seen other parts of the world besides
Boston, and am not dead yet, thanks to a
good fortune.'
'I must confess, if I were in your situ-
ation, I should have some fears, for Pat-
terson has his feelings of revenge so much
awakened that he has become quite des-
perate,' said his companion.
'Nonsense! He may have some skill
in choking, but not in the use of the dag-
ger,' he replied. 'I shall always be in
readiness for him or any other man who
insults me.'
How was the fact in relation to the.
money which you took at the time of the
affray?' inquired the gambler. Did'nt
you cheat a little, as Patterson assured you?'
"
To be frank with you, I did, but it was
only to pay him for one of his tricks,' he
replied. 'Some time ago he cheated me,
I believe, although he stoutly denied it at
the time and has ever since.'
" You may be mistaken, after all,' re-
plied his companion, and I'm inclined to
think you are; for Patterson told me yes-
terday he always played fair with you,
and that if you did not return the money
and make an apology, he would have his
"Yes, several times, but conversed with
him only once,' he replied, 'and then he
gave me a long sermon, such an one as I
seldom hear, for you know we don't much
frequent the places where sermons can be
heard. He's a singular fellow, but love
and music will yet use him up, talented
and learned as he is.'
With all your boasted knowledge of
men, you got the wrong pig by the ear
when you invited him to visit this place,'
said his companion, smiling.
That's a fact,' replied Gandolpho. 'I
was somewhat deceived, although I had
doubts and misgivings when I invited him.
I knew he was an Englishman, and thought
he had a good supply of funds to sport
with.'
6
'And so you wanted to share them with
him,' said his friend. That fellow knows
enough to take care of his money, I can
sssure you.'
Thus conversed these gamblers, until
past midnight while Patterson was prowl-
ing about the premises, shivering in the
cold night air, but fully bent on revenge.
At last he saw Gandolpho come out with
two or three others, having broken up that
night much earlier than usual. Patterson
followed them until they parted at the
corner of Endicott and Hanover streets,
and Gandolpho pursued his way alone.—
Patterson's heart now beat as if it would
burst from his side. He slily pressed on
behind his victim, watching every move-
ment, and gaining upon him at every step.
'I shall have him now,' said Patterson


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
89
to himself. 'I will keep at this distance the morning with a feverish brow. As
from him until he passes into Sudbury he approached the glass, to tie on his neck
street. He will go there, I think, and handkerchief, he suddenly started back
that street is rather dark. There I will with horror at the sight of his own coun-
for ever put an end to his cheating in this tenance.
world, if I don't miss my blow. I have a
good weapon, one that will reach his black
heart, and I have strength and courage
enough to wield it.'
Thus the murderer communed with his
own dark spirit, until his victim turned
into Sudbury street, as he expected, for he
knew he boarded there. He now hastened
his steps, and just as Gandolpho was pass-
ing under a large elm tree which rises
from the sidewalk, he came up behind
him, with uplifted dagger gleaming faintly
in the light of a distant lamp. Gandolpho
hear footsteps close behind him, and the
hard breathing of some one, but before
he had time to turn round, Patterson
plunged the dagger into his back, just be-
low the left shoulder blade. The murder-
ed man sprang from the side-walk, as the
fatal weapon entered his back, and fell
against the elm tree. Another plunge in
the breast brought him down a lifeless
corpse at the foot of that tree. No sound
was now heard except the mourning of
the night wind through the naked branches
of the old elm which bad stood there for
many years.
O God!' he exclaimed, in the agony
of his soul. I see the face of a murderer!
Whither can I flee to hide myself? Hide
myself! From whom? and from what?
Ah, the same eye that saw me commit
the deed is upon me now. O, would to
heaven I could hide myself from myself;
but my own guilty conscience will be with
me wherever I go, and the caves of the
earth cannot conceal me from Him whose
eye is in every place. Once my soul
would have revolted at the thought of
such a crime, but the cursed effects of
gambling, and the deep feeling of revenge
hurried me on, and now I am a murder-
er! O, heaven! Ah, I dare not call
upon that name, for its just vengeance
will one day fall upon my head. Could
I give life, I would instantly restore the
victim of my revenge to life again ¡ but I
have not the power, and herein lies my
guilt. I have taken that which I cannot
restore. Life! yes; the life of a human
being like myself. I have destroyed it,
and in the court of heaven the deed is
registered!'
While he thus held converse with him-
Patterson, after he had committed the self, he hurried on his clothes, and sought
appalling deed, fled from the scene with the first conveyance he could find to carry
rapid steps, feeling an awful consciousness him far beyond the limits of the city and
that he was a murderer. The spirit of of the state. In a few days he was far
revenge was indeed gratified, and an un-away from the scene of this great crime,
prepared soul hurried into the presence of but the stings of his guilty conscience
its Creator, but new emotions were born were still goading him, and making his
in the murderer's heart. He sought his life iniserable. From these there was no
chamber and his bed, but he courted sleep escape. Guilt was upon him, and his
in vain. He was quite sure no human eye hands were imbrued in human blood.-
had witnessed the deed, and no human How wretched and miserable is the mur-
tribunals would pass upon his crime; but derer; for there is no place in the uni-
but there was one Eye which he now verse of God where he can hide himself
feared and one tribunal which he dreaded. from himself.
He passed a restless night, and rose in


CHAPTER XIII.
·
FLOW on for ever in thy glorious robe
Of terror and of beauty. God hath set
His rainbow on thy forhead, and the cloud
Mantles around thy feet.'
