AM 
 
THE 
 
 THREE BRIDES, 
 
 LOVE IN A COTTAGE, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE 
 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY BAZIN & ELLSWORTH, 
 No. 1 CORNHII.L. 
 
 Y OF CALIFOfcNL* 
 DAVIS 
 
FEINTED BV 
 C. BAND U AVER 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE volume here submitted to the public is com 
 posed of selections from my contributions to the 
 columns of the American press. The stories and 
 sketches were written, most of them, in the inter 
 vals of relaxation from more serious labor and the 
 daily business of life ; and they would be suffered 
 to disappear in the Lethe that awaits old magazines 
 and newspapers, had not their extensive circulation, 
 and the partial judgment of friends, for I must 
 not omit the stereotyped pica of scribblers, flat 
 tered me that their collection in a permanent form 
 would not prove wholly unacceptable. Some of 
 these articles were published anonymously, or un 
 der the signature of " The Old 'Un," and have en 
 joyed the honor of adoption by persons having no 
 claim to their paternity ; and it seems time to call 
 home and assemble these vagabond children undei 
 the paternal wing. 
 
 7 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 The materials for the tales were gathered from 
 various sources : some are purely imaginative, some 
 authentic, not a few jotted down from oral narra 
 tive, or derived from the vague remembrance of 
 some old play or adventure ; but the form at least 
 is my own, and that is about all that a professional 
 story-teller, gleaning his matter at random, can 
 generally lay claim to. 
 
 Some of these sketches were originally published 
 in the Boston " Olive Branch," and many in Mr. 
 Gleason's popular papers, the " Flag of Our Union," 
 and the " Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion." 
 Others have appeared in the " New York Mirror," 
 the " American Monthly Magazine," the New York 
 "Spirit of the Times," the "Symbol," and other 
 magazines and papers. 
 
 Should their perusal serve to beguile some hours 
 of weariness and illness, as their composition has 
 done, I shall feel that my labor has not been 
 altogether vain ; while the moderate success of this 
 venture will stimulate me to attempt something 
 more worthy the attention of the public. 
 
 FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 MM 
 
 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. . . . 11 
 
 P1I1LETUS 1'OTTS. .... .27 
 
 VUE GONDOLIER .32 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS. . . .40 
 
 THE THREE BRIDES. . . . . 45 
 
 CALIFORNIA SPECULATION 58 
 
 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN ... 63 
 
 PERSONAL SATISFACTION 76 
 
 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE 80 
 
 LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 93 
 
 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST 99 
 
 SOUVENIRS OF A RETIRED OYSTERMAN IN ILL HEALTH. 112 
 
 THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS 118 
 
 THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN. 127 
 
 EULALIE LASALLE 132 
 
 THE OLD CITY PUMP 142 
 
 THE TWO PORTRAITS 1 17 
 
 UNCLE OBED .... 155 
 
 THE CASKET OF JEWELS 160 
 
 ACTING CHARADES. . . 178 
 
 TUF GREEN CHAMBER. . . . ... 189 
 
 9 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 1IE WASN'T A HOUSE JOCKEY. . . . . 19J 
 
 FUNEKAL SHADOWS. . . ... 197 
 
 TLIE LATE ELIAS MUGGS 207 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. .213 
 
 A KISS ON DEMAND. ... 231 
 
 THE RIFLE SHOT - 237 
 
 THE WATER CURE. . 244 
 
 THE COSSACK . . . 248 
 
 MARRIED FOR MONEY. ... . . 2CO 
 
 THE EMIGRANT SHIP. .... . . 2G0 
 
 THE LAST OF THE STAGE COACHES. 271 
 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S . .276 
 
 JACK WITHERS. ... ... 292 
 
 THE SILVER HAMMER. . . . . 302 
 
 THE CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES. 316 
 
 THE POLISH SLAVE. . ... 320 
 
 OBEYING ORDERS. . . ... 331 
 
 THE DEACON'S HORSE. . ... 335 
 
 THE CONTRABANDISTA. . . . . . . 33& 
 
 THE STAGE-STRUCK GENTLEMAN. . .351 
 
 THE DIAMOND STAR. ... . . 335 
 
 THE GAME OF CHANCE. 373 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S SON. ... 382 
 
 TAKING CHARGE OF A LADY. 391 
 
 THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS 397 
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW .... . iffj 
 
THE . GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHI ER. 
 
 A LEGEND OF MADRID. 
 
 MANY, many years ago, in those " good old times " so 
 much bepraised by antiquaries and the laudatores tempo* 
 ris acti, the good old times, that is to say, of the holy 
 office, of those magnificent autos when the smell of roasted 
 heretics was as sweet a savor in the nostrils of the faithful, 
 as that of Quakers done remarkably brown was to our 
 godly Puritan ancestors, there dwelt in the royal city of 
 Madrid a wealthy goldsmith by the name of Antonio Perez, 
 whose family having lost his wife consisted of a love 
 ly daughter, named Magdalena, and a less beautiful but 
 still charming niece, Juanita. The housekeeping and the 
 care of the girls were committed to a starched old duenna, 
 Donna Margarita, whose vinegar aspect and sharp tongue 
 might well keep at a distance the boldest gallants of the 
 court and camp. For the rest, some half dozen workmen 
 and servitors, and a couple of stout Asturian serving 
 wenches made up the establishment of the wealthy artisan. 
 As the chief care of the latter was to accumulate treasure, 
 his family, while they were denied no comfort, were de 
 barred from luxury, and, perhaps, fared the better from this 
 very frugality of the master. Yet in the stable, which oc 
 cupied a portion of the basement story of his residence, 
 the other half being devoted to the almacen, or store, 
 there were a couple of long-tailed Flemish mares, and a 
 
 11 
 
12 TIIE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 heavy, lumbering chariot ; and in the rear of the house a 
 garden, enclosed on three sides with a stone wall, and com 
 prising arbors, a fountain, and a choice variety of fruits and 
 flowers. 
 
 One evening, the goldsmith's daughter and her cousin 
 sat in their apartment, on the second story, peeping out 
 through the closed "jalousies," or blinds, into the twilight 
 street, haply on the watch for some gallant cavalier, whose 
 horsemanship and costume they might admire or criticize. 
 Seeing nothing there, however, to attract their attention, 
 they turned to each other. 
 
 "Juanita," said the goldsmith's daughter, "I believe I 
 have secured an admirer." 
 
 " An admirer ! " exclaimed the pretty cousin. " If your 
 father and dame Margarita didn't keep us cooped here like 
 a pair of pigeons, we should have, at least, twenty apiece. 
 But what manner of man is this phoenix of yours ? Is he 
 tall? Has he black eyes, or blue? Is he courtier or 
 soldier?" 
 
 " He is tall," replied Magdalena, smiling ; " but for his 
 favor, or the color of his eyes, or quality, I cannot answer 
 His face and figure shrouded in a cloak, his sombrerc 
 pulled down over his eyes, he takes up his station agninst ( 
 pillar of the church whenever I go to San Ildefonso witl 
 my duenna, and watches me till mass is ended. I have 
 caught him following our footsteps. But be he gentle 01 
 simple, fair or dark, I know not." 
 
 " A very mysterious character ! " cried Juanita, laughing 
 tt like unto the bravo of some Italian tale. Jesu Maria ! '' 
 she exclaimed, springing to the window, "what goodly 
 cavalier rides hither ? His mantle is of three-pile velvet, 
 and he wears golden spurs upon his heels. And with what 
 a grace he sits and manages his fiery genet ! Pray Heaven 
 your suitor be as goodly a cavalier." 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 13 
 
 Magdalena gazed fortli upon the horseman, and her heart 
 silently confessed that the praises of her cousin were well 
 bestowed. As the cavalier approached the goldsmith's 
 house, he checked the impatient speed of his horse, and 
 gazed upward earnestly at the window where the young 
 girls sat. 
 
 " Magdalena ! " cried the mischievous Juanita, " old 
 Margarita is not here to document us, and I declare your 
 beauty shall have one chance." As she spoke she threw 
 open the blind, and exposed her lovely and blushing cousin 
 to the gaze of the cavalier. 
 
 Ardently and admiringly he gazed upon her dark and 
 faultless features, and then raising his plumed hat, bowed 
 to his very saddle bow, and rode on, but turned, ever and 
 anon, till he was lost in the distance and gradual darkening 
 of the street. 
 
 "Mutual admiration!" cried the gay J : .ianita, clapping 
 her hands. " Thank me for the stratagem. Yon cavalier 
 is, without a doubt, the mysterious admirer of San Ilde- 
 fonso." 
 
 Don Julio Montero for that was the name of the cav 
 alier returned again beneath the casement, and again 
 saw Magdalena. He also made some purchases of the old 
 goldsmith, and managed to speak a word with his fair 
 daughter in the shop ; and in spite of the duenna, billets 
 were exchanged between the parties. The very secrecy 
 with which this little intrigue was managed, the mystery 
 of it, influenced the imagination of Magdalena and in 
 creased the violence of her attachment, and loving with all 
 the fervor of her meridian nature, she felt that any disap- 
 Dointment would be her death. 
 
 One evening, as her secret suitor was passing along a 
 narrow an&l unfrequent street, a light touch was laid upon 
 2 
 
14 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 his shoulder, and turning, he perceived a tall figure, muffled 
 in a long, dark cloak. 
 
 " Senor Montero," said the stranger, " one word with 
 you." And then, observing that he hesitated, he threw 
 open his cloak, and added, " Nay, senor, suspect not that 
 my purpose is unfriendly ; you see I have no arms, while 
 you wear both rapier and dagger. I merely wish to say a 
 few words on a matter of deep import to yourself." 
 
 " Your name, senor," replied the other, " methinks should 
 precede any communication you have to make me, would 
 you secure my confidence." 
 
 " My name, senor, I cannot disclose." 
 
 " Umph ! a somewhat strange adventure ! " muttered the 
 young cavalier. " However, friend, since such you purport 
 to be, say your say, and that right briefly, for I have affairs 
 of urgency on my hands." 
 
 " Briefly, then, senor. You have cast your eyes on the 
 daughter of Antonio Perez, the rich goldsmith ? " 
 
 "That is my affair, methinks," replied the cavalier, 
 haughtily. " By what right do you interfere with it ? Are 
 you brother or relative of the fair Magdalcna ? " 
 
 "Neither, senor; but I take a deep interest in your af 
 fairs ; and I warn you, if your heart be not irretrievably 
 involved, to withdraw from the prosecution of your ad 
 dresses. To my certain knowledge, Magdalena is beloved 
 by another." 
 
 " What of that, man ? A fair field and no favor, is all 
 I ask." 
 
 " But what if she loves another ? " 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed the cavalier. " Can she be sporting 
 with me? playing the coquette? But no! I will not 
 believe it, at least upon the say so of a stranger. I must 
 have proofs " 
 
TIIK GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 15 
 
 " Pray, senor, have you never observed upon the lady's 
 fair arm a turquoise bracelet ? " 
 
 " Yea, have I," replied the cavalier ; " by tbft same token 
 ( that she has promised it to me as a gage d'amour." 
 
 ."Do you recognize the bracelet?" cried the stranger, 
 holding up, as he spoke, the ornament in question. " Or, 
 if that convince you not, do you recognize this tress of 
 raven hair this bouquet that she wore upon her bosom 
 yesternight ? " 
 
 "That I gave her myself!" cried the cavalier. "By 
 Heaven! she has proved false tome. But I must know," 
 he added, fiercely, " who thou art ere thou goest hence. I 
 must have thy secret, if I force it from thee at the dagger's 
 point. Who art thou ? speak ! " 
 
 " Prithee, senor, press me not," said the stranger, draw 
 ing his cloak yet closer about him, and retreating a pace 
 or two. 
 
 " Who art thou ? " cried the cavalier, menacingly, and 
 striding forward as the other receded. 
 
 "One whose name breathed in thine ear," replied the 
 other, " would curdle thy young blood with horror." 
 
 Julio laughed loud and scornfully. 
 
 " Now, by Saint lago ! thou art some juggling knave 
 some impish charlatan, who seeks to conceal his imposture 
 in the garb of mystery and terror. Little knowest thou the 
 mettle of a Castilian heart. Thy name ? " 
 
 The stranger stooped forward, and whispered a word or 
 two in the ear of his companion. The young man recoiled, 
 while his cheek turned from the glowing tinge of health 
 and indignation to the hue of ashes ; and, as he stood, 
 rooted to the spot in terror and dismay, the stranger threw 
 the hem of his cloak over his shoulder, and glided away 
 like a dark shadow. 
 
16 TIIK GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Julio's heart was so far enlisted in favor of Magdalena, 
 that it cost him a severe struggle to throw her off as utterly 
 unworthy of his attachment, but pride came to his rescue, 
 and he performed his task. He wrote a letter, in which,, 
 assigning no cause for the procedure, he calmly, coldly, 
 contemptuously renounced her hand, and told her that 
 henceforth, should they meet, it must be as strangers. 
 
 This unexpected blow almost paralyzed Magdalena's 
 reason. It was to be expected of her temperament that 
 her anguish should be in proportion to her former rapture. 
 At first stunned, she roused to the paroxysm of wild de 
 spair. Henceforth, if she lived, her life, she felt, would be 
 an utter blank. Passion completely overmastering her 
 reason, she resolved to destroy herself. This fearful reso 
 lution adopted, her excitement ceased. She became calm 
 calm as the senseless stone ; no tremors shook her soul, 
 no remorse, no regret. 
 
 She was seated alone, one evening, at that very window 
 whence she had first beheld her false suitor, and bitter 
 memories were crowding on her brain, when the door of 
 her apartment opened, and closed again after admitting her 
 old duenna, Margarita. The old woman approached with 
 a stealthy, cat-like step, and sitting down beside the maiden, 
 and gazing inquisitively into her dim eyes, said, in a whin 
 ing voice, intended to be very winning and persuasive, 
 
 " What ails my pretty pet ? Is she unwell ? " 
 
 " I am not unwell," replied Magdalena, coldly, rousing 
 herself to the exertion of conversing, with an effort. 
 
 "Nay, my darling," said the old woman, in the same 
 whining tone, "I am sure that something is the ma'.tei 
 with you. You look feverish." 
 
 " I am well, Margarita ; let that suffice." 
 
 " And f jel no regret for the false suitor, hey ? " 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 17 
 
 Magdalena turned upon her quickly almost fiercely. 
 
 " What do you know of him ? " 
 
 l - All ! all ! " cried the old woman, while her gray eyes 
 flashed with exultation. 
 
 " Then you know him for a false and perjured villain ! * 
 cried the beautiful Spaniard. 
 
 " I know him for an honorable cavalier ; true as the steel 
 of his Toledo blade ! " retorted the duenna. " I speak rid 
 dles, Magdalena, but I will explain myself. Do you think 
 I can forget your insults, jeers, and jokes ? Do you think 
 I knew not when you mocked me behind my back, or 
 sought to trick me before my face ? You little knew, when 
 you and your gay-faced cousin were making merry at my 
 expense, what wrath you were storing up against the day 
 of evil. But I come of a race that never forgets or for 
 gives ; there is some of the blood of the wild Zingara 
 coursing in these shrivelled veins a love of vengeance, 
 that is dearer than the love of life. I watched your love 
 intrigue from the very first. I saw that it bade fair to end 
 in happiness. Don Julio was wealthy and well born, and 
 his intentions were honorable. After indulging your ro 
 mantic spirit by a secret wooing, he would have openly 
 claimed you of your father, and the old man would have 
 been but too proud to give his consent. Now came the mo 
 ment for revenge. I traduced you to your lover, making 
 use of an agent who was wholly mine. Trifles produce 
 conviction when once the faith of jealous man is shaken. 
 A few toys" a turquoise bracelet, a lock of hair, a bunch 
 of faded flowers sufficed to turn the scale ; and now, 
 were an angel of heaven to pronounce you true, Don 
 Julio would disbelieve the testimony. Ha, ha ! am I not 
 avenged ? " 
 
 " And was it," said Magdalena, in a low, pathetic voice, 
 2* 
 
18 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "was it for a few jests, a little childish chafing against 
 restraint, that you wrecked the happiness of a poor young 
 girl, blighted her hopes, and broke her heart ? Woman 
 
 fiend! dare you tell me this?" she cried, kindling into 
 passion with a sudden transition. " Avaunt ! begone ! 
 Leave my sight, you hideous and evil thing ! But take 
 with you my bitter curse no empty anathema ! but one 
 that will cling to you like the garment of flame that wraps 
 the doomed heretic! Begone! accursed wretch hideous 
 in soul as you are abhorrent and repulsive in person." 
 
 Cowed, but muttering wrathful w r ords, the stricken 
 wretch hurried out of the apartment, into which Juanita 
 instantly rushed. 
 
 " Magdalena, what means this ? " she cried. " I heard 
 you uttering fearful threats against old Margarita. Calm 
 yourself; you are strangely excited." 
 
 " O Juanita, Juanita ! " cried Magdalena, the tears start 
 ing from her eyes, and wringing her fair hands. " If you 
 knew all if you knew the wrong that woman has done 
 me ; but not now not now ; leave me, good cousin, 
 leave me ! " 
 
 " You are not well, dearest," said Juanita ; " take my 
 advice, go to bed and repose. To-morrow you will be 
 calm, and to-morrow you shall tell me all." 
 
 " To-morrow ! to-morrow ! " muttered Magdalena. " Well, 
 well ; to-morrow you will find me ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I will waken you, and sit at your bedside, and 
 laugh your griefs away. Good night, Magdalena ! " 
 
 " Farewell, dearest ! " said the heart-stricken girl ; and 
 Juanita left the chamber. 
 
 Before a silver crucifix, Magdalena knelt in prayer. 
 
 " Father of mercies, blessed Virgin, absolve me of the 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 19 
 
 sin if sin it be to rush unbidden to the presence of my 
 Judge ! My burden is too great to bear ! " 
 
 She rose from her knees, took from a cupboard a goblet 
 of Venetian glass, and a flask of Xeres wine. Into the 
 goblet she first dropped the contents of a paper she took 
 from her bosom, and then filled it to the brim with wine. 
 She had already stretched forth her hand to the fatal glass, 
 when she heard her name called by her father. 
 
 " He would give me a good-night kiss," said the wretched 
 girl. "I must receive it with pure lips. I come, dear 
 father, I come." 
 
 Scarcely had she 'left her chamber when the old duenna 
 again stole into the room. 
 
 "If I could only find one of the gallant's letters," sho 
 muttered to herself, " I could arm her father's mind against 
 her ; and then if madam tried to get me turned away, she 
 would have her labor for her pains. What have we here ? 
 A flask of Xeres, as I live ! So ho, senorita ! Is this the 
 source of your inspiration when you berate your betters ? 
 I declare it smells good; the jade is no bad judge of 
 wine ! " 
 
 As she spoke, the old woman, who had no particular 
 aversion to the juice of the grape, hurriedly drank off the 
 contents of the goblet, and immediately filled it up again 
 from the flask. 
 