THE winter had passed and gone, and
spring, in all its loveliness and beauty, had
again visited the earth. The streams
which had been bound in frost through a
long winter, now burst their chains and
seemed to flow on merrily, as if they were
rejoicing in the liberty which they had
once more obtained. The birds were
busy all over the country in selecting their
mates, and preparing places where they
could safely rear their young. All nature
seemed to be awakened as if from a long
sleep, and every living creature to be ani-
mated anew by the breath of spring. As
the season has changed, so must our
scene. We leave the metropolis of New
England, with all its virtues and all its
crimes, and ask our readers to go with us
to Niagara Falls, whither our hero, Fran-
eis Abbott, has wended his way, and
where we intend to introduce him again.
In the month of May, 1829, and in the
early part of the month, before the pleas-
ure travellers began to throng the great
watering place, Niagara Falls, a sober,
sedate, gray headed man stood upon the
steps of the Cataract House,' apparently
waiting for arrivals. He was resting upon
a cane, which he had worn several years,
although, his form was very erect, and 'Because he preferred to use his own
seemed not to need such a support. His legs,' said the driver. "He wants to see
countenance was mild, but yet intelligent, the country, and who has a better right
and his whole appearance indicated that than a Londoner?'
'Have you seen the Londoner, as you
call him?' inquired the guide.
appearance, always insured him a good
share of custom.
While the guide was standing upon
the steps before the front door of the
hotel, a carriage drove up, but there were
but few passengers, and these were not
visitors of the Falls. Among the bag.
gage were two large trunks, labelled,
Francis Abbott, London.' The veteran
Hooker first glanced his eyes on the pas-
sengers, and then on the trunks. When
he saw these trunks with Abbott's name
upon them, his curiosity was excited, and
he took a second look among the passen-
gers, to see if he could discover the owner
of them, thinking that a gentleman from
London would most assuredly need his
services as guide; but he saw no one
who claimed the trunks, and for the very
good reason that the owner was not there.
'Whose trunks are these?' inquired
Mr. Hooker of the driver, pointing to the
two which were marked with Abbott's name.
'They belong to the person whose name
is upon them,' replied the driver, rather
crustily, for he was quite unwell that day,
and did not wish to be catechised by any one,
'Why did he not come with his trunks?"
asked Hooker.
"
he was a very companionable person.
He wore upon his hat a narrow piece of
black cloth, bound round over his hat 'Yes, I saw him at Buffalo,' he replied.
band, and upon this cloth was printed, in 'He sent his trunk, and means to foot it
white letters, the word 'GUIDE,' which in- the rest of the way He's as fine a look-
dicated his business and profession. During fellow as Iv'e seen for many a day,
ing several years this gentleman had but his face looks melancholy and thought-
acted as guide to strangers who visit the ful. They say he's a scholar, à poet, and
Falls. His fees for his services were by a musician. He's been at the Mansion,'
no means exorbitant, for he was most as- in Buffalo, two or three days. He has
siduous in his attentions, and knew every been heard to play the flute in his cham-
point of view where visitors could see ber, and such sweet music, they say, was
this wonderful work of nature to the best never heard in Buffalo.'
advantage, The veteran guide's name
was Hooker, and his mild, gentlemanly inquired Mr. Hooker.
'Is he sociable and companionable?'


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
91
•
Very far from it,' said the driver; but
when he does converse, there's music in
his voice, and wisdom on his tongue. I
heard the chambermaid say that she never
heard such a voice in her life. He speaks
so pleasantly, and looks so melancholy,
when he asks for any thing, that she al-
most fell in love with him. I'll tell you
what it is, he has created quite a sensa-
tion in that place. He talks more with
the Seneca Indians than with any body
else; for when he meets one in the street,
whether male or female, he always stops
to converse. He seems much more in-
terested in them than he is in the white
people. He's a singular fellow.
on to him when he arrives, and you'll
probably find him a good customer.'
Hook
This advice was entirely superfluous,
for the veteran guide needed no prompt-
ing in this regard, for he was always
very attentive to his own interests.
It was in the afternoon of the next day
after his trunks arrived, when he came
in sight of the village of Niagara. Soon
he began to hear the roaring of the mighty
waters. His soul was lifted to Heaven,
and, sitting down upon an oak log by the
road side, he made a silent prayer to God
for thus preserving his life and health
until that moment. While he was thus
sitting, and holy prayer was rising to
Heaven from the unseen altar of his heart,
an Indian girl, somewhat under twenty
years of age, belonging to the Tuscarora
tribes, was standing but a few paces from
him, with some bead work in her hand,
which she was desirous of selling. When
Abbott sat down, she was preparing to
expose her nicely wrought articles to his
view, but when she saw his face turned
towards heaven, and beheld his humble at-
titude, a feeling of reverence instinctively
crept over her heart, and she stood gaz-
ing upon him in wonder and admiration.
Her fine form was wrapt in a blue cloth
cloak, and her feet ensconced in beautiful-
ly wrought deer skin moccasins. Her
head was bare, and her long black hair
hung in clusters down her back. Abbott
did not at first see her, nor until he had
finished his devotions. Rising up, his
eyes fell on her brunette countenance;
both were struck with admiration. It
seemed to him, for the moment, that she
was a being from another world, and
came there to listen to his prayer. But
the delusion soon passed away, and he
approached her. In her admiration of his
manly beauty, she entirely forgot to show
her bead work, a circumstance which
does not often occur among these Indians
when they meet strangers.
Untutored and uncultivated as this girl
was, she was possessed of noble instincts,
and her heart was not a stranger to those
impulses which sometimes swell the bo-
soms of more refined females. There
was something in the attitude of Abbott
as he sat upon the oak log, an expression
upon his uplifted countenance, and a light
Francis Abbott left Boston some two
or three weeks after the murder of Gan-
dolpho by Patterson, and had been on his
way to Niagara ever since. During this
time he had visited many places, not wish-
ing to reach the Falls until spring had
opened. As the driver stated, he was
now in Buffalo, and would soon visit the
great cataract of the world. To this
place he had been looking ever since he
embarked on board the 'Duke of Welling-
ton,' and now that he was so near, his
heart was all alive with expectation. It
seemed to him, some how or other, that
Niagara Falls would be the last place he
should ever visit on earth, and this impres-
sion was much deepened as he leisurely
pursued his way on foot beside the noble
river towards the Falls. The river and
the scenery upon its banks seemed to
absorb his whole soul, almost to the ex-in his dark eyes, which strangely impress-
clusion of the fair and beautiful Emeline
Clarendon, whom he had so reluctantly
left upon the other side of the Atlantic
Ocean.
ed this Indian girl, and when he address-
ed her, these impressions were deepened,
insomuch that her right hand forgot its
cunning, and she neglected to hold out
her bead work to his view.
Having purchased a few articles of
the Seneca Indians, he had learnt some of
their practices, and their desire to sell;
therefore he naturally supposed this beau-
tiful girl wished to do the same. He
reached down and took hold of some ar-
←


92
፡
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
•
ticles which she held, but she never mov- finally reaching 'Prospect Point,' as it is
ed her hand, or made any motion indica- called. In going through the grove,Ab-
tive of her wish to dispose of her work, bott saw the beautiful Indian girl standing
but stood motionless, gazing full in his by a large oak tree, several rods distant,
face, as if she saw something there which gazing upon him as he passed, apparently
possessed a charm she could not resist. with undiminished interest; but his anxi-
He had previously conversed with several ety to see the Falls was so great that he
Indian females, but he never saw one be- did not stop to thank her for the present
fore who could look so steadily at his she had so strangely made him.
countenance; for they almost invariably
would cast down their eyes whenever they
met his. But this girl gazed intently upon
him, as if she had no power to change
the direction of her deep, black eyes. He
was at once much interested in her appear-
ance; not a muscle of her face moved,
and seldom did she wink as she gazed on
him.
This is the best view of the Falls on
the American side,' said the guide.
'Good God!' exclaimed the awe struck
Abbott, and have I at last arrived in view
of the terrible scene which I have so long
contemplated? See how the river rolls
by in the light of the declining sun, like a
ruffled sea of silver. O, the awful abyss
below! Ah! God has set his bow of
peace over that dreadful chasın. How
beautifully the poet has described the
place!' Aud he repeated the following
lines, which he found in a guide book, with
more eloquence than the veteran Hooker
ever heard before.
While they were thus gazing upon
each other, she released her hold upon her
bead work, and it was safely lodged in his
hand. Holding it up, and looking at it,
he said, 'Do you wish to sell some of
these beautiful articles?'
His musical voice somewhat broke the
spell which bound her. Taking her arti-
cles, and selecting a beautifully wrought
heart, made of high colored silk and small
beads, ingeniously placed round the edges,
she gave it to him, and bounded away with
the fleetness of a young deer, without
stopping to receive any money in exchange.
This was a strange movement to Abbott,
and most seriously impressed him.
He soon arrived at the hotel, and the
veteran guide was there ready to proffer
his services, for he had, during the day,
been upon the look out for his arrival.
Abbott signified his willingness to ac-
company the guide, and they started off,
passing through a grove of trees, and
"Bright bow of promise!
Sit ever thus upon the beetling brow
Of the dread cataract, which but for thee
Were all too terrible: - Smile ever thus,
Making that beautiful which else were hide-
ous.
'I would be alone,' said Abbott to his
guide, giving him his fee.
But you have not seen all yet,' replied
the guide, Would you not like to be con-
ducted to other points of view?'
"
'Not to day,' he answered. • Leave me
now, and perhaps to-morrow I may need
your services again.'
Mr. Hooker now took his departure,
leaving the enraptured Abbott to his own
'Do you wish to view the falls, sir?'
inquired the guide.
1
That was the motive which brought meditations. He stood a few moments
me here,' replied Abbott.
'The afternoon has not far advanced,
and the weather is pleasant,' said the
guide. "You will have time enough to-called Prospect Place. Here he stood
and gazed on the glorious scene where
Mr. Hooker left him, and then advanced
to the brink of the cataract, to the point
day for one view. My business is to con-
duct strangers to those points where the
best views of this great cataract may be
had. I have long resided here, and ought
to be well acquainted with the several lo-
calities which interest the stranger.'
upon a projecting crag, holding on by
some small cedars, and looked directly
down into the awful depth below. It was
a fearful sight, and strong nerves were
essential to keep him in his position.
'Roll on, ye mighty waters, till time shall
be no more!' he exclaimed, amidst the
roaring of the heaving and foaming abyss
below him. Majesty, grandeur, sublimi-
:
I


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
.93
3
1
ty and beauty-the garniture of God-are a messenger from Heaven, and now that
here spread out before me! Here is the she heard the strange and enchanting mu-
august throne upon which nature sits! sic of his flute, she no longer doubted.