 " There ! she'll be no wiser," said she, with a cunning 
 leer. " And now I must hurry off. I would not have the 
 young baggage find me here for a month's wages ! " 
 
 Margarita effected her retreat just in time. Magdalcna 
 returned, after having, as she supposed, seen her poor 
 father for the last time. 
 
 Had not despair completely overmastered the reason of 
 the poor girl, she would have shrunk from the idea of com 
 
20 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 mining suicide. But misery had completely, though tem 
 porarily, wrecked her intellect. She felt no horror, no re 
 morse at the deed she was about to commit. With a steady 
 hand she raised the goblet to her lips, and then drank the 
 fatal draught, as she supposed it, to the last dregs. 
 
 " I must sleep now," she said, with a deep sigh. " I 
 shall never wake again." And throwing herself, dressed as 
 .she was, upon her couch, she soon fell into a deep slumber. 
 
 How long her senses were steeped in oblivion, she could 
 not tell. But she was awakened by shrill screams, and 
 started to her feet in terror. 
 
 " Where am I ? " she exclaimed. " Are those the cries 
 of the condemned ? Am I indeed in another world ? " 
 
 But louder and louder came the shrieks, and now she 
 recognized the tones as those of the old duenna. Deeply 
 as the woman had wronged her, Magdalena's feminine na 
 ture could not be insensible to her distress. She sprang 
 down the stairway, and now stood by the bedside of the 
 duenna, over which Juanita was already bending. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " The wine ! the wine ! the flask of Xeres ! the Venetian 
 goblet ! I am poisoned ! " cried the old woman, as she 
 writhed in agony. 
 
 The truth instantly flashed on the preternaturally-sharp- 
 ened intellect of Magdalena. Her own immunity from pain 
 confirmed the fatal supposition. 
 
 " Good God ! " she cried, in tones of unutterable anguish, 
 I have killed her!" 
 
 The exclamation caught the keen ear of the malignant 
 hag, suffering as she was. She raised herself up on her 
 elbow, and pointing with her skinny finger to the horror- 
 stricken girl, she screamed, 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you have murdered me ! Send for a leech, 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGIITHK. 21 
 
 a priest, an officer of justice! Do not let tliat wretch es 
 cape ! She gave me a poisoned draught ! she knew it 
 she confesses it ! Ha, ha ! I shall not die unavenged ! " 
 
 These fearful words caught the ear of Don Antonio v as, 
 having hastily dressed himself, he rushed into the room. 
 They caught the ear, too, of a curious servitor, who flew 
 to the alguazil before he summoned priest and chirurgeon. 
 
 In less than, an hour afterwards, the old beldam had 
 breathed her last, but not before she had made her false 
 deposition to the officer of justice ; not before she had 
 learned that a paper containing evidence of poison had 
 been found in Magdalena's room ; not before she had seen 
 the hapless girl arrested; and then she died with a lie 
 and a smile of hideous triumph on her lips. 
 
 We cannot attempt to describe the anguish of the old 
 goldsmith, and the despair of Juanita, as they beheld Mag- 
 dalena torn from their arms to be carried before a judge 
 for examination, and thence to be cast into prison. Believ 
 ing in her innocence, and confident that it would be estab 
 lished in the eyes of the world, they longed for the dread 
 ordeal of the trial. The hour came, but only to crush their 
 hearts within them. The guilt was fixed by circumstantial 
 evidence on the unfortunate Magdalena. Poor Jnanita 
 was forced to testify to the facts of a quarrel between her 
 cousin and the hapless duenna, and to violent language 
 used by the former to the latter. A paper which had con 
 tained poison had been found in the apartment of the 
 accused. Her own hasty confession of guilt, the dying 
 declaration of the victim added 
 
 " confirmation strong 
 
 As proofs of Holy Writ." 
 
 Magdalena was condemned to die. In that supreme 
 
 B 
 
22 TIIK GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 hour, when her protestations of innocence had proved of no 
 avail, the film fell from the organs of her mental vision. 
 Knowing herself guilty of premeditated suicide, she saw 
 in the established charge of murder a dreadful retribution. 
 To make her peace with Heaven in the solitude of the 
 prison cell, was now all that she desired. She had proved 
 the worthlessness of life, and now she prepared herself to 
 die. But her -tortures were not ended. 4 Julio, her lost 
 lover, demanded an interview with her, and when, after 
 listening to her sad tale, he renewed his vows of love, and 
 expressed his firm belief in her innocence, earth once 
 more bloomed attractive to her eyes ; life became again 
 dear to her at the very moment she was condemned to sur 
 render it. Her execution was fixed for the next day, al 
 the hour of noon. At that hour, she was to take her last 
 look of her father, her cousin, her lover the last look of 
 God's blessed earth. 
 
 The morning came. She had passed the night in prayer 
 and it found her firm and resigned. In the heart of a true 
 woman there lies a reserve of courage that shames the 
 prouder boast of man. She may not face death on the 
 battle-field with the same defying front ; but when it comes 
 in a more appalling form and scene, she shrinks not from 
 the dread ordeal. When man's foot trembles on the scaf 
 fold, woman stands there serene, unwavering, and self- 
 sustained. 
 
 One hour before the appointed time, the door of Mag- 
 dalena's cell opened, and a tall figure, wrapped in a dark 
 cloak, with a slouched hat and sable plume, stood before 
 her. It was the same who had gazed on her so often in 
 the church of San Ildefonso, the same who had encoun 
 tered Julio in the narrow street with proofs of her alleged 
 falsity. 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAVGIITER. 23 
 
 " Is the hour arrived ? " asked Magdalena, calmly. 
 
 " Nay," replied the stranger, in a deep tone. " Can you 
 not see the prison clock through the bars of your cell door? 
 Look ; it lacks yet an hour of noon." 
 
 " Then, sir, you come to announce the arrival of the holy 
 father, of my friends." 
 
 " They will be here anon," said the stranger. 
 
 " 1 do not," said Magdalena, in the same calm tone she 
 had before employed, " see you now for the first time." 
 
 " Beautiful girl ! " cried the stranger ; " no ! I have for 
 months haunted you like your shadow. Your fair face 
 threw the first gleams of sunshine into rny heart that have 
 visited it from early manhood. I love you, Magdalena!" 
 
 " This is no hour and no place for words like these," re 
 plied the captive, coldly. 
 
 " Nay ! " cried the stranger, with sudden energy. " Beau 
 tiful girl, I come to save you ! " 
 
 " To save me ! " cried Magdalena, a sudden, wild hope 
 springing in her breast, to save me! It is well done. 
 Believe me, I am innocent. You have bribed the jailer to 
 open my prison doors ; you have contrived some means of 
 evasion. I know not I care not what. I shall be freed ! 
 I shall clasp my father's knees once more. I shall go forth 
 into the blessed air and light of heaven. God bless you, 
 whoever you are, for your words of hope ! " 
 
 "You shall go forth, if you will," replied the stranger; 
 " but openly, in the face and eyes of man. At my word 
 the prison bars will fall, the keys will turn, the gates will 
 be unbarred. I have a royal pardon ! " 
 
 " Give it me ! give it me ! " almost shrieked Magdalena. 
 
 " It is bestowed on one condition : that you become my 
 wife." 
 
 " That I become your wife ! " repeated Magdalena, as if 
 
24 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER 
 
 she but half comprehended the words. " Forsake poor 
 Julio ! And yet the bribe, to escape a death of infamy, tc 
 save my father's gray hairs from going down to a dishon 
 ored grave ! Speak ! who are you, with power to save me 
 on these terms ? " 
 
 The stranger tossed aside his sable hat and plume, and 
 dropped his cloak, and stood before her in a rich dress of 
 black velvet, trimmed with point lace, a broadsword belted 
 to his waist. He was a man of middle age, of a fine, ath 
 letic figure, and handsome face, but there was an indescrib 
 able expression in his dark eyes, in the stern lines about 
 his handsome mouth, that affected the gazer with a strange, 
 shuddering horror. 
 
 "Peruse me well, maiden," said the stranger. "I am 
 not deformed. I am as other men. If there be no glow 
 in my cheek, still the blood that flows through my veins is 
 healthy and untainted. Moreover, though I be not noble, 
 my character is stainless. If to be the wife of an honest 
 man is not too dear a purchase for your life, accept my 
 hand, and you are saved." 
 
 " Who are you ? " cried Magdalena, intense curiosity 
 mastering her even in that moment. 
 
 " I am the executioner of Madrid ! " replied the stranger. 
 
 Magdalena covered her face with her hands, and uttered 
 a low cry of horror. 
 
 " I am the executioner of Madrid ! " repeated he. " I 
 have never committed crime in my life, though my blade 
 has been reddened with the blood of my fellow-creatures. 
 Yet no man takes my hand, no man breaks bread or 
 drinks wine with me. I, the dread minister of justice, a 
 necessity of society, like the soldier on the rampart, or the 
 priest at the altar, am a being lonely, abhorred, accursed. 
 Yet I have the feelings, the passions of other iren. But 
 
THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 what maiden would listen to the suit of one like me ? 
 What father would give his daughter to my arms ? None, 
 none ! And, therefore, the state decrees that when the 
 executioner would wed, he must take to his arms a woman 
 doomed to death. I loved you, Magdalena, hopelessly, ere 
 I dreamed the hour would ever arrive when I might hope 
 to claim you. That hour has now come. I offer you your 
 life and my hand. You must be my bride, or my victim ! " 
 
 " Your victim ! your victim ! " cried Magdalena. " Death 
 a thousand times, though a thousand times undeserved, 
 rather than your foul embrace ! " 
 
 " You have chosen. Your blood be on your own head ! " 
 cried the executioner, stamping his foot. "You die un- 
 shriven and unblessed ! " 
 
 " At least, abhorred ruffian," cried Magdalena, u I have 
 some little time for preparation ! The hour has not yet 
 arrived." 
 
 "Has it not?" cried the executioner. "Behold yon 
 clock!" 
 
 And as her eyes were strained upon the dial, he strode 
 out of the cell, and seizing the hands, advanced them to the 
 hour of noon. Then, at a signal from his hand, the prison 
 bell began to toll. 
 
 " Mercy, mercy ! " cried Magdalena, as he rejoined her. 
 * Slay me not before my time ! " 
 
 But the hand of the ruffian already grasped her arm, 
 and he dragged her forth into the corridor. 
 
 At that moment, however, a loud shout arose, and a 
 group of officials, escorting the goldsmith and Julio, waving 
 a paper in his hand, rushed breathlessly along the passage. 
 
 "Saved, saved!" cried Magdalena. "Hither, hither, 
 father, Julio!" 
 
 The executioner had wreathed his hand in her dark, 
 3 
 
26 THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 flowing tresses ; already his dreadful weapon was bran 
 dished in the air, when it was crossed by the bright Toledo 
 blade of the young cavalier, and flew from his grasp, clang 
 ing against the prison wall. 
 
 " Unhand her, dog ! " cried Julio, " or die the death ! " 
 Sullenly the executioner released his hold, and sullenly 
 listened to the royal pardon. 
 
 Magdalena was soon beneath her father's roof, soon in 
 the arms of her cousin Juanita. Long did she resist the 
 importunities of Julio ; for though innocent in fact, judicial 
 ly she stood convicted of a capital offence. But as time 
 rolled on, as her innocence became the popular belief, 
 she finally relented, accepted his hand, and beneath the 
 beautiful sky of Italy, forgot, or remembered only as a 
 dream, the perils and sorrows of her early life. 
 
PHILETUS POTTS. 
 
 A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 PHILETITS POTTS is dead. Like Grimes, ho was a 
 " good old man ! " A true gentleman of the old school, he 
 clung to many of the fashions of a by-gone period with a 
 pertinacity, which, to the eyes of the thoughtless, savored 
 somewhat of the ludicrous. It was only of late years that 
 he relinquished his three-cornered hat ; to breeches, buc 
 kles, and hair powder he adhered to the last. He was also 
 partial to pigtails, though his earliest was shorn from his 
 head by a dangerous rival, who cut him out of the good 
 "graces of Miss Polly Martine, a powdered beauty of the 
 past century, by amputating his cue ; while his latest one 
 was sacrificed on the altar of humanity but thereby 
 hangs a tale. 
 
 If Mr. Potts was behind his age in dress, he was in ad 
 vance of it in sentiment. In his breast the milk of human 
 kindness never curdled, and his intelligent mind was ever 
 actively employed in devising ways and means to alleviate 
 the sufferings of humanity, and to change the hearts of evil 
 doers. His comprehensive kindness included the brute 
 creation as well as mankind, in the circle of his active 
 sympathy. 
 
 We remember an instance of his sympathy for animals. 
 We had been making an excursion into the country. It 
 Was high noon of a sultry summer day ; eggs were cooking 
 
 27 
 
28 PHILETUS POTTS. 
 
 in the sun, and the mercury in the thermometer stood at 
 the top of the tube. Passing out of a small village, we 
 passed a young lady pleasantly and coolly attired in white, 
 and carrying a sunshade whose grateful shadow melted into 
 the cool, clear olive of her fine complexion. 
 
 Mr. Potts sighed, for she reminded him of Miss Polly 
 Martine at the same age ; and Polly Martine reminded 
 him of parasols by some recondite association. Mr. Pott 
 remembered the first umbrella that was brought into Bos 
 ton. He always carried one that might have been th< 
 first, it was so venerable, yet whole and decent, like an old 
 gentleman in good preservation. It was a green silk one, 
 with a plain, mahogany handle, and a ring instead of a 
 ferrule, and very large. Discoursing of umbrellas, we 
 came upon a cow. Mr. Potts was fond of cows grateful 
 to them always spoke of them with respect. This par 
 ticular cow inhabited a small paddock by the roadside, 
 which was enclosed by a Virginia fence, and contained very 
 little grass, and no provision for shade and shelter. So 
 the cow stood in the sunshine, with her head resting on the 
 fence, and her tongue lolling out of her mouth, and her 
 large, intelligent eyes fixed on the far distance, where a 
 herd of kine were feasting knee-deep in a field of clover, 
 beside a running brook, overshadowed by magnificent wal 
 nut trees. 
 
 " Poor thing ! " said Mr. Potts ; and he stopped short 
 and looked at the cow. 
 
 The cow looked at Mr. Potts. One had evidently mag 
 netically influenced the other. 
 
 " She is a female, like the lady we encountered," said 
 Mr. Potts, " but," added he, with a burst of feeling, " she 
 has no parasol ! " 
 
 The assertion was indisputable. It was a truism, 
 
PHILETUS POTTS. 29 
 
 cows are never provided with parasols, but then great 
 men are famous for uttering truisms, and we venerated Mr 
 Potts for following the example. 
 
 " It is now twelve o'clock ! " said Mr. Potts, consulting 
 his repeater. " At half past four, the shadow of the but- 
 tonwood will fall into this poor animal's pasture. Foui 
 hours and a half of torture, rendered more painful by tht 
 contemplation of the luxuries of her remote companions \ 
 It is insufferable!" 
 
 Then Mr. Potts, with a genial smile on his Pickwickian 
 countenance, expanded his green silk umbrella, mounted 
 the fence, on which he sat astride, and patiently held the 
 umbrella over the cow's head for the space of four and a 
 half mortal hours. The action was sublime. I regret to 
 add that the animal proved ungrateful, and, when Mr. 
 Potts closed his umbrella on the shadow of the buttonwood 
 relieving guard, facilitated his descent from the Virginia 
 fence by an ungraceful application of her horns to the 
 amplitude of his venerable person. 
 
 It was in the summer following, that the incident I am 
 about to relate occurred. It was fly-time, I remember 
 it well. We were again walking together, when we came 
 to a wall-eyed horse, harnessed to a dog's meat cart, and 
 left standing by his unfeeling master while he indulged in 
 porter and pipes in a small suburban pothouse, much af 
 fected by Milesians. The horse was much annoyed by 
 flies, and testified his impatience and suffering by stamping 
 and tossing his head. Mr. Potts was the first to notice 
 that the poor animal had no tail, for the two or three 
 vertebrae attached to the termination of the spine could 
 hardly be supposed to constitute a tail proper. The dis 
 covery filled him with horror. A horse in fly-time without 
 a tail ! The case was worse than that of the cow. 
 3* 
 
BO PHILETUS POTTS. 
 
 u And here I am ! " exclaimed the great and good man, 
 ii a tone of the bitterest self-reproach, "luxuriating in a 
 pigtail which that poor creature would be glad of ! " 
 
 With these words he produced a penknife, and placing it 
 in my hands, resolutely bade me amputate his cue. I did 
 so with tears in my eyes, and placed the severed ornament 
 in the hands of my companion. With a piece of tape he 
 affixed it to the horse's stump, and the gush of satisfaction 
 he felt at seeing the first fly despatched by the ingenious 
 but costly substitute for a tail, must have been, I think, an 
 adequate recompense for the sacrifice. 
 
 I think it was in that same summer that Mr. Potts laid 
 before the Philanthropic and Humane Society, of which he 
 was an honorable and honorary member, his " plan for the 
 amelioration of the condition of no-tailed horses in fly- 
 time, by the substitution of feather dusters for the natural 
 appendage, to which are added some hints on the grafting 
 of tails with artificial scions, by a retired farrier in ill 
 health." 
 
 During the last year of his life, Mr. Potts offered a prize 
 of five thousand dollars for the discovery of a harmless and 
 indelible white paint, to be used in changing the complexion 
 of the colored population, to place them on an equality with 
 ourselves, or for any chemical process which would pro 
 duce the same result. 
 
 Mr. Potts proposed to substitute for capital punishment, 
 houses of seclusion for murderers, where, remote from the 
 world, in rural retreats, they might converse with nature, 
 and in the cultivation of the earth, or the pursuit of botany, 
 might become gradually softened and humanized. At the 
 expiration of a few months' probation, he proposed to re 
 store them to society. 
 
 A criminal is an erring brother. The object of punish* 
 
PHILETUS POTTS. 81 
 
 ment is reformation, and not vengeance, Hence, Mr. Potts 
 proposed to supply our prisoners with teachers of lan 
 guages, arts and sciences, dancing and gymnastics. Every 
 prison should have, he contended, a billiard room and bowl 
 ing saloon, a hairdresser, and a French cook. Occasionally, 
 accompanied by proper officers, the convicts should be taken 
 to the Italian Opera, or allowed to dance at Papanti's. 
 The object would be so to refine their tastes that they 
 should shrink from theft and murder, simply because they 
 were ungentlemanly. Readmitted to society, these gentle 
 men would give tone to the upper classes. 
 