Here the everlasting altar at whose base At first she felt as if she could love him,
the elements pay homage to Omnipotence! but now that feeling had ripened into ad-
Here deep calleth unto deep, and an eter-oration, and her superstitious fears made
nal anthem of praise ascends to Him who him an idol.
scene!
·
has placed his bow arching the fearful Having finished playing, he happened
chasm, and, like faith on a dying martyr's to look in the direction where the Indian
brow, smiling through all the terrors of the girl stood, and he saw her form partially
Here will I pass the remnant of concealed behind some trees.
He now
my days! Here, amidst the immensity of began to feel a superstitious dread him-
God's works, will I try to forget the wo-self. There was something so strange
man whose image has hitherto been too and mysterious in the motions and appear-
strongly stamped upon my soul. I will ance of this dark female that he fancied
select some spot amidst the wildness of she might be the 'genius of the place.'
this scenery, and build me a shelter, in He gazed upon her for a few moments
which I will erect an altar to the living in silent admiration. Believing she was
God. London, aud all it holds dear, shall friendly to him, whether she was of mor-
be driven from my thoughts, except my tal mould or not, he ventured to beckon
parents' graves.
These will be remem- her towards him. She saw the motion of
bered, but the image of Emeline Claren- her hand, and fear compelled her to ap-
don must be erased from heart; and yet proach. Slowly she walked along, and
how can I forget her! If I cannot forget when she had approached within a few
her, I can remember her less here than in feet of him, she covered her head with
any other spot on the face of the globe. her cloak and bent it to the ground. In
Now let me play my mother's requiem, this position she remained, until he mus-
and let its heavenly strains mingle with tered courage to speak to her.
the music of this mighty cataract; for
none but angels' ears can hear me in this
temple of God, not made by human band.'
He now stood back a few paces from
the overhanging crag upon which he stood,
and placing his flute to his lips, he breath-
ed into it that music which he religiously
believed he received from Heaven when
bis mother died. The strains, mingled
with the music of the falling waters, and
were borne upward to the skies, forming,
as he imagined, a great anthem of praise.
While he was playing, and forgetting the
world and all its cares, the same Indian
girl whom he had seen twice before, hav-
ing cautiously followed him, now stood
partially concealed by a clump of sapling
trees, and listened to his music. She
could distinctly hear, above the roaring
of the waters, the soft and clear tones of
his flute. She now no longer doubted
but he had come from the Great Spirit.
When she first saw him, in the attitude of
prayer, and afterwards gazed upon his
melancholy countenance, and in the depths
of his dark eyes, she thought he might be
'Rise!' he said, in a mild, musical
voice, fall not down before me; the Great
Spirit above has no other gods before
Him.'
The agitated and trembling girl rose at
his bidding, and stood gazing into his face.
'Why did you thus fall down before
me, who am but human, like yourself,'
he continued.
There is but one God, and Him
should'st thou worship. He made these
mighty falls; you can hear his mighty
voice in the roaring of the waters, and
witness his power in these his bandy
works. It is the Great Spirit you must
adore.'
The poor, trembling girl looked wildly
about, but made no answer. She still be-
lieved he was something more than mor-
tal, and therefore was afraid to speak to
him.
'Why tremble so?' he inquired; 'you
shall not be injured. I am your friend
Look at me. See! I'm but a human
being, like yourself, and worship the same
Great Father you do.'


94
FRANCIS ABBOTT,
'Then how could you make such mu-
sic?' she said, in a voice tremulous with
fear. I never heard such before; and you
pray out doors. White men always pray
6
in houses.'
'It is our duty to pray at all times, and
what more suitable temple than this to
pray in ?'
them, and then destroy every vestige of
them, determined that not a scrap of his
poetical or musical compositions should
ever meet mortal eyes. Even the notes
of his mother's requiem he destroyed, lest
he might be taken suddenly away, and
they fall into the hands of some one of
his race.
Sometimes, but rarely, he
would converse when any one called upon
or happened to meet him, and when he
did condescend to talk, eloquence seemed
to sit upon his tongue, and his dark eyes
would beam with extraordinary brilliancy.
But these fits seldom came upon him, for
more frequently he would indulge in
moody silence, and repel every attempt to
engage him in discourse. Notwithstand-
ing these peculiar habits, he was not a
misanthrope, for he did not hate or de-
spise, but only avoided his fellow men.
Imbued with a deep sense of religion, he
worshipped his God in a temple not made
with human hands, aud led a blameless life.
'Will you give me some more music?'
she said. 'I love to hear your music.'
He played, but not the tune she heard
him play before. She listened as if her
whole soul was given up to the charms of
his flute, and when he ceased, she ex-
claimed, 'You are from the Great Spirit,'
and then she bounded away, and was soon
out of his sight among the trees.