 But Mr. Potts has gone in the midst of his schemes of 
 usefulness. The tailless quadruped, the shedless cow, tho 
 unwhitewashed African, the condemned felon, the unhappy 
 prisoner, actually treated as if he were no gentleman, in 
 him have lost 9. friend. When shall we see his like again ? 
 Echo answers, Probably not for a very long period. 
 
THE GONDOLIER. 
 
 O, rest thee here, my gondolier, 
 
 Rest, rest, while up I go, 
 To climb yon light balcony's height 
 
 While thou keep'st watch below. 
 Ah ! if high Heaven had tongues as well 
 
 As starry eyes to see 
 O, think what tales 'twould hare to tell 
 
 Of wandering youths like me. 
 
 MOORB. 
 
 THE traveller of to-day who visits Venice sees in that 
 once splendid city nothing but a mass of mouldering pal 
 aces, the melancholy remains of former grandeur and mag 
 nificence ; but few tokens to remind him that she was once 
 the queen of the Adriatic, the emporium of Europe. But 
 at the period of which we write the "sea Cybele" was in 
 the very zenith of her brilliancy and power. 
 
 It was the season of carnival, and nowhere else in Italy 
 were the holidays celebrated with such zest and magnifi 
 cence. By night millions of lamps burned in the palace 
 windows, rivalling the splendors of the firmament, and re 
 flected in the still waters of the lagoons like myriads of 
 stars. Night and day music was resounding. There were 
 regattas, balls, and festas, and the entire population seemed 
 to have gone mad with gayety, and to have lost all thought 
 of the Council of Ten, the Bridge of Sighs, and the pon 
 iards of the bravoes. 
 
 On a bright morning of this holiday season, a group of 
 
 32 
 
THE GONDOLIER. 33 
 
 young gondoliers, attired in their gayest costume, were 
 Bitting at the head of a flight of marble steps that led up 
 from one of the canals, waiting for their fares. A cavalier 
 and lady, both gayly attired, and both masked, had just 
 alighted from a gondola and passed the boatman on their 
 way to some rendezvous. 
 
 The gondolier who had conducted them, an old, gray- 
 headed, hard-looking fellow, had pocketed his fee, nodded 
 his thanks, and pushed off again from the landing. 
 
 " There goes old Beppo," said one of the gondoliers on 
 shore. " He will make a good day's work of it. I can 
 swear I saw the glitter of gold in his hand just now." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " said another. " Let him alone for making 
 his money. And what he makes, he keeps. He's a close- 
 fisted old hunks." 
 
 "And what is he so scrimping and saving for?" asked a 
 third. " He is unmarried he has no children." 
 
 " No but he is to be married," said the first. 
 
 " How ! the man's past sixty." 
 
 " Yes, comrade, but he will not be the first old fellow who 
 has taken a young wife in his dotage. Have you never 
 heard that he has a young ward, beautiful as an angel, 
 whom he keeps cooped up as tenderly as a brooding dove 
 in his tumble-down old house on the Canal Orfano ? No 
 body but himself has ever set eyes on her to my knowl 
 edge." 
 
 " There you're mistaken, Stefano," said a young man, 
 who had not hitherto spoken. He was a fine, dashing, 
 handsome young fellow of twenty-six, in a holiday suit of 
 crimson and gold, with a fiery eye, long, curling locks, and 
 a mustache as black as jet. 
 
 " Let's hear what Antonio Giraldo has to say about the 
 matter ! " cried his companions. 
 
84 THB GONDOLIER. 
 
 " Simply this," said the young man. " I have seen the 
 imprisoned fair one the peerless Zanetta for such is 
 her name. She is lovely as the day ; and for her voice 
 why Gorpo di Bacco! La Gianina, the prima donna, 
 is a screechowl to my nightingale." 
 
 " Your nightingale ! Bravo ! " cried Stefano, in a tone 
 of mocking irony. "What can you know about her 
 voice?" 
 
 " Simply this, Master Stefano," replied the young gon 
 dolier. " When floating beneath her window in my gon 
 dola, I have addressed her in such rude strains of melody 
 as I best knew how to frame. She has replied in tones so 
 liquid and pure that the angels might have listened." 
 
 " By Heaven ! the fellow's in love ! " cried Stefano. 
 
 " Long live music and love ! " cried Antonio. " What 
 were life worth without them ? " 
 
 * You're in excellent spirits ! " cried Stefano. 
 
 " And why shouldn't a man be, on his wedding day ? " 
 
 " Mad as a march hare," cried Stefano. 
 
 " Mark me," said Antonio. " That girl shall never marry 
 old Beppo my word for it. She hates him." 
 
 " She'll elope with some noble, then." 
 
 " To be cast off to wither when he is tired of her charms ? 
 No ! the bridegroom for Zanetta is a gondolier." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Stefano. " But come, com 
 rades, it is no use waiting here. Let us to our gondolas, 
 and row for St. Marks. You'll come with us, Antonio." 
 
 "Not I my occupation's gone." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " I have sold my gondola ? " 
 
 " Sold your gondola." 
 
 " Ay that was my word." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
THE GONDOLIER. 35 
 
 " I wanted money." 
 
 " Your gondola was the means of earning it." 
 
 " Very true but I had occasion for a certain sum at 
 once." 
 
 "And why not have recourse to our purses, An ioniD? 
 Light as they are, we would have made it up by contribu 
 tions among us." 
 
 "I doubted not your kindness but my self-respect 
 would not permit me to ask your aid. Good by, comrades ; 
 we shall meet again to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow. Addio ! " 
 
 There was a brilliant masquerade that evening at the 
 palazzo of Count Giulio Colonna. Invitations had been 
 issued to all the world, and all the world was present. The 
 finest music, the richest wines, the most splendid decora 
 tions were lavished on the occasion. Perhaps, among that 
 brilliant company, there was more than one plebeian, who, 
 under cover of the masque, and employing the license 
 common at these saturnalia, had intruded himself unbidden. 
 
 Old Beppo, the gondolier, was in attendance at the ves 
 tibule of the palace, feasting his avaricious eyes on the 
 glimpses of wealth and luxury he noted within dotfrs, when 
 a gentleman in rich costume, and wearing a mask, beckoned 
 him to one side, and desired a moment's interview. 
 
 " Do you know me ? " was the first question asked by 
 the stranger. 
 
 " No, signer," replied the old gondolier. 
 
 " Do you know these gentlemen ? " asked the mask, slip 
 ping a couple of gold pieces into the miser's hand. 
 
 " Perfectly," replied the boatman, grinning. " What ara 
 your lordship's commands ? " 
 
 " Is your gondola in waiting ? * 
 
36 THE GONDOLIER. 
 
 " Yes, signor. It lies below, moored to the landing." 
 
 " 'Tis well ; hast thou any scruples about aiding in a love 
 intrigue ? " 
 
 " None in the world, signor." 
 
 " Then I'll make a confidant of you." 
 
 " I will be all secrecy, signor." 
 
 " Briefly then, gondolier," said the mask, " I am in love 
 with a very charming young person." 
 
 Well." 
 
 " Well and this young person loves me in return." 
 
 " Good ; and you are going to marry her." 
 
 " Not so fast, gondolier. She has an old guardian, who, 
 at the age of sixty, or more, has been absurd enough 
 only think of it to propose to marry her himself." 
 
 u The absurd old fool ! " cried Beppo, not without some 
 twinges, for he thought of his own projects with regard to 
 Zanetta. 
 
 " Now, then," said the mask, " I have resolved to run 
 away with her to-night. I have the opportunity for she 
 is here in the Palazzo Colonna. Now will and can you aid 
 me ? I will recompense you liberally." 
 
 " Ah ! my lord your lordship has come to the right 
 market," said the old sinner. " I'm used to affairs of this 
 kind. Has your lordship a priest engaged ? " 
 
 " I have not." 
 
 " Then I can recommend one. Hard by is a chapel ded 
 icated to Our Lady, where there is a very worthy man, ac 
 customed to affairs of this kind, who will tie the knot for a 
 moderate fee, without asking any impertinent questions." 
 
 "His name?" 
 
 " Father Dominic." 
 
 " Good ! he is the man for us and you are the princtj 
 
THE GONDOLIER. 37 
 
 I gondoliers. Get your gondola ready, and I will rejoin 
 > MI at the foot of the stairs with the lady in a moment." 
 
 Old Beppo hastened to prepare his gondola, and while 
 so doing, muttered to himself, 
 
 " Well, well this is a good night's work. I'm getting 
 old, and I must soon retire from business. Every stroke 
 of luck like this helps on the day when I shall call Zanetta 
 mine. So, there's another old fool to be duped to-night ! 
 Serve him right ! Why don't he keep his treasure under 
 lock and key, as I do ? But men will never learn wisdom. 
 Here they come." 
 
 The young cavalier reappeared upon the marble steps, 
 leading a lady, masked and veiled, but whose elastic step 
 and graceful bearing seemed to designate her as one mov 
 ing in the highest circles. The young lovers took their 
 seats in the centre of the light craft, and drew the curtains 
 round them, while Beppo pushed off, and his vigorous oar 
 soon sent the shallop dancing over the waters of the lagoon. 
 After a few moments the motion ceased, and Beppo in 
 formed his patron that they had arrived at their place of 
 destination. After making the boat fast, the gondolier 
 landed, and entered the small chapel which stood on th 
 brink of the canal. In a few moments he returned, and 
 informed the masked cavalier that all was prepared. The 
 gentleman then handed out the lady, and both entered the 
 chapel, Beppo keeping guard without, to prevent or give 
 notice of any intrusion. 
 
 The marriage ceremony was performed very rapidly by 
 Father Dominic, for he was just going to bed when the 
 gondola arrived, and was duly anxious to despatch his busi 
 ness, that he might consign his wearied limbs to rest. 
 
 " Is it all over ? " whispered Beppo, in the ear of the 
 cavalier, as he came out with his lady. 
 
 4 c 
 
88 THE GONDOLIER. 
 
 ." All right," replied the mask, in the same tone ^f voice. 
 **' But one thing perplexes me. I have no place that I can 
 call my home, to-night. The lady will be missed; my 
 palace will be watched I should incur the risk of swords 
 crossing and bloodshed, if I sought to take her thither, 
 to-night." 
 
 " If my house were not so very humble," said the gon 
 dolier, hesitatingly. 
 
 " The very thing," said the mask, joyfully. "No matter 
 how humble the roof, provided that it shelter us. To-mor 
 row we can arrange matters for flight, or for remaining." 
 
 " Then get into the gondola, my lord, and I will row you 
 thither in a few minutes." 
 
 The party reembarked, and soon reached the gondolier's 
 residence. After fastening his craft, he unlocked his door ; 
 and striking a light, conducted his distinguished guests up 
 stairs. As he passed one of the chamber doors, the old 
 gondolier, addressing the masked lady as he pointed to it, 
 said, 
 
 " You have made a moonlight flitting, to-night, signora, 
 and I wish you joy of your escape. But if you had been 
 as safely kept as a precious charge I have in this room, 
 you would never have stood before the altar to-night, with 
 your noble bridegroom." 
 
 "You forget that 'love laughs at locksmiths,'" said the 
 cavalier. 
 
 At the door of their apartments, the old man, before bid 
 ding them good night, pausing, said, 
 
 " Pardon me, signor, but I would fain know the name 
 of the noble cavalier I have had the honor of serving to 
 night." 
 
 " You shall know to-morrow," replied the mask. " JBuona 
 nottc, Beppo. Remember it's carnival time." 
 
THE GONDOLIER. 39 
 
 The next morning Beppo was up betimes, anxious to 
 /earn the mystery connected with the married couple. He 
 was not kept long in suspense. His patron of the preced 
 ing evening soon made his appearance, but masked as 
 before. 
 
 " Beppo ! " said the stranger, " you rendered me an in ' 
 estimable service last night." 
 
 " You rewarded me handsomely, signor, and I shall never 
 regret it." 
 
 " Give me your word then, that you will never upbraid 
 me with the service I imposed on you." 
 
 " I give you my word," said the old man, surprised ; 
 " but why do you exact it ? " 
 
 " Because," said the stranger, raising his mask, " I am 
 no Venetian noble, but simply Antonio Giraldi, a gondolier 
 like yourself." 
 
 " You ! Antonio Giraldi ! And the lady ? " 
 
 "Was your ward, Zanetta. You locked her chamber 
 door, and took the house key with you but a ladder of 
 ropes from a lady's balcony is as good as a staircase ; and 
 as I told you last night, l love laughs at locksmiths.' " 
 
 Of course old Beppo stormed and swore, as irascible old 
 gentlemen are very apt to do in similar circumstances, but 
 he ended by forgiving the lovers, as that was the only act 
 in his power. He not only forgave them, but gave up his 
 gondola to the stronger hands of Antonio, and settled a 
 handsome portion on Zanetta ; nor did he ever regret his 
 generosity, for they proved grateful and affectionate, and 
 wei-3 the stay and solace of his declining years. Such ia 
 the veritable history of a carnival incident of the olden 
 days of Venice. 
 
THE SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS. 
 
 A MILITARY &KETCH. 
 
 IT was a great day for Dogtown, being no other than the 
 anniversary of the annual militia muster ; and on this occa 
 sion not only the Dogtown Blues were on parade upon the 
 village green, but the entire regiment of which they formed 
 a part, commanded by the gallant Colonel Zephaniah Slor- 
 key, postmaster and variety-store keeper, was to engage in 
 a sham fight, representing the surrender of Cornwallis. 
 There was no attempt at historical costume, but it was un 
 derstood that Slorkey, with his cowhide boots and rusty 
 plated spurs, his long, swallow-tailed blue coat, and thread 
 bare chapeau with a cock's tail feather in it, mounted on 
 his seventy-five dollar piebald mare, promoted from the 
 plough and " dump cart," was the representative of Gen 
 eral Washington. Major Israel Ryely, his second in com 
 mand, a native of the rival village of Hardscrabble, was to 
 figure as Lord Cornwallis ; and the selection was the more 
 appropriate, since the private relations of these two great 
 men were any thing but amicable, and they espoused op 
 posite sides in politics. Dr. Galenius Jalap, an apothecary 
 and surgeon of the regiment, a man with a hatchet face, 
 hook nose, and thin, weeping whiskers, the color of sugar 
 gingerbread, undertook the character of La Fayette at very 
 short notice, and a very dim conception of the character 
 he had. 
 
 40 
 
THE SURRENDER OF CORNWALL1S. 41 
 
 The entire population of Dogtown and Hardscrabble 
 turned out to witness the stupendous military operations of 
 the day. On the American side were the Dogtown Blues, 
 with four companies of ununiformed militia, armed with 
 rifles, fowling pieces, and rusty muskets, and typifying the 
 continental army. Their artillery consisted of two light 
 field pieces, served by a select band of volunteers. These 
 pieces were posted on an eminence commanding the entire 
 plain. At the foot of this hill, Colonel Slorkey drew up his 
 troops in line of battle, his left wing protected by an im 
 passable frog pond, and his right resting on a large piggery, 
 whose extent prevented the enemy from turning his flank 
 in that direction. 
 
 On the descent of an opposing eminence, likewise 
 strengthened by two guns, Major Ryely placed the Hard- 
 scrabble Guards, the Sheet Iron Riflemen, the Mudhollow 
 Invincibles, the Dandelion Fireeaters, and the Scrufftown 
 Sharpshooters. A thousand bright eyes, from the com 
 manding eminences, looked down on the serried ranks of 
 bayonets, the brazen-throated artillery, the panoplied 
 plough horses, the plumed commanders, the rustling ban 
 ners, and all the " pomp, pride, and circumstance of glori 
 ous war." 
 
 Preliminaries being thus settled, the commanding officers 
 put spurs to their horses, and met in the centre of the plain, 
 there saluting with their scythe-blade swords. 
 
 " Major Ryely," said the colonel, rising in his stirrups, 
 " the follerin' are the odder of pufformances : we open with 
 eour artillery you reply with yourn. Under kiver of 
 eour guns we advance to the attack. You do the same to 
 meet us firm' like smoke. Arter a sharp scrimmedge 
 you retire send us a flag of truce with terms and 
 finally lay down your arms." 
 4* 
 
42 THE SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS. 
 
 The major bowed till his ostrich feather touched the 
 mane of his wall-eyed plough horse, then turned bridle, and 
 regained his ranks at a gait something between a stumble 
 and a rack. The representative of General Washington 
 rejoined his men at a hard trot, rising two feet from his 
 saddle at every concussion of his bony steed. 
 
 " Fellur sogers ! " roared the temporary father of his 
 country; "yonder stands Cornwallis and his redcoats- 
 only they haint got red coats, partickerlarly them in blue 
 s waller-tails. We air bound to lick 'em hurrah for our 
 side ! Go inter 'em like a thousand of bricks fallin' off 'n a 
 slated rufe. The genius of Ammerikin liberty, in the shape 
 of the carnivorous eagle, soarin' aloft on diluted pillions, 
 seems to mutter E Pluribus Unum we are one of 'em ! 
 Hail Columby happy land ! Sing Yankee Doodle that fine 
 tune cry havock ! and let looset the dogs of war." 
 
 Then commenced the horror of the sham fight. The 
 continental guns opened in thunder tones. The British 
 artillery hurled back their terrific echoes. Bang ! bang ! 
 boom ! boom ! The canopy of heaven was stained with 
 the sulphurous smoke. The drummers rattled away on 
 their sheepskins the fifers distended their cheeks till they 
 resembled blown bladders. In the midst of all this noise 
 and tumult, the undaunted Slorkey, and the indomitable 
 Jalap, rushed to and fro, with clanking scabbards, and 
 brandished scythe blades, twin thunderbolts of war. 
 
 " Forrard march ! " roared Slorkey. With the yell of 
 demons, his fierce followers advanced to the onset, firing 
 their blank cartridges with desperate valor. 
 
 Equally alert were Major Ryely and his followers. 
 
 " Their swords were a thousand, their bosoms were one." 
 Their faces begrimed with powder, their eyes gleaming 
 
THE SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS. 43 
 
 
 
 with ferocity, they descended to the plain an avalanche 
 of heroes. The soul of Headly would have swelled within 
 him had he seen them. 
 
 For more than one hour that deadly consumption of 
 blank cartridges endured, and then Ryely and his troops 
 retired in good order. 
 
 " Boys," said the major, " old Slorkey wants us to gin 
 out send a flag of truce a white pocket handkerchief 
 on a beanpole and propose to surrender. But it goes 
 agin my grit for Hardscrabble to cave in to Dogtown, when 
 we could knock the hindsights off 'em, if we was only a 
 mind to." 
 
 " Hurray for the major ! " responded the Hardscrabblers. 
 