After viewing the Falls awhile from
this place, admiring the beauty and gran-
deur of the scene, and occasionally think-
ing of the strange Indian girl, he passed
down the river some distance from Pros-
pect Point, and there the thought struck
him that he would build a small cottage Often, in pleasant evenings of the sum-
on the bank of the river. The more he mer, would visitors of the Falls steal cau-
reflected upon it, the more enamored of tiously towards his humble dwelling, to
the plan be became. The glorious scene-listen to the wild, enchanting notes of his
ry wooed his melancholy spirit. He felt flute. Even ladies have been known to
disposed to shun all society but the com- go within hearing distance of his cottage,
panionship of nature. With her only to drink in the charms of his music; and
could his soul stoop to be intimate. Ful- this, too, at late hours of the night, for he
ly convinced that the darkest seclusion, seldom played until he believed every
the most dangerous paths, and the most body had retired to rest. He has been
august scenes would make him forget, in known to play in the day time for
some measure, the loved one of his heart, the benefit of the fair Tuscarora In-
he was now determined to make his home dian girl, whom he permitted to stand a
amid the wild scenery of the Falls; and short distance from his cottage, and listen
in the course of a month, a log cabin was to his music; but he never allowed her to
erected on the bank of the river, below enter his lodge. He seemed to have more
Prospect Point, in one of the most wild pity and compassion for this unfortunate
and romantic spots to be found on the girl than for any one else, for he not only
face of the globe.
played for her amusement, but occasional-
ly made her presents. The secret of the
strange conduct of this girl was, that for
more than a year previous to Abbott's
arrival at the Falls, she had been partially
deranged. When she first saw him, she
was impressed with the belief that he was
a messenger from the Great Spirit, and
this impression never forsook her. Having
learned this fact, the young hermit always
treated her with great kindness, and was
was much more inclined to amuse her
than any white person.
Here he lived, and music and letters
were the only luxuries in which he in-
dulged. His music was hushed when he
heard footsteps approach, and whatever
he wrote was destroyed almost as soon
as written. He not only wished to se-
clude himself from the society of the
world, but also to prevent the world from
knowing any thing about his private
griefs, in any records which he might
make of them. He would compose a few
verses, adapt music to the sentiments, play


CHAPTER XIV.
'Shrine of Omnipotence! How vast, how grand,
How awful, yet how beautiful art thou!
Pillared around by everlasting hills,
Robed in the drapery of descending floods;
Crowned by the rainbow, canopied by clouds
'That roll in incense up from thy dread base;
Hid by their mantling o'er the vast abyss,
Upon whose verge thou standest, whence ascends
The mighty anthem of thy Maker's praise,
Hymn'd in eternal thunders!'
It was a bright and beautiful day in the
mouth of June, 1831, when a carriage
drove up to the Cataract House,' and
several gentlemen and ladies alighted.
They had come from different sections of
the Union, and some of them from the
other side of the Atlantic, to the great
Cataract of the world. One of the females
wore a more melancholy aspect than the
rest, and seemed to be under great ex-
*citement; but notwithstanding her dejected
look, she appeared to be a woman of rank
and fashion, and one who had seen hap-
pier days. She was very beautiful and
accomplished, but sadness and gloom
rested on her fair countenance. There
was another young lady, who appeared to
be her companion, but apparently of in-
ferior rank, for she was very attentive to
her, and seemed to act in the capacity of
waiting maid. There was one gentleman
who alighted from the carriage, and was
very attentive to them, especially to the
one who acted as a kind of servant. The
young ladies were shown to a chamber,
and the gentleman's duties seemed to be
at an end; for he was not their gallant,
but only a travelling companion, having py.
accidentally fallen in with them the day
previous, while en route.
'O, Jane, do rub my temples, for my
head feels badly,' said Emeline Clarendon.
'O, God! I feel as if I should not have
strength to bear me up, when I meet the
long absent, and ill-treated Francis Ab-
bott. He loved me as man seldom
loves a woman, but my foolish pride and
my mother's influence drove him far away.
I knew not then my own heart. I knew
not the depth and strength of my attach-
ment to him, but circumstances have
revealed it all. How shall I meet him?
What can I say, or do, to atone for my
cruel conduct?'
'He will forgive you all, and meet you
with open arms,' replied Jane Delano.
God forgives her who sincerely repents,
and will not man who loves? You feel
as if you were forgiven of Heaven, and no
man will more rejoice than Francis Ab-
bott. I too have been guilty of more
crimes than you, but before Heaven I
repented, humbly and sincerely repented,
and now I feel a consciousness that my
sins are pardoned. Be cheerful and hap-
Your lover is not far from you, and


96
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
will be overjoyed to meet and embrace the mode of life which he led, and now
you.'
that she was within a short walk of his
secluded lodge, she felt strange emotions
swell her bosom. Ever since she had
read in a London paper of the embarka-
tion of Abbott for America, she had been
suffering most severely, inasmuch that her
health was greatly impaired, and her heart
almost broken.
6
'O, that our first meeting were past!'
said Emeline. After we have taken some
refreshment, we must go his lowly and
romantic residence. Should I not survive
the shock of our interview, what will be-
come of my money and my jewels?
They shall be yours; and I will now
write my wish to that effect before we gö
to his lodge.'
'You will survive it, and your health
will soon improve,' said Jane.
'It may be so,' replied Emeline, in a
weak and tremulous voice, but I feel a
strange presentiment that my sands of
life have almost run out. I shall feel bet-
ter to make this writing. It can do no
harm, and may do you much good. You've
been a fast friend to me, and you must be
rewarded, whether I live or die. We
must have a witness, and perhaps that
gentleman who accompanied us will act
as such. He appears to be a good man,
and like me, his face shows the marks of
sorrow and grief.'
喜
​'But how will he know that I have
repented!' inquired the almost heart-
broken Emeline.
'He will believe what you say,' an-
swered Jaue. 'Have you not come across
the dangerous ocean, and risked your
life, in a long and perilous voyage, to see
him? and think you he will not believe
you under such circumstances? O, yes,
he will, and his heart will leap for joy
when he beholds your face once more.'
'He will hardly know me, my counte-
nance has so much changed,' she replied.
'The sickness of my soul has spread a
blight over my cheeks, and destroyed the
bloom which once existed there. Do you
think he will be glad to see me?'
'Surely, he will,' answered Jane. 'I'm
quite certain it will be the happiest mo-
ment of his life, when he beholds you
again.'
Emeline Clarendon had lost her mother
by death, and had now left her native
London, once more to see the only man
whom she ever truly loved, if by good
fortune she could find him in the New
World. Her mother died during the last
winter, but previous to that sad event she
seriously contemplated the voyage which
she had now accomplished. Her mother
opposed it, and successfully too, while she
lived, but her sudden death placed in the
possession of Emeline a handsome fortune,
which she was determined to spend in
seeking her lover. Jane Delano had be-
come entirely reformed, and a friendship
sprang up between them which was pure
and unsullied. We continue to call her
by the name she assumed when she was
playing her tricks in the great Metropolis
of England, although she had taken
back her true name, Joanna Lee, after she
had repented and become a virtuous wo-
We have not space, neither do we
think it necessary to a full development
of our history, to go into a detailed ac-
count of all that transpired in relation to
the voyage of these young ladies. After
much time spent, and many inquiries
made, Emeline Clarendon found where
her long lost lover had located himself.
man.
Soon after dinner the three set out for
Francis Abbott's secluded cottage, on the
banks of the river. Emeline was so much
overcome by her own feelings that she
was obliged to stop several times on the
way. Patterson, having received direc-
tions where the hermit's residence night
She had some information with regard to be found, took the lead and conducted the
Mr. Patterson, the murderer of John
Gandolpho, was now called to witness the
writing (for this was the gentleman to
whom Emeline referred.)
The paper
was drawn up, signed and sealed in pres-
ence of him who had once been a gambler
and a murderer. He was also invited to
accompany them to the hermit's lodge, to
which he very cheerfully and happily con-
sented; for he had become much pleased
with Jane during their short acquaintance,
and she was by no means displeased with
him.


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
97
ladies there as soon as the agitated nervės
of Emeline would permit. In the course
of an hour they came in sight of it through
the trees. It was built of logs, and situ-
ated close upon the bank of the river, and
underneath the craggy lime rocks hung in
fearful attitudes,
'O! my God!' exclaimed Emeline,
when her eyes first fell on the humble
dwelling, 'give me strength to embrace
the inmate of that lowly cottage, and ask
for his forgiveness as I have in time past
asked for thine!' and she knelt down,
and raised her streaming eyes towards
Heaven. Never before had her kind fe-
male attendant seen her in such agony of
soul. It seemed as if her heart would
break, and her life depart on the spot, but
after remaining in that humble position a
few moments, she rose and continued, 'I
feel better now. O how sweet and re-
freshing is the prayer of a penitent heart!
It brings down strength from above, and
gives to the supplicant new life and
energy. I will now try to go and meet
him whom I love more than all earthly
things.'
pronounce the heavenly word. FORGIVE.'
'He may be in,' said Patterson, knock-
ing at the rough door.
No answer was given, and he knocked
again, but all was sileut except the roar-
ing of the mighty cataract, which was not
far distant. Again he sought admission,
but it was now evident that the owner
was not there, for no answer to the sum-
mons was made.
'Heavens! Who's that!' exclaimed
Emeline, as her eyes fell on the Indian
girl who stood near the corner of the cot-
tage covered with her blue cloth blanket,
and looked as if she were the guardian of
the place in the absence of Abbott.
When Emeline made this exclamation,
Patterson was about to lift the wooden
latch of the door and enter, but he forbore
when he beard her voice, and at the same
time discovered the object of Emeline's
surprise. He knew it was an Indian girl,
and therefore was not alarmed.
'Do you know where the owner of this
cottage is?' inquired Patterson.
'May Heaven support you in this hour,
so long and so ardently prayed for,' said
Jane, in a voice full of sympathy and
kindness, taking Emeline's arm, and slowly
approaching the log cabin.
•
The Indian girl pointed towards the
place where the ferry is between the
Canada and American side, and then
bounded off among the trees, out of their
sight. She had been watching Abbott,
and saw him go down to the river, and
supposing he was gone to bathe, as was
his frequent practice, she was forbidden
by her native modesty from following him,
but had stationed herself near his cottage
to wait for his return. Patterson, nor the
ladies knew any thing of this, for the poor
Indian girl said not a word, but, signifi-
cantly pointing with her finger, fled
immediately from their presence.
'God will support you,' said Patterson,
in accents mild and confiding. He never
forsakes the truly penitent, and the black-
est crimes will be forgiven, and he who
commits them will find peace and pardon,
on condition of true and genuine sorrow
for them. The history of my own life,
and my own bitter experience, has taught
me this lesson. Let us on to the cottage.
When the hesrt is right, all is right;
thanks be to Him who sets his bow of
peace and hope over these roaring waters.'
"
They had now arrived at the cottage,
and a wild, romantic place it was for a
human being to live.
Patterson thought he would look into
this singular hut, and see its interior
structure. He gently opened the door,
which was unfastened, and entered, fol-
lowed by Jane, but Emeline went no
farther than the threshold. Not much
was seen upon the inside, but every thing
wore the air of neatness and order.