 "I've got a grudge agin the kurnil," said the major, 
 " and if you'll stand by me, I'll take it out of 'em. What 
 say?" 
 
 " Agreed ! " was the spontaneous response. 
 
 While Slorkey was waiting for the covenanted flag of 
 truce, he saw the hated Ryely rise in his stirrups, and 
 heard his stentorian voice roar out the word, " Charge ! " 
 
 A deafening shout answered his appeal. In an instant 
 Hardscrabble and its allies were down on Dogtown and its 
 defenders. The latter stood it for a moment, but Ryely 
 knocked the colonel off his horse, the surgeon had his nose 
 pulled, the Dogtown Blues justified their name by their 
 looks, and, seized with a sudden panic, fled fled inglo- 
 riously from their native training field. The audacious 
 outrage was consummated history was violated and 
 General Washington was beaten by Cornwallis. 
 
 Dire were the threats against Ryely uttered by the col 
 onel, as he was carried home on a shutter ; nothing short 
 of a court martial was his sligitest menace. But no court 
 
44 THE SURRENDER OP CORNVTALLIS. 
 
 martial ever took place. The military pride and glory of 
 Dogtown were wounded to the quick ; the force of popular 
 opinion compelled Slorkey to resign, and to consummate his 
 chagrin, his treacherous rival was chosen colonel of the 
 regiment. So unstable are human honors so ungrateful 
 are republics. 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 
 
 TOWARDS the close of a chilly afternoon, in the latter part 
 of last November, I was travelling in New Hampshire on 
 horseback. The road was solitary and rugged, and wound 
 along through gloomy pine forests and over abrupt and 
 stony hills. Several circumstances conduced to my discom 
 fort. I was not sure of my way ; I had a hurt in my bridle 
 hand, and evening was approaching, heralded by an icy rain 
 and a cold, searching wind. I felt a sinking of spirits which 
 I could not dispel by rapid riding ; for my horse, fatigued by 
 a long day's journey, refused to answer spur and whip with 
 his usual animation. In an hour after, I was convinced that 
 I had mistaken my road, and night surprised me in the for 
 est. I had been in more unpleasant situations ; so I adopt 
 ed my usual expedient of letting the reins fall upon my 
 courser's neck. He, however, blundered on, with his nose 
 drooping to the ground, stumbling every moment, though 
 ordinarily as surefooted as a roebuck. So we plodded on 
 for a mile, while the landscape grew darker and darker. 
 At length, finding my horse less intelligent or more despair 
 ing than myself, I resumed the rein, and endeavored to cheer 
 my brute companion. To tell the truth, I stood in need of 
 something exhilarating myself. The sombre air of the eter 
 nal pines struck a deathly gloom to my heart, as one by 
 one they seemed to rise on my path, like threatening genii 
 extending their scathed limbs to meet me. The rain, fina 
 
 45 
 
46 THE THREE BRIDES. 
 
 and cold, bedewed me from head to foot, and I question if a 
 more miserable pair of animals ever threaded their way 
 through the mazes of an enchanted forest. I thought of 
 the comfortable home I had left for my forlorn pleasure 
 excursion, of that cheerful hearth around which my family 
 were gathered, of wine, music, love, and the thousand en 
 dearments I had left behind, and then I gazed into the 
 recesses of the shadowy wood that closed about me, almost in 
 despair. I began to dread the apparition of some giant in 
 truder, and was seriously meditating the production of a pair 
 of pistols, when my quick glance caught the glimmer of dis 
 tant lights, twinkling through some opening in the trees, 
 and darting a beam of hope upon the wanderer's soul. My 
 reins were instantly grasped, and my rowels were struck 
 into the sides of my charger. He snorted, pricked up his 
 ears, erected his head, and sprang forth in an uncontrolla 
 ble gallop. Up hill and down hill I pricked my gallant gray ; 
 and when the forest was past, and his hoofs glinted on the 
 stones of a street leading through a small village, I felt an 
 animation that I cannot well describe. A creaking sign 
 board, swinging in the wind on rusty irons, directed me to 
 the only inn of the village. It was a two-story brick build 
 ing, standing a little back from the road. I drew rein at 
 the door, and dismounted my weary nag. My loud vocifer 
 ations summoned to my side a bull dog, cursed with a most 
 unhappy disposition, and a hostler whose temper was hardly 
 more amiable. He took my horse with an air of surly indif- 
 . ference, and gruffly directed me to the bar room. 
 
 This apartment was tenanted by half a dozen rough farm 
 ers, rendered savage and morose by incessantly imbibing 
 alcohol ; and by the proprietor of the tavern, a bluff man, 
 with a portly paunch, a hard gray eye, and a stern Caledo 
 nian lip. He welcomed me without much frankness 01 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 47 
 
 cordiality, and I sank into a wooden settle, eyed by the sur 
 ly guests of mine host, and the subject of sundry muttered 
 remarks. The group, as it was lighted up by the strong 
 red glare of the fire, had certainly a bandit appearance, 
 which, however delightful to a Salvator Rosa, was by no 
 means inviting to a traveller who had sought the bosom of 
 the hills for pleasure. After making a few remarks, which 
 elicited only monosyllables in answer, I relapsed into si 
 lence ; from which, however, I was soon aroused by the en 
 trance of the surly hostler, who in no very gracious manner 
 informed me that my horse was lame, and likely to be sick. 
 This intelligence produced a visit to the stable, and the 
 conviction that I could not possibly resume my journey on 
 the ensuing day ; which was somewhat disagreeable to a 
 man who had taken up a. decided prejudice against the inn 
 and all its inmates. 
 
 Having succeeded in procuring a private room and a fire, 
 I ignited an execrable cigar, (ah, how unlike thy principes, 
 dear S.,) and endeavored to lose myself in the agreeable oc 
 cupation of castle building while supper was preparing. 
 Alas ! my fancy came not at my call. I had lost my power of 
 abstraction th? realities around me were too engrossing. 
 Ere the dying shriek of a majestic rooster had ceased to 
 sound in my ear, his remains were served upon my table, 
 together with a cup or two of very villanous gunpowder 
 tea, and a pitcher of cider, with coarse bread and butter ad 
 libitum. Supper was soon despatched, and in answer to a 
 bell, lightly touched, a vinegar-visaged waiting-maid, of the 
 interesting age of forty-five, entered and removed the scarce 
 ly touched viands the rudis indigestaque moles. I ven T 
 tured to address her, with a request that I might be supplied 
 with a few books, to enable me to while away the evening. 
 I anticipated a literary feast from the readiness with which 
 
48 THE THREE BRIDES. 
 
 she rushed from the loom; but she reappeared, bringing 
 only Young's Night Thoughts, (very greasy,) a volume of 
 tales with the catastrophes torn out, a set of plays consisting 
 only of first acts, and an odd number of the Eclectic Mag 
 azine. This was sufficiently provoking ; but I read a few 
 pages, and tried a second cigar, and made the tour of the 
 apartment, examining a family mourning-piece worked in 
 satin, a genealogical tree done in worsted, and a portrait of 
 the mutton-headed landlord and his snappish wife. I count 
 ed the ticks of the clock for half an hour, and was finally 
 reduced to the forlorn expedient of seeing likenesses in the 
 burning embers. When the clock struck nine, I rang for 
 slippers and a guide to my bed room, and the landlord ap 
 peared, candle in hand, to usher me to my sleeping apart 
 ment. As I followed him up the creaking staircase, and 
 along the dark upper entry, I could not help regretting that 
 fancy was unable to convert him into the seneschal of a ba 
 ronial mansion, and the room to which I was going a haunt 
 ed chamber. It seemed as if my surly host had the powei 
 of divining what was passing in my mind, for when he had 
 ushered me into the room, and placed the candle on the light 
 stand, he said, 
 
 " I hope you'll sleep comfortable, for there ain't many rats 
 here, sir. And as for the ghost they say frequents this 
 chamber, I believe that's all in my eye, though, to be sure, 
 the window does look out on the burial ground." 
 
 " Umph ! a comfortable prospect" 
 
 " Very, sir ; you have a fine view of the squire's ne\t 
 tomb and the poorhouse, with a wing of the jail behind 
 the trees. And I've stuck my second-best hat in that 
 broken pane of glass, and there's a chest of drawers to set 
 against the door ; so you'll be warm and free from intrusion, 
 I wish you good night, sir." 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 49 
 
 All that night I was troubled with strange dreams, peo 
 pled by phantoms from the neighboring churchyard ; but a 
 bona fide ghost I cannot say I saw. In the morning 
 I rose very early, and took a look from the window, but the 
 prospect was very uninviting. The churchyard was a bleak, 
 desolate place, overgrown with weeds, and studded with 
 slate stones, bounded by a ruinous brick wall, and having 
 an entrance through a dilapidated gateway. One or two 
 melancholy-looking cows were feeding on the rank herbage 
 that sprang from the unctuous soil, spurning many a hicja- 
 cel with their cloven hoofs. But afar, in the most distant 
 part of the field, I espied the figure of a man who was busi 
 ly occupied in digging a grave. There was something with 
 in that impelled me to stroll forth and accost him. I dressed, 
 descended, and having ordered breakfast, left the inn, 
 jclambered over the ruinous wall, and stood within the pre 
 cincts of the burial-place. The spot had evidently been used 
 for the purposes of sepulture for a number of years, for the 
 ground rose into numerous hillocks, and I could hardly walk 
 a step without stumbling upon some grassy mound. Even 
 where the perishable gravestones had been shattered by the 
 hand of time, the length of the elevations enabled me to 
 judge of the age of the deceased. This slight swell rose 
 over the remains of some beloved child, who had been com 
 mitted to the dust with only the simple ceremonies of the 
 Protestant faith, bedewed by the tears of parents, and blessed 
 by the broken voice of farewell affection. This mound, of 
 larger dimension, was heaped above the giant frame of man 
 hood. Some sturdy tiller of the soil, or rough dweller in 
 the forest, perhaps cut off by a sudden casualty, had been 
 laid here in his last leaden sleep no more to start at the ris 
 ing beam of the sun, no more to rush to the glorious excitement 
 of the hunt, no more to pant in noonday toil. Over the 
 5 
 
60 THE THREE BRIDES. 
 
 whole field of the dead there seemed to brood the spirit of 
 desolation. Stern heads, rudely chiselled, from the grave 
 stones, and frightful emblems met the eye at every turn. 
 Here was none of that simple elegance with which modern 
 taste loves to invest the memorials of the departed ; no 
 graceful acacias, or nodding elms, or sorrowing willows shed 
 their dews upon the turf every thing spoke of the bitter 
 ness of parting, of the agony of the last hour, of the pass 
 ing away from earth nothing of the reunion in heaven ! 
 
 I passed on to where the grave digger was pursuing his 
 accupation. He answered my morning salutation civilly 
 enough, but continued intent upon his work. He was a 
 man of about fifty years of age, spare, but strong, with gray 
 hair, and sunken cheeks, and certain lines about the mouth 
 which augured a propensity to indulge in dry jest, though 
 the sternness of his gray eye seemed to contradict the tacit 
 assertion. 
 
 " An unpleasant morning, sir, to work in the open air," 
 said I. 
 
 " He that regardeth fhe clouds shall not reap," replied 
 the grave digger, still plying his spade. " Death stalks 
 abroad fair day and foul day, and we that follow in his 
 footsteps must prepare for the dead, rain or shine." 
 
 " A melancholy occupation." 
 
 " A fit one for a moralist. Some would find a pleasure in 
 it. Deacon Giles, I am sure, would willingly be in my 
 place now." 
 
 "And why so?" 
 
 " This grave is for his wife," replied the grave digger, 
 looking up from his occupation with a dry smile that wrinkled 
 his sallow cheeks and distorted his shrunken lips. Perceiv 
 ing that his merriment was not infectious, he resumed his 
 employment, and that so assiduously, that in a very short 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 51 
 
 time he had hollowed the last resting-place of Deacon Giles's 
 consort. This done, he ascended from the trench with a 
 ligtness that surprised me, and walking a few paces from the 
 new-made grave, sat down upon a tombstone, and beckoned 
 me to approach. I did so. 
 
 " Young man," said he, " a sexton and a grave digger, if 
 he is one who has a zeal for his calling, becomes something 
 of an historian, amassing many a curious tale and strange 
 legend concerning the people with whom he has to do, liv 
 ing and dead. For a man with a taste for his profession 
 cannot provide for the last repose of his fellows without tak 
 ing an interest in their story, the manner of their death, and 
 the concern of the relatives who follow their remains so 
 tearfully to the grave." 
 
 " Then," replied I, taking a seat beside the sexton, " me- 
 thinks you could relate some interesting tales." 
 
 Again the withering smile that I had before observed 
 passed over the face of the sexton, as he answered, 
 
 " I am no story teller, sir ; I deal in fact, not fiction. Yes, 
 yes, I could chronicle some strange events. But of all 
 things I know, there is nothing stranger than the melan 
 choly history of the three brides." 
 
 " The three brides ? " 
 
 " Ay. Do you see three hillocks yonder, side by 
 side ? There they sleep, and will till the last trumpet 
 comes wailing and wailing through the heart of these lone 
 hills, with a tone so strange and stirring, that the dead will 
 start from their graves at its first awful note. Then will 
 come the judgment and the retribution. But to my talc. 
 Look there, sir ; on yonder hill you may observe a little iso 
 lated house, with a straggling fence in front, and a few 
 stunted apple trees on the ascent behind it. It is sadly out 
 of repair now, and the garden is all overgrown with weeds 
 
52 THE THREE BRIDES. 
 
 and bramoles, and the whole place has a desolate appear 
 ance. If the wind were high now, you might hear the old 
 crazy shutters flapping against the sides, and the wind tear 
 ing the gray shingles off the roof. Many years ago, there 
 lived in that house an old man and his son, who cultivated 
 the few acres of arable land which belong to it. 
 
 " The father was a self-taught man, deeply versed in the 
 mysteries of science, and, as he could tell the name of every 
 flower that blossomed in the wood and grew in the garden, 
 and used to sit up late of nights at his books, or reading the 
 mystic story of the starry heavens, men thought he was 
 crazed or bewitched, and avoided him, and even hated him, 
 as the ignorant ever shun and dread the gifted and enlight 
 ened. A few there were, and among others the minister, 
 and lawyer, and physician of the place, who showed some 
 willingness to afford him countenance ; but they soon 
 dropped his acquaintance, for they found the old man some 
 what reserved and morose, and, moreover, their vanity was 
 wounded by discovering the extent of his knowledge. To 
 the minister he would quote the Fathers and the Scriptures 
 in the original tongues and showed himself well armed Avith 
 the weapons of polemical controversy. He astonished the 
 lawyer by his profound acquaintance with jurisprudence ; 
 and the physician was surprised at the extent of his medi 
 cal knowledge. So they all deserted him, and the minister, 
 from whom the old man differed in some trifling points of 
 doctrine, spoke very slightingly of him ; and by and by all 
 looked upon the self-educated farmer with eyes of aversion. 
 Bat he little cared for that, for he derived his consolation 
 from loftier resources, and in the untracked paths of science 
 found a pleasure as in the pathless woods ! He instructed 
 his son in all his lore the languages, literature, history, 
 philosophy, science, were unfolded, one by one, to the en- 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 53 
 
 thusiastic son of the solitary. Years rolled away, and the 
 old man died. He died when a storm convulsed the face 
 of nature, when the wind howled around his shattered 
 dwelling, and the lightning played above the roof; and 
 though he went to heaven in faith and purity, the vulgar 
 thought and said that the evil one had claimed his own in 
 the thunder and commotion of the elements. I cannot paint 
 to you the grief of the son at his bereavement. He was, 
 for a time, as one distracted. The minister came and mut 
 tered a few cold and hollow phrases in his ear, and a few 
 neighbors, impelled by curiosity to see the interior of the 
 old man's dwelling, came to his funeral. With a proud and 
 lofty look the son stood beside the departed in the midst of 
 the band of hypocritical mourners, with a pang at his heart, 
 but a serenity on his brow. He thanked his friends for 
 their kindness, acknowledged their courtesy, and then strode 
 away from the grave to bury his grief in the privacy of his 
 deserted dwelling, 
 
 " He found, at first, the solitude of the mansion almost 
 insupportable, and he paced the echoing floors from morn 
 ing till night, in all the agony of woe and desolation, vainly 
 imploring Heaven for relief. It came to him first in the 
 guise of poetic inspiration. He wrote with a wonderful 
 ease and power. Page after page came from his prolific 
 pen, almost without an effort ; and there was a time when 
 he dreamed (vain fool !) of immortality. Some of his pro 
 ductions came before the world. They were praised and 
 circulated, and inquiries were set on foot in the hope of dis 
 covering the author. He, wrapped in the veil of impene 
 trable obscurity, listened to the voice of applause^ more 
 delicious because it was obtained by stealth. From the 
 obscurity of yonder lone mansion, and from this remote 
 5* D 
 
54 THE THREE DRIDES. 
 
 region, to send forth lays which astonished the world, was, 
 indeed, a triumph to the visionary bard. 
 
 " His thirst for fame was gratified, and now he began to 
 yearn for the companionship of some sweet being of the 
 other sex, to share the laurels he had won, to whisper con 
 solation in his ear in moments of despondency, and to sup 
 ply the void which the death of his old father had occa 
 sioned. He would picture to himself the felicity of a 
 refined intercourse with a highly intellectual and beautiful 
 woman, and, as he had chosen for his motto, What has been 
 done may still be done, he did not despair of success. In 
 this village lived three sisters, all beautiful and all accom 
 plished. Their names were Mary, Adelaide, and Made 
 leine. I am far enough past the age of enthusiasm, but 
 never can I forget the beauty of those young girls. Mary 
 was the youngest, and a fairer-haired, more laughing dam 
 sel never danced upon a green. Adelaide, who was a few 
 years older, was dark haired and pensive ; but of the three, 
 Madeleine, the eldest, possessed the most fire, spirit, culti 
 vation, and intellectuality. Their father was a man of 
 taste and education, and, being somewhat above vulgar 
 prejudices, permitted the visits of the hero of my story. 
 Still he did not altogether encourage the affection which he 
 found springing up between Mary and the poet. AVhen, 
 however, he found that her affections were engaged, he did 
 not withhold his consent from her marriage, and the recluse 
 bore to his solitary mansion the young bride of his affec 
 tion's. O sir, the house assumed a new appearance within 
 and without. Roses bloomed in the garden, jessamines 
 peeped through its lattices, and the fields about it smiled 
 with the effects of careful cultivation. Lights were seen 
 in the little parlor in the evening, and many a time would 
 the passenger pause by the garden gate to listen to strains 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 55 
 
 of the sweetest music, breathed by choral voices from the 
 cottage. If the mysterious student and his wife were neg 
 lected by their neighbors, what cared they? Their en 
 dearing and mutual affection made their home a little para 
 dise. But death came to Eden. Mary fell suddenly sick, 
 and, after a few hours' illness, died in the arms of her hus 
 band and her sister Madeleine. This was the student's 
 second heavy affliction. 
 