Ab-
bott's flute was upon a rude table. And
as Emeline stood in the door way she
discovered it.
"How terrible is this spot!' whispered
Emeline. The door is closed, and he's
not within, I fear. O, if some accident
has happened to him in this wild and
fearful place! I tremble with fearful fore-
bodings. O, God! spare his life yet a me!' she exclaimed. Let me take the
little while longer, that I may hear his lips
'Yes, 'tis his flute he used to play to
instrument in my hand.'


08
FRANCIS ABBOTT; OR
She seized the bubbling waters, and at once recog
nized his countenance. She exclaimed in
a voice distinctly heard above the roaring
of the cataract. Francis Abbott, behold
your repentant Emeline!' and she sprang
towards him, but at that moment Patter-
son seized her round the waist and held
her back before she had time to plunge
into the water to drown with her lover.
Abbott, turning his head at the sound of
her voice, saw her, and attempted to
speak, but he was so choked with the
water he had not the power of utterance.
Raising his hands towards her and looking
most intently for a moment, he sank be-
neath the merciless waves.
Patterson handed it to her.
it with a trembling hand, and, pressing it
to her heaving bosom, covered it with
kisses. O, how glad I am to see only
this,' she continued, still hugging it to her
bosom with as much tenderness and
affection as the young mother would her
first born. While she held the flute
which had discoursed so much sweet
music to her in. days past, the tears
streamed from her eyes and ran down her
pallid cheeks.
We will not stay here till he comes,',
said Jane. He may think we are intruders.
No. He'd never deem Emeline an in-
truder, but a most welcome visiter.'
They finally concluded to leave the
cottage and go down towards the river in
search of him. And here we must be
permitted to say that the true history of
Francis Abbott compels us to make a
denouement quite different from what we
might, perhaps, if we were left to draw
on our imagination for facts, instead of
taking those which the history of our
strange hero furnishes; but we shall not
"travel out of the record,' however much
such a course might please us, or our
readers. When we sat down to write this
biographical romance, (if we may so term
it,) we were determined not to adopt fiction
wherr facts laid in our way, therefore our
readers must not complain, if the denoue-
ment declare more awful deaths than
happy marriages. Such a man as Francis
Abbott did live at Niagara Falls, and he
was such as we have described him.
At that moment, the Indian girl came
rushing down the steep bank, and plunged
into the water to rescue her friend from
drowning, but she was too late. She
swam to the place where he sank, but he
rose not again there. She swam round
the spot where he went down, her long
black hair floating on the boiling surface
of the river, but the object of her anxious
search was not to be seen.
Deep had he
sank in those turbulent waves, no more to
remember in this world his beloved Eme-
line. The Indian girl continued floating
over the waves which had swallowed all
she reverenced on earth, shrieking most
mournfully, and gazing downwards as if
she would penetrate the dark abyss be-
neath her. Just as she was about to
plunge in the water, the ferryman in his
boat caught hold of her hair and brought
her to the shore. Emeline was uncon-
scious of all that was passing. When
Abbott sank, she fainted in the arms of
Patterson, and remained in that uncon-
scious state for some time. She was
taken to the hotel, and remained very
weak. The hody of Abbott was not
found until the lapse of ten days after he
was drowned. It was found at Fort
Niagara, brought to the Falls and buried.
During these ten days Emeline was con-
fined to her room, and her only inquiry
was, if the earthly remains of her lover
had been found. The day it was discov-
We said that Patterson and the two
ladies went towards the ferry. They did
so, and when they had arrived near the
water's edge, they heard the cry of the
ferrymen, that the "Hermit of the Falls"
was drowning. Looking just above them,
they saw Abbott struggling in the waters.
From his appearance, the cramp had
evidently seized him and paralyzed his
power to swim.
Emeline, when she saw him, screamed,
and rushed over the rocks with great
speed, for one so weak and trembling as
she was.
She had reached the place op-ered and brought to the Falls for inter-
posite to where Abbott was struggling for
his life not more than two rods distant
from the shore. She saw his head above
ment, was one of general mourning among
the inhabitants.
"
Will the body never be found?' in-


THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA.
99
quired Emeline in a weak, broken voice.'
All I once asked was, that I might see
him and ask his forgiveness, but now my
only desire is, to see his lifeless form, and
gaze upon it ere death shall close my eyes
in darkness.'.
We hope you will not only live to see
the body, but for many years afterwards,'
replied Jane. 'You have gained some
strength within a few days, and our hopes
are revived.'
'Do you think, Jane, I shall be well,
and behold again my mother's grave?'
asked Emeline.
It has,' replied Jane, taking her by the
hand, and gazing upon her with looks of
love.
"
If
But he did not speak to me and say
at he forgave me,' she answered.
le had, it seems to me I might have sur-
ived the shock, but alas! his lips never
pronounced that word.'
'O God, I thank thee!' she exclaimed,
raising her hands and eyes to the ceiling
above. 6
Now my only earthly desire
will be gratified," my only earthly hope
be realized. Let me see the corpse ere
it be placed in tfie cold tomb, and hid
from all human eyes.'
'Have you strength to go down stairs ? ?
inquired Jane.
6
Strength!' she repeated in apparent
surprise.. Fes, I have strength to go
Why may you not?' replied her con-miles.feel better now. God has heard
panion and friend? You have seen and answered my last prayer, and blessed
our lover, and for this you must be grate- be His name.'
il.'
6
Preparations having been made Eme-
line was led by her friend into the room be-
low, where were placed the earthly remains
of the "Hermit of the Falls." At this
moment a carriage drove up, and a gen-
tleman and lady alighted, and entered the
room where the corpse lay, soon after Em-
eline, Jane, Patterson, and some others
entered. It was indeed a most solemn
scene. A tomb-like silence reigned in
'His looks spoke it more eloquently
than words, just before the waters closed
wver him,' said Jane. In his heart he
orgave you and loved you still.'
Emeline trembled, but no words es- the apartment. All eyes were turned
oped her lips. The reply of her com-upon Emeline, as her friend slowly con-
ned to affect her nerves most ducted her towards the corpse, as it rested
A gentle knocking was now upon a table, not with the habiliments of
chamber door. Jane opened the grave wrapped round it, but draped
n stood there, apparently in the same garments he wore when the
From his looks, Jane waters engulphed him, and covered with
brought news that the a linen sheet. Emeline rested tremblingly
ad. Putting her finger upon upon the arm of her friend, while Pat-
ps, in token of silence, she stepped terson gently removed the sheet from the
Te the passage-way, and inquired of Pat head of the corpse.
or what brought him there, and why
Dɛ appeared so anxious. As she expect
he told her that the body was found,
and was then in a room below. She re-
Pirned to the chamber with the glad tid-
igs, but how to break them to Emeline
was a delicate question.
She gazed for a moment on the livid
countenance in breathless silence, but the
sight was too appalling for her shattered
nerves to bear.
She shrieked and fell
upon the floor ere Jane had time to pre-
vent her fall. A blood vessel was rup-
tured, and like the weary, worn-out winds,
she breathed her last.
The silent, mournful group were now
startled by the sudden approach of another
female, who exclaimed in heart-rending
'Where have you been?' anxiously in-
uired Emeline. Ah, the expression on
your countenance tells me you have heard
omething. Speak and tell me. Excuse
ne, Jane, but I feel an impression that tones, as her eyes fell on the body of the
he body has been taken from the cruel hermit, O God! am I too late?
vaters. I see it in your eye. O speak, I never again hear the heavenly, enchant-
nd keep me no longer in suspense. Has
t been found?'
Shall
ing strains of his flute?' and the agitated
girl hurried to the body and impressed
1


100
FRANCIS ABBOTT.
ཏྟཾ )! (
}\
7
AL 1. is sins and follie .
upon its cold lips a holy kiss. She then lovers, Patterson, feeling a deep interest
stepped back, and gazing upon the lifeless in Jane Delano, or rather in Joanna Lee,
form of Emeline Clarendon, continued, (for that was her true name,) made pro-
There lies the object of his only love; posals of marriage to her, which, after
of that love I would have given worlds to deliberation,, she accepted. Before the
purchase, if they had been mine to give. nuptials were celebrated, they disclosed to
But i heart could love but once, and I each other, fully and frankly, the dark
per ye the decrees of heaven. 1 passages in their lives. One had been a
er nove again, and here, in the WANTON, and the other a MURDERER; but
"the acid and the living, be- both had long since repented in dust and
fore ethly ferber, and him who dashes; and dark and deep as had been
De Father of all, renounce the world
ins of guilt and crime upon their
ocks they felt that long and bitter re-
¿l be well supposed, all proven.pentance had wesbed them out, and that
were struck with astonishnet - at the they were forgiven of heaven. - And who
sudden exclamation and strange senti- of 4gould small, sei bends re
ments uttered by Caroline Davenport.--| mercy of tim why, look,
Since she saw Francis Abbott in Boston, 1.sees every secrètenic
the last winter, she had never forgotten it him who is without
him, but had now visited the Falls, in stone. Eighteen centu
company with her father, to see him; said to a woman, · Go,
but she also, as well as the object of his thy sins are forgiven the
first and only love, was too late. True, were uttered by Him who never
the latter saw him a moment while he man.
lived, but the former was only permitted
to gaze upon his lifeless form.
AS.
the
• E
Caroline and her father, after a few
days, returned home, but she kept her
vow to forsake the sins and follies of the
world, and in six months from that time
Cured a convent, where she still con-
times to live, in hope of another and a
brighter state of existence beyond the
skies.
The bodies of Francis Abbott and Em-
eline Clarendon were interred side by side,
at the Falls. Often does the unfortunate
Indian girl visit these graves, and mourn
over them in grief and sorrow. Day after
day, and month after month, has she been
seen sitting upon the hermit's tomb,
wrapped in her blue blanket, her chin
resting upon her hands, and looking as
if she were the guardian of the sacred
spot.
Not many days after the performance
of the funeral ceremonies over the two
Patterson and his wife, scon alon
marriage, took passage for giaod, k
they now live the Christian's Wife, it
parish where she was born, not mary
miles from London. Both are much on-
gaged in the benevolent operasi
day. In a few days after her
her native, place,, she Visited I
the purpose of conversing
gentlemen, Sillendare and M
whom she had, in months
wickedly connected; but the to..
ing been seized with a brain fever,
hurried to an early grave, and the sites
had gone to Germany, to seek tha: lespal
ness which he could not find in 1
and which he never will fad, ani), "ko
the repentant wife of Patterson, l
and leads a virtuous life; for
148 149
21010
T
*
THE END.
**
he takes in his wicked course tộc gà h
earthly pilgrimage will teach. it
does all others like him, that THE WAY I
as
*
THE TRANSGRESSOR IS HARD.



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