 " Days, months, rolled on, and the only solace of the be 
 reaved was to sit with the sisters of the deceased, and talk 
 of the lost one. To Adelaide, at length, he offered his 
 widowed heart. She came to his lone house like the dove, 
 bearing the olive branch of peace and consolation. Their 
 bridal was not one of revelry and mirth, for a sad recollec 
 tion brooded over the hour. Yet they lived happily ; the 
 husband again smiled, and, with a new spring, the roses 
 again blossomed in their garden. But it seemed as if a fa 
 tality pursued this singular man. When the rose withered 
 and the leaf fell, in the mellow autumn of the year, Ade 
 laide, too, sickened and died, like her younger sister, in the 
 arms of her husband and of Madeleine. 
 
 " Perhaps you will think it strange, young man, that, 
 after all, the wretched survivor stood again at the altar. 
 But he was a mysterious being, whose ways were inscruta 
 ble, who, thirsting for domestic bliss, was doomed ever to 
 seek and never to find it. His third bride was Madeleine. 
 I well remember her. She was a beauty, in the true sense 
 of the word. It may seem strange to you to hear the praise 
 of beauty from such lips as mine ; but I cannot help expa 
 tiating upon hers. She might have sat upon a throne, and 
 the most loyal subject, the proudest peer, would have sworn 
 the blood within her veins had descended from a hundred 
 kings. She was a proud creature, with a tall, commanding 
 
56 THE THREE BRIDES. 
 
 form, and raven tresses, that floated, dark and cloud-like, 
 over her shoulders. She was a singularly-gifted woman, 
 and possessed of rare inspiration. She loved the widower 
 for his power and his fame, and she wedded him. They 
 were married in that church. It was on a summer after 
 noon I recollect it well. During the ceremony, the 
 blackest cloud I ever saw overspread the heavens like a 
 pall, and, at the moment when the third bride pronounced 
 her vow, a clap of thunder shook the building to the centre. 
 All the females shrieked, but the bride herself made the 
 response with a steady voice, and her eyes glittered with 
 wild fire as she gazed upon her bridegroom. He remarked 
 a kind of incoherence in her expressions as they rode home 
 ward, which surprised him at the time. Arrived at his 
 house, she shrunk upon the threshold : but this was the 
 timidity of a maiden. When they were alone he clasped 
 her hand it was as cold as ice ! He looked into her 
 face. 
 
 " Madeleine," said he, " what means this ? your cheeks 
 are as pale as your wedding gown ! " The bride uttered a 
 frantic shriek. 
 
 "My wedding gown!" exclaimed she; "no, no this 
 this is my sister's shroud ! The hour for confession has 
 arrived. It is God that impels me to speak. To win you 
 I have lost my soul ! Yes yes I am a murderess ! 
 She smiled upon me in the joyous affection of her young 
 heart but I gave her the fatal drug ! Adelaide twined 
 her white arms about my neck, but I administered the poi 
 son ! Take me to your arms : I have lost my soul for you, 
 and mine must you be ! " 
 
 " She spread her long, white arms, and stood like a ma 
 niac before him," said the sexton, rising, in the excitement 
 of the moment, and assuming the attitude he described ; 
 
THE THREE BRIDES. 57 
 
 * and then," continued he, in a hollow voice, " at that mo 
 ment came the thunder and the flash, and the guilty woman 
 fell dead upon the floor ! " The countenance of the narra 
 tor expressed all the horror that he felt. 
 
 " And the bridegroom," asked I ; " the husband of tho 
 destroyer and the victims what became of him ? " 
 
 " He stands before you ! " was the thrilling answer. 
 
CALIFORNIA SPECULATION. 
 
 MOSE JENKINS did not take the California fever when 
 it first broke out ^ for he was, as he acknowledged himself, 
 "slow-motioned," and his skull was of such formidable 
 thickness, that it required a good many months for an idea 
 to penetrate into his brain. In the interim, he delved and 
 digged away on a corner of his father's farm, having leased 
 the land of the old gentleman, and purchased his time of 
 the same respectable individual for the purpose of working 
 it. But to work a farm where the rocks are so near to 
 gether, that the sheep's noses have to be sharpened before 
 they can graze between them, is not a very profitable busi 
 ness ; and Mose, by dint of hard thinking, arrived at the 
 conclusion that there might possibly be some other occupa 
 tion less laborious and quite as lucrative. 
 
 " Confound these granite rocks ! " he exclaimed, one day, 
 as he was ploughing, after he had broken hi? trace chains 
 for a second time ; " they hev another kind er rocks in Cal- 
 liforny. Jehosaphat ! If I was only thar. There a fellur 
 hez to dig ; but he gets pretty good wages five thousand 
 dollars a month is middlin', not to say fair." 
 
 In short, Mose Jenkins made up his mind to go to San 
 Francisco, having got the wherewithal to carry him in a 
 packet to the land of promise. Fearful of opposition, he 
 communicated his project neither to the author of his days, 
 the venerable Zephaniah Jenkins, nor to the beloved of his 
 
 58 
 
CALIFORNIA SPECULATION. 59 
 
 heart, Miss Prudence Salter, a cherry-cheeked damsel in a 
 state of orphanage ; but wrote down to a friend in Boston 
 to secure a passage. He reserved his communications to 
 the very last moment, when he was all ready for starting. 
 His father gave him his blessing ; Prudence was more diffi 
 cult to manage. 
 
 " It's a breach of promise case," said she, " I don't be 
 lieve you mean to marry me arter all." 
 
 " Yes, I do, ye silly critter," said Mose. " I'll come and 
 make you Mrs. Jenkins ; but I want to get the rocks first." 
 
 "Ain't there rocks enough here?" asked Prudence, 
 simply. 
 
 " Pooh ! I mean the rocks what folks carries in their 
 pockets, an' treats every body with all sollid gold." 
 
 " I don't believe half them stories," said Prudence, con 
 temptuously. 
 
 " They're as true as gospil," said Mose, " 'cause I see it 
 in a paper. And there's Curnil Hateful Slowboy, that 
 went from here last year you'd ort to know him, Pru 
 dence, coz he was one of your old beaux wall, now, they 
 say he's one of the richest men in Calliforny. I tell you 
 I'm bound to make my fortin' there." 
 
 " And so am I," said Prudence, resolutely. 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed Mose. 
 
 " Yes. I'm bound to go, too ; and I'll follow you in the 
 next ship, else you'll be green enough to marry one of them 
 'ere Ingine gals." 
 
 " Prudence, you're spunk ! " exclaimed Mose, in terms 
 of the warmest admiration. " Good by ! And I swow I'll 
 marry you jest as soon as you set foot in Calliforny." 
 
 Not to amplify on details, our adventurer landed there 
 safely, and was, of course, like all verdant voyagers, much 
 
60 CALIFORNIA SPECULATION. 
 
 surprised at the tariff of prices subjected to his notice. 
 The porter who carried his trunk to the hotel charged him 
 ten dollars ; and though that same hotel was a leaky tent, 
 a plate of tough beef was charged seventy-five cents, and a 
 watery potato fifty. Business was very dull, too, at the 
 moment of his arrival ; the accounts from the mines were 
 disastrous, and every thing announced an approaching cri 
 sis. Moses confided his griefs to Colonel Hateful Slowboy, 
 his fellow-townsman, who was really one of the richest men 
 in California, winding up with lamentations over the ex 
 pected arrival of Prudence, whom he had promised to 
 marry. 
 
 " What kin I do with a wife," said he, " when I can't 
 support myself, even ? " 
 
 " Very true," said the colonel. " Now, if it were me, the 
 case would be very different." 
 
 " Prudence done all the courtin' herself, curnil," said our 
 hero, sulkily. " I never should have offered if it hadn't 
 been for her. I kinder like 'er pretty well, though : she's a 
 sort of pretty nice gal." 
 
 "Well, Mose," said the colonel, "what do you say to 
 giving up your claim ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " said Mose, pricking up his ears. 
 
 " What'll you take for your right and title cash down 
 no questions asked ? " 
 
 " Wall, I dunnow," said Mose, opening his jackknife and 
 picking up a chip. " Prudence is a pretty nice gal, as you 
 Baid, curnil." 
 
 " As you said, Mr. Jenkins." 
 
 " Wall, it's all the same. The critter's very fond of me. 
 and so be I of her. I had plaguy hard work, I tell you, t 
 get her consent." 
 
CALIFORNIA SPECULATION. 61 
 
 " Come, come," said the colonel, " you want to drive a 
 hard bargain with me. I'm willing to give you a fair price, 
 Bay twenty thousand ; but I don't want to be swindled." 
 
 " Say twenty-five thousand and take her, curnil." 
 
 "No twenty." 
 
 "Cash down?" 
 
 Cash down." 
 
 "Done." 
 
 " The money's ready whenever Prudence is." 
 
 In a few days another ship from Boston came in, and 
 Prudence was among the first to land. Mose met her with 
 very little ardor, the colonel remaining in the background. 
 After some little conversation, the young lady reminded her 
 lover of their agreement. 
 
 " I can't do it, Prudence ; I've swore off I've jined the 
 old bachelor society." 
 
 " But you promised me," screamed Prudence. 
 
 " Can't help that ; you can't get a verdict here for breach 
 es of promise ; there ain't no law here ; every body goes on 
 his own individual hook." 
 
 " You cruel monster, why can't you marry me ? " 
 
 "'Cause." 
 
 " 'Cause what ? " 
 
 " 'Cause," said Mose, retreating to a safe distance, " I've 
 traded you away!" 
 
 Colonel Slowboy was at hand to catch the fair one as she 
 came near falling. He was her old beau, and he knew the 
 weak points of her character ; moreover he had splendid 
 red whiskers and a million of money she married him, 
 partly from ambition and partly from revenge. 
 
 The moment they were united, Moses set sail for the 
 United States, with his twenty thousand dollars, and ar- 
 6 
 
62 CALIFORNIA SPECULATION. 
 
 rived back safely. When asked how he had accumulated 
 such a sum in so short a time, he answered, " trading," and 
 when questioned about the prospects of the El Dorado, 
 would answer, with a grin, that it was a " great country for 
 women." And this was the end of his California specu 
 lation 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 
 
 W/TH the army of Marshal Saxe, encamped near Fon 
 tenoy ready to give battle to the allies, there were not a fe\v 
 ladies, who, impelled by a chivalric feeling, or personally 
 interested in the fate of some of the combatants, had fol 
 lowed the troops to witness the triumph of the French arms. 
 Their presence was at once the incitement and reward of 
 valor, for what soldier would not fight with tenfold gallantry 
 when he knew that his exploits were witnessed by the eyes 
 of her he loved as wife, mistress, or mother, and whose 
 safety or honor, perhaps, depended on his prowess ? 
 
 Among those most distinguished for their beauty was 
 the youthful Heloise, the lovely daughter of the Baron de 
 Clairville, a French general officer. The beaux yeux of the 
 demoiselle had enslaved more than one young officer, but 
 of the host of suitors none could boast with reason of en 
 couragement, except Henri de Grandville, and Raoul, Count 
 de St. Prix, both commanding companies in the French 
 Guards. Both were handsome and accomplished young 
 men, and both had yet their spurs to win upon the field of 
 battle. They had been fast friends until the pursuit of the 
 same lady had created a sort of estrangement between them. 
 Little was known of Henri de Grandville previous to his 
 reception of his commission in the guards. He had been 
 brought up by his mother in an old provincial chateau, and 
 though his manners and education were those of a gentle- 
 
 63 
 
64 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN 
 
 man, still he seemed but little acquainted with the world, 
 and above all ignorant of the lighter accomplishments of 
 the courtier. Perhaps this very simplicity of manner and 
 frankness of character, contrasting so strangely with the 
 fashionable affectations of the court, endeared him to his 
 comrades, and strongly prepossessed Heloise de Clairville 
 in his favor. His rival was of a different stamp. Raoul 
 de St. Prix was a dashing, brilliant officer, brave as steel, 
 but fond of dress, reckless, dissipated, and extravagant. 
 Yet his faults were those of his age, and belonged to the 
 circumstances by which he was surrounded. The Baron 
 de Clairville, while he left his daughter free to make her 
 election, yet, as a plain, blunt soldier, rather than a courtier, 
 secretly inclined to favor the pretensions of Henri. Still, 
 his treatment of the two young guardsmen was the same, 
 for they gave equal promise of military gallantry. 
 
 It was on the eve of the battle of Fontenoy that Henri 
 sought an interview with Heloise, who occupied a gay pa 
 vilion near her father's tent. He found her alone and 
 weeping. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said he, " you are unhappy. Will you 
 permit a friend to inquire the cause of your sorrow ? " 
 
 " Can you ask me, Monsieur de Grandville ! Of the 
 thousands of brave men who lie down to-night in peaceful 
 slumber, how 'many sleep their last sleep on earth! How 
 many eyes, that will witness to-morrow's sun arise, will be 
 closed forever before it goes down at evening! O, what 
 a dreadful business is this trade of war ! My poor father, 
 he never cares for himself, he never asks his men to go 
 where he ,is unwilling to lead. I fear for his safety in the 
 deadly conflict of to-morrow." 
 
 " If the devotion of one faithful follower can save him, 
 lady," answered Henri, " be assured of his safety. I would 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 65 
 
 pour out the blood in my veins as freely as water to shield 
 the father of Heloise de Clairville." 
 
 " But you you Henri Monsieur de Grandville 
 you think nothing of your own life." 
 
 " If ' I fall," answered the young soldier, " my poor 
 mother will weep bitterly for her only son, though he perish 
 on the field of honor. But who else will shed a tear for the 
 poor guardsman ? " 
 
 " Henri ! " exclaimed the young girl, reproachfully, and 
 the soft eyes she raised to his were filled with tears. 
 
 "Is it possible ?" cried the young soldier. "Can my 
 fate awaken even a momentary interest in the heart of the 
 loveliest, the gentlest of her sex ? Ah, why do you render 
 life so dear to me at the moment I must peril it ? " 
 
 " Believe me," answered Heloise, drying her tears, " that I 
 would not hold you back, when honor beckons you. It is 
 to such hands as yours that the honor of the golden lilies 
 is committed. I am the daughter of a soldier, and though 
 these tears confess my sex, I honor bravery when it is dis 
 played in a good cause. I honor the soldier as much as I 
 detest the duellist." 
 
 " Then listen to one whose sword was never stained with 
 his brother's blood. I had thought to go to the field with 
 my secret concealed in my own breast, but something im 
 pels me to speak out. I love you, Heloise I have dared 
 to love to adore you." 
 
 The fair girl blushed till her very temples were crim 
 soned over with eloquent blood. The young soldier threw 
 himself at her feet, and taking the fair hand she aban 
 doned to him, covered it with kisses; nor did he rise 
 till he had received confirmation of his new-born hopes, and 
 knew that, for good or ill, the heart of Heloise was irrevo 
 cably liif*. Finally, he was compelled to tear himself away^ 
 6* 
 
66 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 
 
 but he carried to his tent a feeling of delicious joy which 
 steeled his mind against all thought of the chances of the 
 morrow. 
 
 The moments passed away in delirious revery, but at 
 length he was interrupted by St. Prix. 
 
 The count was in the worst of humors his brow was 
 dark with passion, and he threw himself into a seat, and 
 flung his plumed hat on the table with an energy that be 
 trayed the violence of his emotions. 
 
 "What's the matter, Raoul?" asked Henri. "Has 
 Saxe changed his plans ? Do we fall back instead of 
 advancing ? " 
 
 " No, thank God ! there will be plenty of throat-cutting 
 to-morrow, and the French Guards have the post of honor." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed Henri, joyfully. 
 
 " You seem in excellent spirits to-night, Captain Henri 
 de Grandville." 
 
 " I wish I could say as much of you, Captain Raoul de 
 St. Prix." 
 
 " Tell me the cause of your felicity." 
 
 " Enlighten me respecting your ill humor." 
 
 " "Willingly, on condition that you will explain your sat 
 isfaction." 
 
 " Agreed." 
 
 " Well, then you know the marked preference 
 marked preference, I say always shown me by Made 
 moiselle Heloise de Clairville." 
 
 " I will not dispute with you go on." 
 
 " You must have been blinded by absurd hopes not to 
 have noticed it ; every officer in the army looked to me aa 
 thcfutur of the lady. Well, sir, encouraged and led on by 
 this siren, I made my proposals to her to-night. Ventrt 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 67 
 
 St. Gris ! I had engaged to settle wHh my creditors out 
 of her marriage portion." 
 
 " Go on go on this is excellent, St. Prix." 
 
 " Well, sir, she rejected me me, the Count de St. Prix. 
 A prior engagement, forsooth ! I wish to Heaven I knew 
 the fellow ! Before sunrise he should have more button 
 holes in his doublet than ever his tailor made." 
 
 " Captain St. Prix," replied Henri, " you have not far 
 to look. In me behold the fortunate suitor. Come, come ; 
 confess that your pride, and not your heart, was engaged 
 in the affair. The game was fairly played ; the stakes are 
 mine." 
 
 " This trifling will not pass muster with me, sir," said the 
 count, sternly. " Know if you knew it not before 
 that Raoul de St. Prix never fixed his eye on a prize that 
 he did not obtain, or missing it, failed to punish his success 
 ful rival. You are a soldier, and you understand me, sir," 
 he added, touching his sword knot with his gloved hand. 
 
 " This is midsummer madness, Raoul," answered Henri, 
 with good temper. " Had I been unsuccessful, painful, 
 fatal as the disappointment would have been, I should have 
 resigned the lady to you without a struggle." 
 
 " That shows the difference between a gentleman and a 
 parvenu" retorted St. Prix. 
 
 " A parvenu I " cried De Grandville, starting to his feet. 
 
 " Yes. Who knows you ? Whence came you ? You 
 are an intruder in our ranks." 
 
 " I bear the king's commission." 
 
 "Yes, and have not courage enough to sustain it. I 
 have defied you to your teeth, and you refuse to fight." 
 
 " My principles are opposed to duelling. In the words 
 of the lady whose preference honors me, * I honor the soldier 
 as much as I detest the duellist.' Besides, has not the 
 
68 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 
 
 marshal strictly forbidden duels in the camp ? Conscience, 
 reason, authority, every consideration forbids my acceptance 
 of the challenge." 
 
 " Then," said St. Prix, " you shall submit to an indignity 
 that disgraces a French gentleman forever." And raising 
 his sheathed sword, he struck De Grandville with the fla f 
 of the scabbard. 
 
 Henri's sword instantly flashed in the lamplight, and St 
 Prix drawing his rapier, they were instantly engaged in 
 deadly combat. Both were expert swordsmen, and while 
 one fought with the ferocity of hatred 'and disappointment, 
 the arm of the other was nerved by a sense of wrong. The 
 metallic ring of their blades w r as unintermitted, for neithei 
 paused to take breath, but, with teeth set and eyes glar 
 ing, thrust, parried, advanced, and fell back in the fierce 
 ardor of the combat. At last, De Grandville, seeing an op 
 portunity, sent his adversary's blade whirling through the 
 air, and drawing back his weapon, prepared to thrust it 
 through his breast. 
 
 "Strike!" said St. Prix; "you have vanquished me in 
 love and in arms, and there is nothing left me but to die." 
 
 " Die, then, but on the field of battle, brave Raoul," said 
 de Grandville, " and since I have deprived you of your 
 sword, take mine ; I shall be honored by the exchange." 
 
 " Hold ! " said a stern voice ; and turning, Henri beheld 
 with confusion the countenance of Marshal Saxe, who, 
 attended by a file of musketeers, had entered the tent at 
 the close of the duel. " You will give up your sword to 
 this officer, Captain de Grandville," added he, pointing 
 to a commissioned officer by whom he was accompanied. 
 " Count de St. Prix, you will pick up your weapon, also, 
 and surrender it. Officers who forget themselves so far as 
 to seek each other's lives upon the eve of battle, with the 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 69 
 
 enemy before them, are unworthy of command. This is 
 matter for the provost marshal," 
 
 And the old soldier seated himself at the table, and eyed 
 ,he offenders angrily and sternly. 
 
 " May it please your excellency," said St. Prix, " I 
 alone deserve to suffer. I insulted the gentleman, and 
 forced him to fight." 
 
 " Forced him to fight ? " said the marshal. " Hadn't he 
 read the orders of the day ? " 
 
 " I do not claim your clemency, marshal," said Henri. 
 " I committed this fault with my eyes open. But a man 
 cannot always command his passions." 
 
 " That's true, my lad. But what were you fighting 
 about?" 
 
 "A woman, your excellency," said St. Prix. 
 
 " A woman ! fools ! a woman that's not to be had with 
 out fighting for isn't worth having. Well, well boys 
 will be boys. I pardon you on two conditions. In the first 
 place, you must shake hands." Henri and Raoul advanced 
 and joined their hands. " And in the next place, that you 
 give a good account of yourselves to-morrow. Sacre nom 
 de Dieu ! I can ill spare two lads of spirit from the guards. 
 And now," said the marshal, rising, after restoring their 
 swords to the officers, "good night, gentlemen ; and plenty 
 of hard knocks to-morrow." 
 
 The next day witnessed one of those terrible encounters, 
 whose sanguinary prints make a more indelible impression 
 on the page of history than the records of the more gener 
 ous deeds of peaceful life. The greatest gallantry was dis 
 played on both sides, and on the part of the French no 
 officers were more distinguished for their valor than the 
 two guardsmen whose encounter on the previous evening 
 we have just related. Raoul de St. Prix, in the early part 
 
70 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 
 
 of the engagement, fell sword in hand at the head of hid 
 company, thus meeting with honor a fate he had earnestly 
 desired. Henri de Grandville, in the course of the day, 
 found himself in command of the regiment, every officer 
 of higher rank having fallen. When the carnage had 
 ceased, he laid a stand of captured colors at the feet of the 
 commander-in-chief, and was complimented by Marshal 
 Saxe at the head of the army, receiving assurance that his 
 gallantry should be at once reported to the king. 
 
 Flushed with triumph, the young guardsman flew to the 
 presence of his mother, to receive her embrace and recount 
 in modest terms the story of his deeds. She rejoiced in his 
 safety, and sympathized with his joy. But all at once, as 
 he made her the confident of other hopes, and enlarged on 
 the prospect of his speedy union with Heloise de Clairvillc, 
 her countenance changed, and her eyes became suffused 
 with tears. 
 
 " Dear Henri," said she, " I knew nothing of this. "Why 
 did you not sooner apprise me of this fatal passion ? " 
 
 " Fatal passion, dear mother ! Why do you thus char 
 acterize the love I bear to the purest, the most beautiful of 
 her sex ? " 
 
 " She is, indeed, all that you paint her, Henri ; but you 
 must learn the hard task of renouncing your hopes. You 
 can never marry her." 
 
 " And why so ? Do you refuse your consent ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no. But the Baron de Clairville " 
 
 " He regards me with a favorable eye. I have reason to 
 think he knows of my attachment to his daughter, and ap 
 proves of it. Even now, his congratulations had a marked 
 meaning, which could hardly be ambiguous." 
 
 " But a fatal, an insurmountable barrier lies between you 
 and the object of your hopes." 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 71 
 
 " Do not keep me in suspense," cried the young soldier 
 " Explain this mystery, I implore you." 
 
 " Have you fortitude to listen to a dreadful secret, the 
 possession of which has well nigh destroyed the life of your 
 mother ? " 
 
 " God will give me strength to bear any stroke," replied 
 Henri. " Thanks to your instruction and example, I have 
 schooled myself to suffer, unrepining, whatever Providence, 
 in its infinite wisdom, sees fitting to inflict. If I have a 
 soul for the dangers of the field, I have also, I think, the 
 courage to confront those trials that pierce the heart with 
 keener agonies than any the steel of a foeman can inflict. 
 Fear not to task me beyond my strength." 
 
 " I will be as brief as possible," said the lady. " Your 
 father, Henri, was of noble birth and possessed of fortune. 
 My own share of the world's goods was small, and yet it 
 was on this pittance alone that we were sustained, till the 
 exertions of a generous friend procured you, under the 
 name of De Grandville, (my maiden name,) a commission 
 in the guards." 
 
 " Then De Grandville was not the name of my father." 
 
 "No he belonged to the noble house of Montmorenci, 
 The early years of our married life were passed in happi 
 ness that I always feared was too great to be enduring. It 
 was brought to a bitter and miserable end. Deadly ene 
 mies for the best and noblest have their foes conspired 
 against your father, and he was accused falsely accused, 
 mark me of treason to his king and country. I will not 
 tell you by what forgery and perjury he was made to ap 
 pear guilty but he was convicted and sentenced " 
 
 " Sentenced ! " 
 
 " Ay, sentenced, and suffered. He died by the hands of 
 Monsieur de Paris ! " 
 
72 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 
 
 " Monsieur de Paris ! " 
 
 " The executioner ! " 
 
 Henri uttered a piercing cry, and covered his face with 
 his hands. He remained a long time in this attitude, hia 
 frame convulsed by the agonies of grief, while his mother 
 watched, with streaming eyes, the effect of her communi 
 cation. At length he removed his hands, and raised his 
 head. His countenance was deadly pale, the only indica 
 tion of the train of emotions which had just convulsed him, 
 but his look was firm and high. 
 
 " Mother," said he, pressing her hand, " I thank you. 
 Tt was better to learn this dreadful secret from your lips 
 than from the words of another. Henceforth we will live 
 for each other we shall have a common sorrow and a 
 common fate. I pray you to excuse me for a few mo 
 ments. I will soon rejoin you, but I have first a duty to 
 perform." 
 
 The young guardsman passed from his mother's presence 
 to that of the Baron de Clairville. 
 
 " Welcome, welcome ! my brave boy," said the old sol 
 dier. " You have fairly won your spurs." 
 
 " Sir, you flatter me," replied Henri, gravely. 
 
 " Not at all. Saxe himself says that more distinguished 
 gallantry never fell beneath his notice." 
 
 " You think then, baron, I can claim a post of honor and 
 danger in the next engagement ? " 
 
 " You can lead the Forlorn Hope if you like." 
 
 " Enough, baron. I came to ask your forgiveness." 
 
 " My forgiveness ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir, for having wronged you unconsciously so lately 
 as last evening." 
 
 " Wronged me, and how, strange boy? you talk in 
 riddles." 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 73 
 
 " Last evening, sir, on the eve of battle, which might 
 well, considering what followed, have been my last of life, 
 1 sought your daughter. Her manner, some unguarded 
 words she dropped, emboldened me to declare a secret 
 which I had hitherto kept fast locked in my breast. I 
 threw myself at her feet, and told her that I loved her." 
 
 "And she " 
 
 " Confessed that she loved me in return." 
 
 " Henri ! my boy my son my hero ! this news makes 
 me young again ! it gladdens my old heart like the shout 
 of victory upon a stricken field. Is this your offence ? I 
 ireely pardon it." 
 
 " You know not all, baron. You knew that I was a poor 
 and obscure soldier of fortune." 
 
 " The man who has distinguished himself as you have 
 done this day, might claim the hand of an emperor's 
 daughter. 1 " 
 
 " Baron, between me and Heloise there lies a black 
 shadow a memory a horror, which forbids our meet 
 ing. The very name I bear does not belong to me." 
 
 " And how may you be named, young man, if not De 
 Grandville?" 
 
 " Henri de Montmorenci," replied the young soldier. 
 
 " De Montmorenci ! " cried the baron. " That is a noble 
 and historic name. The house of Montmorenci has been 
 well represented in the field." 
 
 ** And on the scaffold ! " added Henri, with deep emo 
 tion. 
 
 "The scaffold!" exclaimed the baron, "Yes, yes; 1 
 remember now a dreadful tragedy. But k? suffered un 
 justly." 
 
 " No matter," answered Henri. " The ignominious pun 
 ishment remains a stain upon our escutcheon. Men wilj 
 7 
 
74 THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 
 
 point to me as the son of a condemned and executed traitor- 
 Could I forget for a moment the tragedy which has ren 
 dered my poor mother an animated image of death, the 
 finger of the world would recall my wandering thoughts to 
 the horrors of the fact. The scaffold, with all its bloody 
 paraphernalia, would rise up before me." 
 
 " Henri, you are too sensitive," said the baron. " The 
 best and bravest of France (alas for our history!) have 
 closed their lives upon the scaffold. I believe your father 
 innocent. If it were otherwise, you have redeemed the 
 honor of your race. You deserve my daughter's hand 
 take her and be happy." 
 
 " Make her the companion of my agony ! Never." 
 
 " Come with me," said the baron ; " her smiles shall dis 
 pel these gloomy fantasies." 
 
 "No, no! urge me not," said the young guardsman. 
 " Let me return to my poor mother. She has need of all my 
 consolation. I renounce forever my ill-fated attachment. 
 Heaven, for its own wise purposes, has chosen to afflict me. 
 Farewell, baron ; I thank you for your kindness your 
 generous friendship. You and Heloise will soon learn that 
 Henri de Montmorenci is no more. After the next battle, 
 if you seek me out, you will find me where the French 
 dead lie thickest on the field." 
 
 " Noble-hearted fellow ! " cried the baron, when Henri 
 had left him. " He ought to be a field marshal." 
 
 "Marshal Saxe requests your immediate presence, 
 baron," said an aiderde-camp, presenting himself with a 
 salute. 
 
 "Monsieur de Baron," said the commander-in-chief, 
 when De Clairville had obeyed the summons, "I have 
 chosen you to carry my despatches to the king ; you w^ll 
 find yourself honorably mentioned therein, and I think the 
 favor of royalty will reward your merit." 
 
THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN. 75 
 
 The baron bowed low as he received the despatches from 
 the hand of the marshal, and was soon ready for the jour 
 ney, first taking a hasty farewell of his daughter, whom he 
 commended to the care of Madame de Grandville, (or 
 rather Montmorenci,) during his absence. 
 
 In five days thereafter, he reported himself to the mar 
 shal, and was then at liberty to attend to his private con 
 cerns. He found Heloise in the company of Henri and 
 his mother, and the gloom depicted on their countenances 
 presented a singular contrast to the radiant joy that spar 
 kled in the eyes and smiled on the lips of the genial and 
 warm-hearted old soldier. He kissed his daughter, saluted 
 Madame de Grandville, and then, shaking the young guards 
 man warmly by the hand, exclaimed, 
 
 u Good news, Henri ; I bring you a budget of them. 
 The king has heard of your gallantry, and inquired into 
 your story." 
 
 " Heaven bless him ! " exclaimed the mother. 
 
 " The memory of your father," continued the baron, " has 
 been vindicated by a parliamentry decree affirming his in 
 nocence. His forfeited estates are restored to his family ; 
 and I bring you, under the king's seal, your commission as 
 full colonel in the French Guards, and letters patent of 
 nobility, Count Henri de Montmorenci ! " 
 
 Henri and his mother were nearly overwhelmed by this 
 good news; while Heloise clung to her father's arm for 
 support. 
 
 " No fainting, girl," said the happy baron. " That will 
 never do for a soldier's wife. Here, take her, count, make 
 her happy and let us hear no more of your volunteering 
 on Forlorn Hopes at least, during the honeymoon." 
 
 We need not add that the baron's injunctions were im 
 plicitly obeyed. 
 
PERSONAL SATISFACTION. 
 
 MRS. TUBES had been a very fine woman she was 
 still gocd looking at the period of which we write, but 
 then 
 
 " Fanny \vas younger once than she is now, 
 And prettier of course." 
 
 She had been married some years. Tubbs was a gentle 
 man farmer, and lived out in Roxbury, when land was 
 cheaper there than it is now, and a man of moderate means 
 could own a few acres within three miles of Boston State 
 House. On retiring from the wholesale West India goods 
 business, he had purchased a little estate in the vicinity of 
 the Norfolk House, and raised vegetables and other " no 
 tions" with the usual success attendant upon the agricul 
 tural experiments of gentlemen amateurs ; that is, his po 
 tatoes cost him about half a dollar a peck, and his quinces 
 ninepence apiece. He had a greenhouse one quarter of a 
 mile long, and kept a fire in it all the year round, at the 
 suggestion of a rascally gardener, whose brother kept a 
 wood and coal yard. We could tell some droll stories about 
 Tubbs's gardening, if they were to the purpose. We will 
 mention, however, that when he went into the vegetable 
 business he was innocent as a lamb, and verdant as one of 
 his own green peapods, and of course he made some curious 
 mistakes. He was not aware that the infant bean, like the 
 
 76 
 
PERSONAL SATISFACTION. 7V 
 
 pious JEneas, was " in the habit of carrying its father on its 
 back," and so thinking that nature had made a mistake, he 
 reversed the order of the young sprouts, and reinterred .the 
 aged beans. This was one of his many blunders. How 
 ever, we have nothing to do with his gardening. We have 
 said he was innocent as a lamb, but he was by no means so 
 pacific ; on the contrary, his temper was as inflammable as 
 gun cotton the slightest spark would set it in a blaze. 
 
 To return to Mrs. Tubbs, whom we have most ungallant- 
 ly left in the lurch since the first paragraph. She had been 
 into Boston one day, shopping, and returned home in the 
 omnibus. She sat between two young men. The one on 
 her right was modest and well-behaved, while the other 
 was entirely the reverse. He might have been drinking 
 
 he might have been partially insane these are chari 
 table suppositions; but at all events, he had the imperti 
 nence to address Mrs. Tubbs in a low tone, audible only to 
 herself. He muttered some compliment to her appearance 
 
 talked a little nonsense inoffensive in itself, but in 
 tolerable as coming from a stranger. Mrs. Tubbs made no 
 reply, but she was glad to spring from the conveyance 
 when the driver pulled up at the Norfolk House. To her 
 great joy she espied the faithful Tubbs, attired in a blouse, 
 and wheeling a barrow full of gravel down Bartlett Street, 
 with all the dignity of a gentleman farmer, conscious of 
 being a useful, if not an ornamental, member of society. 
 She accosted him with, 
 
 " Tubbs, love, I've got something to tell you." 
 
 Tubbs relinquished the handles of the barrow, and sal 
 
 down in the gravel. 
 
 " Mr. Tubbs ! " screamed the lady, " you've got your be^ 
 
 pantaloons on." 
 
 7* 
 
78 PERSONAL SATISFACTION. 
 
 * Never mind, my dear ; out with your story, for To. 
 busy." 
 
 " Mr. Tubbs ! I've been insulted ! " 
 
 Mr. Tubbs's head instantly became as red as one of his 
 own blood beets. 
 
 " Who is the miscreant ? " he yelled, jumping up. 
 
 " A young man who sat next to me in the omnibus." 
 
 " Describe him ! " 
 
 " Dark hair and eyes, with a black stock, light waistcoat, 
 dark-colored coat and pantaloons " 
 
 " Which way did he go ? " interrupted Mr. Tubbs. 
 
 " Into the hourly office." 
 
 'Tis well ! Mrs. T., I'll have his heart's blood ! " 
 
 " Now, T., be calm ! " interposed his better half. 
 
 "Mrs. T., I will be calm," was the dignified reply, 
 !t calm as the surface of Mount ^Etna, on the eve of an 
 eruption. Farewell, love, for a moment. Have an eye to 
 the wheelbarrow while I have a settlement with this scoun 
 drel ! " 
 
 With these words, Tubbs marched up the hill. He en 
 tered the hourly office, and looked round him. His first 
 glance lighted on a young man who answered the descrip 
 tion given by Mrs. Tubbs ; but he wished to make assurance 
 doubly sure, and so he accosted him politely, 
 
 " Fine growing weather, sir." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the stranger. 
 
 " Peas are doing finely," said Mr. Tubbs. 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " If the weather holds, we can plant corn next week." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Pray, sir," continued Tubbs, " did you come out in the 
 last coach ? " 
 
 "I did, sir." 
 
PERSONAL SATISFACTION. 79 
 
 "Was there a lady in the coach?" 
 
 " There was, sir. I recollect a lady sat next to me." 
 
 " You scoundrel! what did you mean by insulting my 
 wifet" 
 
 This question was followed by a blow, which ssnt the 
 young gentleman sprawling on the floor. Tubbs stood him 
 up, and knocked him down again and again, like a man 
 practising on a single pin in a bowling alley. The sufferer 
 showed some fight, but Tubbs's blood was up, and he ham 
 mered down all opposition. The drivers looked en in ad 
 miration to see " Old Tubbs vollop the chap as had insulted 
 his wife," and so he had it all his own way. He dragged 
 the offender out of the office, and finished him off on the 
 sidewalk. He was engaged in this laudable occupation, 
 when his better half, tired of mounting guard over the 
 wheelbarrow, appeared upon the field. 
 
 " Mr. Tubbs ! " she screamed. 
 
 " Wait a minute, my dear. I've only done one side of 
 his head." 
 
 " But, Mr. Tubbs ! That wasn't the man ! " 
 
 Tubbs suspended operations, and stood fixed in horror. 
 The remains of the injured individual were taken into the 
 hourly office. Then came remorse and apologies unaccept 
 ed and unacceptable a lawyer's letter an action for 
 assault and battery, and heavy damages. The real offend 
 er had escaped, and was never heard of; the victim was 
 the well-behaved young gentleman, who had sat on Mrs. 
 Tubbs's right. Her description, which had answered for 
 both, had occasioned the dilemma, which, while it proved 
 an expensive lesson to Mr. Tubbs, was also an effectual 
 one, and saved him from many a rash and hasty action, 
 and induced him ever afterwards *o adopt Colonel Crock 
 ett's golden maxim, " Be always sure you're right, then go 
 ahead" 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 IN one of those old feudal castles, which, perched, liko 
 eagle nests, upon the picturesque hills that overhang 
 
 " The \vide and winding Rhine," 
 
 and with their crumbling and ivy-grown towers, arrest the 
 eyes of the delighted traveller, as he views them from the 
 deck of the gliding steamer, there dwelt, some years ago, 
 the Baron Von Rosenburg and his lady Mathilde. The 
 baron was a very proud man, and continually boasting of 
 his descent from a " long and noble line of martial ances 
 tors," gentlemen who were wont, in the " good old times," 
 to wear steel on head, back, and breast, and each of whom 
 supported a score of retainers in his feudal castle. Where 
 the money comes from to support a princely housekeeping, 
 when the head of the family has no property or employ 
 ment, is sometimes a mystery nowadays ; but no such 
 doubt attached to the resources of the baron's ancestors. 
 These gentlemen, when short of provisions, would sally 
 forth at the head of their followers, and capture the first 
 drove of cattle they encountered, without stopping to in 
 quire into the ownership. Sometimes they made excur 
 sions on the river, and levied contributions on the little bark* 
 of traders who often carried valuable cargoes from o 
 Rhine town to another. 
 
 80 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 81 
 
 But the privileges of the robber knights and bandit no 
 bles were sadly shorn by the progressive spirit of modern 
 civilization. With a total disregard of the immunities of 
 chivalry, modern legislators declared that it was as great a 
 crime for a baron to seize on a herd of cattle as for a 
 peasant to steal a sheep. Hence the great families along 
 the Rhine went into decay. The castles were dismantled, 
 many noble names died out, very few remained, the repre 
 sentatives of the ancestral glory of olden times. 
 
 Among them was the baron. He had been a soldier and 
 a courtier in his youth, had spent some time abroad, 
 and was about forty when he married a lady of the same 
 age, and settled down in the old family castle of Rosenberg. 
 Here he lorded it over the surrounding valley, the simple 
 inhabitants of which, though exempt from all feudal obliga 
 tions, yet in some sort regarded themselves as vassals of 
 the baron. They made him presents of fish, accompanied 
 him to the chase, and lent him a willing hand, whenever he 
 required assistance at the eastle. 
 
 The baron, though he had the wherewithal to live com 
 fortably enough, was yet a poor representative of the race 
 he sprang from. His army consisted of a few farm ser 
 vants, his cavalry of a ploughboy on a cart-horse, and his 
 navy of a fishing boat. But, on the whole, he was happy. 
 He passed his days either in trimming his vines or hunting, 
 and his evenings in poring over mildewed parchments or 
 books of heraldry, hunting up long pedigrees, and puffing a 
 monstrous meerschaum till the atmosphere was as dense as 
 the interior of a smokehouse. The lady Mathilde em 
 broidered from morning till night. 
 
 They had, however, a common source of grief. Fate 
 had not blessed them with children. The lady yearned for 
 the companionship of a daughter ; the baron mourned at 
 
82 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 the prospect of the extinction of his name for want of a 
 male heir. 
 
 It was while pondering on this subject one day, as they 
 were strolling out together, that the baron and his lady 
 came upon the cottage of an old soldier named Karl Muel 
 ler, who cultivated a little vineyard not far from the castle. 
 
 The old man was seated on a bench before his door, 
 smoking, and so deeply plunged in revery, that he was not 
 aware of the approach of visitors till the baron touched 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 " In a brown study, Karl ? " said the baron. 
 
 " I have enough to think about," returned the soldier 
 " I'm getting old, and one thing troubles me." 
 
 " What's that, my good fellow ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, baron, I'm not alone here." 
 
 "Not alone?" 
 
 " No, sir I have I have a little child here." 
 
 " I never knew you were married, Karl." 
 
 " Nor was I, your honor. For I always thought an in 
 fantry soldier ought to-be in marching order, and never 
 have more baggage than he could carry in his knapsack. 
 No, no ; the child is none of mine." 
 
 " But it is related to you," said the baroness. 
 
 " It is my grandchild, madam," replied the soldier, fixing 
 his eyes on the lady ; " and the child of as brave a man as 
 ever faced the fire of the enemy. He might have been a 
 field marshal, for the matter of that. I saw him at Ober- 
 stadt when the hussars went down to charge the enemy's 
 light cavalry. Faith, madam, they made daylight shine 
 through their ranks. Their curved sabres cut them up as 
 the sickle does the corn. I saw him, the girl's father, 
 madam, go into that affair with the hussars ; but he came 
 not out safe. It was pitiful to see his uniform all dabbled 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 83 
 
 with blood, as he lay on the ground, and to see his pale lips 
 quivering, as he prayed for water. I gave him the last 
 drop in my canteen, and I swore I'd protect the child. But 
 I fear I'm getting too old for the task." 
 
 The baroness, whose eyes were filled with tearo, turned 
 to her husband, and asked, 
 
 "Shall we not give a shelter to the child of a brave 
 man ? " 
 
 The baron nodded, and the proposal was accepted by 
 Karl, who retired into his cottage, and immediately reap 
 peared, bringing forth a beautiful girl of ten, with fair hair 
 and blue eyes, and a form of graceful symmetry. 
 
 " A girl ! nonsense ! " said the baron, in a tone of disap 
 pointment. But the baroness folded the child in her arms 
 with rapture. The child responded to the caresses of the 
 lady with equal ardor. 
 
 So the little Adelaide was soon domesticated in the cas 
 tle which her frolic spirit filled with gayety. The baroness 
 renewed her youth in gazing upon hers, and the baron 
 never scolded her, even when she took his pipe out of his 
 mouth, or rummaged among his parchments. 
 
 As she grew up to womanhood, she became more serious 
 and thoughtful. She was anxious to learn every thing 
 touching her father, but on this subject the baroness could 
 give her no information ; and Karl, her grandfather, seemed 
 equally averse to speaking of it. When hard pressed, he 
 promised to speak out at some future time. 
 
 One day she was summoned in great haste to the cottage 
 of old Karl. The old man had suddenly been taken ill, 
 anf. required the presence of his granddaughter. It was 
 evident, at a glance, that he was on his death bed. 
 
 " Adelaide," said he, " forgive me, before I die, that I 
 may depart in peace." 
 
84 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 "Forgive you, dear grandfather! am I not deeply in 
 debted to you ? " 
 
 " I should have reposed more confidence in you ; I should 
 have spoken to you about your parents." 
 
 " My father ? " asked Adelaide. 
 
 " Was a brave and good man. But of your mother 
 your good mother she was " 
 
 Here a spasm interrupted his utterance, and he lay back 
 on his pillow gasping for breath. After a brief space he 
 seemed to revive again, and made strong efforts to express 
 himself, but his breath failed him. He motioned to Ade 
 laide to fetch him writing materials, and while she held a 
 sheet of paper on a book before him, he essayed with feeble 
 fingers to trace a sentence with a pen. But the rapid ap 
 proach of death foiled all his endeavors to communicate a 
 secret that evidently lay close to his heart ; and while the 
 young girl bent over him in an agony of grief, he gently 
 sighed away his last. The baron and baroness found their 
 protegee, an hour afterwards, still sorrowing by the bedside 
 of her early friend and protector. With gentle violence 
 they removed her from the chamber of death, and took her 
 home to the castle, where they gave directions to the proper 
 persons to take charge of the old soldier's remains, and inter 
 them with that decent respect which was due to his charac 
 ter and station. Among his effects was found a will, in 
 which he made Adelaide his heiress, bequeathing to her his 
 little landed estate, and a small sum in gold, the produce of 
 his toil and frugality. This event cast a gloom over the 
 spirits of the young maiden, from which, however, her re 
 ligious persuasions, the attention of her friends, and the 
 elasticity of her youth, eventually relieved her. 
 
 The old castle on the Rhine was gay once more, when 
 Kudolph Ernstein, a nephew of the baron, a gay young 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. &6 
 
 captain of hussars, whose gallantry and beauty had given 
 him reputation at Vienna, came to pay a long visit to his 
 uncle. He was a high-spirited and accomplished young 
 man, had served with distinction, was a devoted admirer of 
 the ladies, and one of those military Adonises who are born 
 to conquest. He was charmed to find domesticated beneath 
 the old roof tree so fair and lovable a girl as Adelaide, 
 and of course did his best to render his society agreeable to 
 her. He sang to her songs of his own writing, to airs of 
 his own composition, accompanied on his guitar ; he told her 
 tales of strange lands that he had visited, of cavalry skir 
 mishes in which he had participated, sketched her favorite 
 scenes in pencil, and offered to teach her the newest dances 
 in vogue at Vienna. He was a dangerous companion to a 
 young girl whose imagination needed but a spark to kindle 
 it, and for a time she indulged in the wild hope that she had 
 made a conquest of Rudolph. But then her reason told 
 her, that even if he loved her, it would be impossible for a 
 young man of family to offer his hand to an almost portion 
 less girl, about whose origin a veil of mystery seemed 
 wrapped. The names of her parents, even, had never been 
 disclosed to her, by the lips of probably the only man who 
 knew her history, and those lips were now cold and mute in 
 death. Hence the little gleam of sunshine which had for a 
 moment penetrated her heart was speedily quenched in a 
 deeper darkness than that which reigned in it before, and 
 she could not help viewing the visit of Rudolph as an 
 ominous event. 
 
 One morning, she was witness to a scene which dashed 
 out the last faint glimmering of hope. They were all 
 seated at a huge oaken table, from which the servants had 
 just removed the apparatus of the morning meal. 
 
 * Rudolph," said the baron, after lighting his pipe, an 
 8 F 
 
86 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 operation of great solemnity and deliberation, and taking a 
 few whiffs to make sure that its contents were duly ig 
 nited, " Rudolph, do you know why I sent for you to 
 Rosenburg ? " 
 
 " Why, sir," replied the hussar, " I suppose it was be 
 cause you really have a sort of regard for an idle, good-for- 
 nothing fellow, whose redeeming quality is an attachment to 
 a very kind old uncle, and whose nonsense and good spirits 
 are perhaps a partial compensation for the trouble he gives 
 every body in this tumble-down old castle." 
 
 " Tumble-down old castle ! " exclaimed the baron, in high 
 dudgeon, the latter part of the soldier's speech cancelling 
 the former; " why, you jackanapes, it will stand for centu 
 ries. It resisted the cannon of Napoleon, and it bids de 
 fiance to the battering of time. Yes, sir, Rosenburg will 
 stand long after your great-great-grandchildren are super 
 annuated." 
 
 " I am not likely to be blessed in the way you hint at, 
 uncle," said the soldier, carelessly. " I am likely, for aught 
 I see, to die a bachelor." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the baron. " What's to become of 
 your family name ? Do you think I will allow it to die out, 
 like the Pumpernickels, the Snaphausens, and the Ollen- 
 stoffenburgers ? No, boy. I sent for you to tell you that 
 I have contracted for your hand with my friend the Baron 
 Von Steinberg." 
 
 " Really, sir, you dispose of me in a very cavalier way." 
 
 " That's because you're too careless or lazy to look out 
 for yourself," retorted the baron. " But then you can have 
 no possible objection to the present match. The fair Julia 
 is just twenty eyes, you dog lips, you rascal a shape, 
 you blockhead, to bewitch an anchorite. And then she haa 
 the gelt the money, my boy." 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 87 
 
 * A commodity of which I happen to be minus," said the 
 soldier. 
 
 " Arn't you my heir ? " asked the baron. 
 
 " You are very kind," said the hussar, with a slight sigh. 
 
 He glanced at Adelaide, but he read no sentiment on hex 
 calm and pensive countenance. 
 
 " She's as cold as a glacier on the'Donderberg ! " he mut 
 tered to himself. 
 
 " Well, sir you haven't given me an answer," said the 
 baron, impatiently. 
 
 " My dear uncle," said the soldier, jumping up, and 
 snatching his fowling-piece, "it's a glorious morning for 
 sport ; and I'm much mistaken if I don't add a half dozen 
 brace of birds to your bill of fare to-day." 
 
 " But the fair Julia Von Steinberg ? " said the baron. 
 
 "Oil forgot," said Rudolph. " I'm entirely in your 
 hands. Do with me as you please. My profession, you 
 know, has given me habits of obedience. I suppose I must 
 sacrifice myself. Good morning." 
 
 And away he went to enjoy his sport upon the moun 
 tains. 
 
 "Young, lovely, and rich!" said poor Adelaide, with a 
 sigh, when she had regained her room. If this be true, she 
 is indeed worthy of Ernstein. He will love her they 
 will be happy and I I can but wish them joy, and 
 die." 
 
 There was great preparation in the castle Von Rosen- 
 burg, that day week, for the reception of the prospective 
 bride. Every thing was cleaned and furbished up, from 
 battlement to dungeon keep. An old flag with the family 
 arms was hoisted from the rampart, and the butler, who Lad 
 served in the wars of the Alliance, mounted an old swivel 
 on the ramparts with the intention of firing it off, on the 
 
88 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 approach of the old family carriage of the Von Steinbergs, 
 Captain Rudolph Von Ernstein, in his splendid hussar uni 
 form, looked the beau ideal of a soldier lover. Even the 
 baron was rejuvenated by a court suit that had not seen 
 the light since the nuptials of Maria Louisa and the Em 
 peror Napoleon. 
 
 At last the carriage appeared. The villagers and hang 
 ers on of the establishment hurrahed in the court yard as 
 it drew up, the old butler applied the match to the priming 
 of the swivel and was prostrated by the discharge, while 
 the baron came near tumbling over his sword in his eager 
 ness to welcome his old friend and his old friend's daughter. 
 
 The Baron Von Steinberg alighted and bowed his thanks ; 
 while Captain Rudolph handed out the lovely Julia. As 
 her light foot touched the pavement, Adelaide advanced to 
 offer a bouquet ; at one glance she appreciated the exquisite 
 beauty of her rival, and dropping the flowers, retired to an 
 obscure corner of the court yard to conceal her anguish and 
 despair. 
 
 The festive train swept into the castle. All was gayety 
 and uproar within doors. The baron could scarce contain 
 the transports of his joy ; and Von Steinberg was equally 
 excited. The excitement, however, seemed to be too much 
 for the fair Julia, whose cheek was paler than the satin 
 robe she wore, while Rudolph, perhaps from sympathy, 
 was uneasy and agitated. 
 
 At last the bell of the castle was rung for dinner, and 
 the party proceeded to the great hall. But Adelaide did 
 not make her appearance. Search was made for her ; she 
 was not in her apartment. An angry flush overspread the 
 brow of old Rosenburg at this announcement, and after some 
 minutes passed in waiting for her appearance, he ordered 
 dinner to be served without her. The repast was not a 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 89 
 
 very gay one, notwithstanding the efforts of the master of 
 the house to make it so. Night had long fallen, and Ade 
 laide did not reappear. The family, from being vexed, 
 now became alarmed, and it was determined to go in search 
 of her. Rudolph and the baron went forth with two ser 
 vants and torches to scour the woods, after vainly searching 
 through the castle. One of the men went on in advance. 
 He had been gone but a short time when he came back 
 speechless with grief and amazement. Rudolph and his 
 uncle pushed forward through the thickets, and on the banks 
 of a small stream, dammed up to form a lake, they found 
 the bonnet and shawl of the missing girl. 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed Rudolph, " she has destroyed 
 herself. I have noticed a strange wildness in her appear 
 ance for several days past ; in a fit of mental aberration 
 she has wandered away, and here found her death." 
 
 A piercing scream was heaid at this moment. The 
 baroness, who had followed them, had recognized the gar 
 ments of Adelaide. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! " she shrieked, " my own ! my 
 beautiful ! she is no more." 
 
 " This is worse and worse," said the baron, wringing his 
 hands. " This will make us all mad." 
 
 But at this moment a boat was seen approaching. It 
 was the miller, who brought with him the body of Adelaide, 
 dripping as it had been drawn from the water. He laid 
 her fair form upon the bank. The baroness, wh could not 
 be restrained, threw herself beside her, and kissed her pale 
 lips. Rudolph, too, seized the cold hands. 
 
 " She lives ! " he exclaimed. " She is not lost to us ! " 
 
 " Rudolph dear Rudolph ! " murmured the poor girl. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! she lives 1 " cried the baroness. 
 8* 
 
90 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 And it was indeed so. She had thrown herself into the 
 water, indeed, but the miller, who happened to be at hand, 
 l*ad flown to her rescue, and she was now, by the united 
 efforts of her friends, restored to consciousness. 
 
 "Dear, dear Adelaide!" cried the baroness; "your life 
 repays me now for all my sufferings. Yes, dearest, you 
 are my own, my only child. Yes, baron," she added, no 
 ticing the incredulous expression of her husband " the 
 supposed death of a daughter has wrung from a mother's 
 heart the despairing cry that betrayed her secret. In for 
 mer days, I married, secretly, Colonel Schonfeldt, a brave 
 soldier of the emperor, against whom my parents cherished 
 a deadly enmity. He fell upon the field of battle, and this 
 poor girl, the fruit of our love, was committed to the hands 
 of strangers, till such time as I could take her to my 
 heart. I avow it without shame, nor can you, baron, whose 
 noble qualities won my heart, reproach me with the love 
 I bear this dear girl." 
 
 " She is my child now," said the baron, " as well as 
 yours. Let us take her back to the castle ; she is a 
 precious charge." 
 
 " I will see to her," said Rudolph, " and it shall not be my 
 fault if she ever have another protector." 
 
 So the party regained the castle, where Von Steinberg 
 and Julia were anxiously awaiting their return. 
 
 When Adelaide had been carefully attended to, Rudolph 
 sought his uncle and guests in the great hall. 
 
 " Miss Julia Von Steinberg," said the soldier, " since con 
 fessions are the order of the night, I must place mine on 
 record. I met you to-day in obedience to orders, believing 
 my heart was my own. The event of to-night has told me 
 too truly that I had unconsciously lost it. But I am a man 
 
THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 91 
 
 af honor, and if you will accept my hand without my heart, 
 it is yours." 
 
 " Captain Ernstein," replied the beauty, " I thank you 
 for your frank confession. I cannot possibly accept your 
 hand without your heart. Nay do not frown, father 
 I have a secret for your ear, and if you do not wish te 
 wreck your daughter's happiness, you will urge me no 
 further." 
 
 Von Steinberg frowned, and pshawed, and pished, and 
 then, clearing his voice, addressed the baron. 
 
 " Come, Von Rosenberg," said he, " confess that we have 
 been acting like a couple of old fools, in trying our hand 
 at match making rit is a business for the young people 
 themselves, and not for old soldiers like us. Say, shall we 
 reduce the mutineers to obedience, or shall we let them 
 have it their own way ? " 
 
 " Circumstances alter cases," answered the baron. 
 " When I proposed for Julia's hand, I didn't know my 
 wife had a daughter to marry. And if that were not 
 the case, I am inclined to think the secret alluded to by 
 the young lady, would prove an insuperable obstacle to the 
 ratification of our treaty." 
 
 This secret was no other than a love affair between the 
 fair Julia and a certain count who had waltzed with her 
 at the baths of Baden-Baden, the preceding summer. We 
 are glad to say that the flirtation thus happily commenced 
 ended in matrimony. As for Rudolph, he was shortly 
 after united to l.ue fair Adelaide, on which occasion the 
 baron gave such a rouse as the old towers of Von Rosen 
 berg had not known since the rollicking days of its first 
 feudal masters. It was illuminated at every window and 
 loophole, so that the waters of the Rhine rolled beneath it 
 
92 THE CASTLE ON THE RHINE. 
 
 a sea of fire, or as if their channels were overflowed with 
 generous Asmanshausen ; and the old butler discharged his 
 swivel so many times that he had to be taken down from 
 the battlements and drenched with Rhenish to preserve his 
 life. 
 
 Thus ended all that is worthy commemorating in the 
 modern history of the Castle on the Rhine. 
 
LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 
 
 " TELL me, Charley, who is that fascinating creature in 
 blue that waltzes so divinely ? " asked young Frank Bel- 
 mont of his friend Charles Hastings, as they stood " play 
 ing wallflower " for the moment, at a military ball. 
 
 "Julia Heathcote," answered Charles, with a half sigh, 
 " an old flame of mine. I proposed, but she refused me." 
 
 " On ,what ground ? " 
 
 " Simply because I had a comfortable income. Her head 
 is full of romantic notions, and she dreams of nothing but 
 love in a cottage. She contends that poverty is essential 
 to happiness and money its bane." 
 
 " Have you given up all hopes of her ? " 
 
 " Entirely ; in fact, I'm engaged." 
 
 " Then you have no objections to my addressing this dear, 
 romantic angel ? " 
 
 " None whatever. But I see my fiancee excuse me 
 I must walk through the next quadrille with her." 
 
 Frank Belmont was a stranger in Boston a New York 
 er immensely rich and fashionable, but his reputation 
 had not preceded him, and Charley Hastings was the only 
 man who knew him in New England. He procured an in 
 troduction to the beauty from one of the managers, and 
 soon danced and talked himself into her good graces. In 
 fact, it was a clear case of love at first sight on both sides. 
 
 The enamoured pair were sitting ap&rt, enjoying a most 
 
 93 
 
94 LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 
 
 delightful tete-a-tete. Suddenly Belmont heaved a deep 
 sigh. 
 
 " Wl>/ do you sigh, Mr. Belmont ? " asked the fair Julia, 
 somewhai pleased with this proof of sensibility. " Is not 
 this a gay scene ? " 
 
 " Alas \ yes," replied Belmont, gloomily ; " but fate does 
 not perniA me to mmgle habitually in scenes like this. 
 They only make my ordinary life doubly gloomy and 
 even here I deem to se<s the shadow of a fiend waving me 
 away. What right h&ve I to be here?" 
 
 " What fie,jd do you allude to ? " asked Miss Heathcote, 
 with increash-g inteiest. 
 
 "A fiend Lardly presentable in good society," replied 
 Belmont, bitteiiy. "One could tolerate a Mephistophiles 
 a dignified flenif, with his pockets full of money but 
 my tormentor, il personified, would appear with seedy boots 
 and a shocking lad httt." 
 
 "How absurd:* 
 
 "It is too true/' sighed Belmont, "and the name of this 
 fiend is Poverty ! y ' 
 
 11 Are you poor i " 
 
 " Yes, madam. I am poor, and when I would fain ren 
 der myself agreeable in the eyes of beauty in the eyes 
 of on-e I could love, this fiend whispers me, ' Beware ! you 
 have nothing to offer her but love in a cottage.' " 
 
 " Mr. Belmont," said Julia, with sparkling eyes, and a 
 voice of unusual animation, "although there are sordid 
 souls in this world, who only judge of the merits of an in 
 dividual by his pecuniary possessions, I am not one of that 
 number. I respect poverty; there is something highly 
 poetical about it, and I imagine that happiness is oftener 
 found in the humble cottage than beneath the palace roof." 
 
 Belmont appeared enchanted with this encouraging 
 
LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 95 
 
 avowal. The next day, after cautioning his friend Charley 
 to say nothing of his actual circumstances, he called on the 
 widow Heathcote and her fair daughter in the character of 
 the " poor gentleman." The widow had very different no 
 tions from her romantic offspring, and when Belmont can 
 didly confessed his poverty on soliciting permission to ad 
 dress Julia, he was very politely requested to change the 
 subject, and never mention it again. 
 
 The result of all this manoeuvring was an elopement ; 
 the belle of the ball jumping out of a chamber window on 
 a shed, and coming down a flight of steps to reach her 
 lover, for the sake of being romantic, when she might just 
 as well have walked out of the front door. 
 
 The happy couple passed a day in New York city, and 
 then Frank took his beloved to his " cottage." 
 
 An Irish hack conveyed them to a miserable shanty in 
 the environs of New York, where they alighted, and Frank, 
 escorting the bride into the apartment which served for 
 parlor, kitchen, and drawing room, and was neither papered 
 nor carpeted, introduced her to his mother, much in the 
 way Claude Melnotte presents Pauline. The old woman, 
 who was peeling potatoes, hastily wiped her hands and face 
 with a greasy apron, and saluted her " darter," as she called 
 her, on both cheeks. 
 
 "Can it be possible," thought Julia, "that this vulgar 
 creature is my Belmont's mother ? " 
 
 "Frank!" screamed the old woman, "you'd better go 
 right up stairs and take off them clothes for the boy's 
 been sent arter 'em more'n fifty times. Frank borried them 
 clothes, ma'am," she added to Julia, by way of explanation, 
 " to look smart when he went down east." 
 
 The bridegroom retired on this hint, and soon reappeared 
 in a pair of faded nankeen pantaloons, reaching to about tliQ 
 
96 LOVE IN A. COTTAGE. 
 
 Calf of the leg, a very shabby black coat, out at the elbows, 
 a ragged black vest, and, instead of his varnished leather 
 boots, a pair of immense cowhide brogans. 
 
 "Now," said he, sitting quietly down by the cooking 
 stove, " I begin to feel at home. Ah ! this is delightful, 
 isn't it, dearest ? " and he warbled, 
 
 " Though never so humble, there's no place like home." 
 
 Julia's heart swelled so that she could not utter a word. 
 
 " Dearest," said Frank, " I think you told me you had 
 no objection to smoking ? " 
 
 " None in the least," said the bride ; " I rather like the 
 flavor of a cigar." 
 
 " O, a cigar ! " replied Belmont ; " that would never do 
 for a poor man." 
 
 And O, horror ! he produced an old clay pipe, and filling 
 it from a little newspaper parcel of tobacco, began to smoke 
 with a keen relish. 
 
 " Dinner ! dinner ! " he exclaimed at length ; "ah ! thank 
 you, mother; I'm as hungry as a bear. Codfish and pota 
 toes, Julia not very tempting fare but what of that ? 
 our aliment is love ! " 
 
 " Yes, and by wy of treat," added the old woman, " I've 
 been and gone and bought a whole pint of Albany ale, and 
 three cream cakes, from the candy shop next block." 
 
 Poor Julia pleaded indisposition, and could not eat a 
 mouthful. Before Belmont, however, the codfish and pota 
 toes, and the ale, and cream cakes disappeared with a 
 very unromantic and unlover-like velocity. At the close of 
 the meal, a thundering double knock was heard at the door. 
 
 " Come in ! " cried Belmont. 
 
 A low-browed man, in a green waistcoat, entered. 
 
 " Now, Misther Belmont," he exclaimed, in a strong Hi- 
 
LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 97 
 
 bcrnian accent, " are ye ready to go to work ? By the 
 powers ! if I don't see ye salted to-morrow on the shop- 
 board, I'll discharge ye without a character and ye shall 
 starve on the top of that." 
 
 " To-morrow morning, Mr. Maloney," replied Belmont, 
 meekly, "I'll be at my post." 
 
 "And it'll be mighty healthy for you to do that same," 
 replied the man as he retired. 
 
 " Belmont, speak tell me," gasped Julia, " who is that 
 man that loafer ? " 
 
 " He is my employer," answered Belmont, smiling. 
 
 " And his profession ? " 
 
 " He is a tailor." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " Am a journeyman tailor, at your service a laborious 
 and thankless calling it ever was to me but now, dearest, 
 as I drive the hissing goose across the smoking seam, I 
 shall think of my own angel and my dear cottage, and be 
 happy." 
 
 That night Julia retired weeping to her room in the attic. 
 
 " That 'ere counterpin, darter," said the old woman, " I 
 worked with these here old hands. Ain't it putty ? I hope 
 you'll sleep well here. There's a broken pane of glass, but 
 I've put one of Frank's old hats in it, and I don't think you'll 
 feel the draught. There used to be a good many rats here, 
 but I don't think they'll trouble you now, for Frank's been 
 a pizinin' of 'em." 
 
 Left alone, Julia threw herself into a chair, and burst 
 into a flood of tears. Even Belmont had ceased to be at 
 tractive in her eyes the stern privations that surround 
 ed her banished all thoughts of love. The realities of life 
 had cured her in one day of all her Quixotic notions. 
 9 
 
93 LOVE IN A COTTAGE. 
 
 " Well, Julia, how do you like poverty and love in a cot 
 tage?" asked Belmont, entering in his bridal dress. 
 
 " Not so well, sir, as you seem to like that borrowed 
 suit," answered the bride, reddening with vexation. 
 
 " Very well ; you shall suffer it no longer. My carriage 
 awaits your orders at the door." 
 
 " Your carriage, indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes, dearest, it waits but for you, to bear us to Belmont 
 Hall, my lovely villa on the Hudson." 
 
 " And your mother ? " 
 
 " I have no mother, alas ! The old woman down stairs 
 is an old servant of the family." 
 
 " Then you've been deceiving me, Frank how wicked ! " 
 
 " It was all done with a good motive. You were not 
 born to endure a life of privation, but to shine the orna 
 ment of an elegant and refined circle. I hope you will not 
 love me the less when you learn that I am worth nearly 
 half a million that's the melancholy fact, and I can't 
 help it." 
 
 " O Frank ! " cried the beautiful girl, and hid her face 
 in his bosom. 
 
 She presided with grace at the elegant festivities of Bel 
 mont Hall, and seemed to support her husband's wealth and 
 luxurious style of living with the greatest fortitude and 
 resignation, never complaining of her comforts, mor mnr* 
 muring a wish for living in a cottage. 
 
THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 I WOKC up one morning and found myself famous. BYRON. 
 
 JULIAN MONTFORT was a farmer's boy ; bred up 
 plough handle and cart tail. His father and mother were 
 plain, honest people, of hard-working habits and limited 
 ideas, and without the slightest dash of romance in their 
 temperaments. Their house, their lands were unprepos 
 sessing in appearance. The soil was impoverished by long 
 and illiberal culture; and old Montfort had a true old- 
 fashioned prejudice against trees. Instead of smiling hedge 
 rows, with here and there a weeping elm or plumy ever 
 green to cast their graceful shadows upon the pasture land, 
 his acres were enclosed with harsh stone walls, or an unpic- 
 turesque Virginia fence with its zigzag of rude rails. The 
 farmer had an equal prejudice against books, " book larnin', 
 and book-larned men." Of course, with these ideas, Julian's 
 education was limited to a few quarters' schooling under an 
 old pedagogue, whose native language was Dutch, and whc 
 never took very kindly to the English tongue. Besides!, 
 teaching was only an episode with him ; for his vocation 
 was that of a clergyman, and he held forth on Sundays in 
 alternate Dutch and English to his little congregation aa 
 is still the custom in many of the sir.all agricultural parishes 
 in New York State, where the scene of our veritable sto 
 ry lies. 
 
 Our hero, young Julian, early began to show a restiveness 
 
 99 
 
100 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 under the training he received, which sadly perplexed his 
 plain matter-of-fact father. The latter could not conceive 
 why the boy should sometimes leave his plough in the furrow, 
 and sit upon a hillock, gazing curiously and admiringly upon a 
 simple wild flower. He knew not why the youth should 
 stand with his eyes fixed upon the western sky when it was 
 pavilioned with crimson, and gold, and purple ; or later yet, 
 when, one by one, the stars came timidly forth and took 
 their places in the darkening heaven. He shook his head 
 at these manifestations, and confidently informed his help 
 mate that he feared the boy was "not right" significantly 
 touching, as he spoke, that portion of his anatomy where he 
 fondly imagined a vast quantity of brain of very superior 
 quality was safely stowed away, guarded by a sufficient 
 quantity of skull to protect it against any accident. Neither 
 he nor the good wife imagined, for a moment, that Ju 
 lian was a genius, and that his talent, circumscribed by 
 circumstances, was struggling for an outlet for its devel 
 opment. 
 
 At last the divine spark within him was kindled into 
 flame. An itinerant portrait painter came round, with his 
 tools of trade, and did the dominie in brown and red, and 
 the squire's daughter in vermilion and flake white, and set 
 the whole village agog with his marvellous achievements. 
 Julian cultivated his acquaintance, received some secret in 
 structions in the A B C of art, and bargained for some 
 drawing and painting materials. His aspirations had at 
 length found an object. Long and painfully he labored in 
 secret ; but his advances were rapid, for he took nature as a 
 model. At last he ventured to display his latest achieve 
 ment a small portrait of his father. It was first shown 
 to his mother, and filled her with astonishment and delight. 
 It is the privilege of woman, however circumstanced, to 
 
THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 101 
 
 appreciate and applaud true genius. Of course, Moliere's 
 housekeeper occurs to the reader as an illustration. The 
 picture was next shown to the old man. He gazed at it 
 with a sort of silent horror, puffing the smoke from his pipe 
 in short, spasmodic jerks, and slowly shaking his head be 
 fore he spoke. 
 
 " Do you know it, father ? " asked the young artist. 
 
 " Know it ! " exclaimed the old man. " Yes yes I 
 see myself there like I was lookin' into a glass. There's 
 iny nose, and eyes, and mouth, and hair ; yes, and there's 
 my pipe. It ain't right it can't be right it's witchcraft. 
 Satan must ha' helped you, boy you couldn't never ha' 
 done it without the aid of the evil one." 
 
 This was a sad damper. But just then the dominie luck 
 ily happened in to take a pipe with his parishioner. He 
 pronounced the work excellent, and satisfied his old friend's 
 doubts as to the honesty of the transaction. Julian blessed 
 the old man in his heart for the comfort he afforded. 
 
 And now the fame of the young painter flew through 
 the village. The tavern keeper ordered a head of Gen 
 eral Washington for his sign board, the old one originally 
 a portrait of the Duke of Cambridge with the court dress 
 painted out not satisfying some of his critical customers. 
 And for the blacksmith, Montfort painted a rampant black 
 horse, prevented from falling backward by a solid tail. The 
 stable keeper also gave him orders for sundry coats of arms 
 to be depicted on wagon panels and sleigh dashers, so 
 that the incipient artist had plenty of orders and not a lit 
 tle cash. 
 
 But he soon grew tired of this local reputation. He panted 
 
 for the association of kindred spirits ; for the impulse and 
 
 example to be found in some great centre of civilization ; 
 
 for refinement, fame all that is dear to an ardent imagi- 
 
 9* 
 
102 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 nation. And so, one morning, he announced his intention 
 of seeking his fortune in the city of New York. 
 
 His mother was sad, but did not oppose his wishes ; his 
 father shook his head, as he always did when any thing was 
 proposed no matter what. The old gentleman seemed to 
 derive great pleasure from shaking his head, and no one 
 interfered with so harmless an amusement. 
 
 " Goin' to York, hey ? " said he, emitting sundry puffs of 
 smoke. " The Yorkers are a curious set of people, boy. 
 I read into a paper once't about how they car* on droppin' 
 pocket books, and sellin' brass watches for gold, and knock- 
 in* people down and stompin' onto 'em." 
 
 " But the dominie thinks I might make money there,'* said 
 the young man. 
 
 " 0, then you'd better go. The dominie's got a, longer 
 head than you or I, boy," said the old man. 
 
 " Yes, father," said the youth, kindling with animation. 
 " In New York I am sure to win fame and fortune. I shall 
 come back, then, and buy you a better farm, and hire hands 
 for you, so that you won't be obliged to work so hard and 
 you can set out trees." 
 
 " Hain't no opinion of trees," said the old man, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 " Well, well, father, you shall have money, and do what 
 you like with it ; for my part I shall be content with fame." 
 
 " Fame ! what is that ? " said the old man, laying down 
 his pipe in bewilderment. 
 
 " Fame ! Do you ask what fame is ? " exclaimed the 
 romantic boy. But he paused, convinced in a moment of 
 the perfect futility of attempting to convey an idea of 
 (he unsubstantial phantom to the old man's intellect. 
 Perhaps the old farmer was the better philosopher of the 
 two. 
 
THE CAREER OP AN ARTIST. 103 
 
 But Julian gained his point, and departed for the great 
 city the goal of so many struggles, the grave of so many 
 hopes. He was at first dazzled by the splendors of the 
 artificial life, into the heart of which he plunged ; and then, 
 with a homesick feeling, he sighed for that verdurous luxury 
 of nature he had left. He missed the trees for he thought 
 the shabby and rusty foliage of the Battery and Park hardly 
 worthy of that name. But, in time to save him from utter 
 disappointment and heart sickness, there opened on his 
 vision the glorious dawning of the world of art. He passed 
 from gallery to gallery, and from studio to studio, drinking 
 in the beauties that unfolded before him with the eyes of 
 his body and his soul. He was enraptured, dazzled, en 
 chanted. Then he settled down to work in his humble 
 room, economizing the scanty funds he had brought with 
 him to the city. Like many young aspirants, he grasped, 
 at first, at the. most difficult subjects. He constantly groped 
 for a high ideal. He would fly before he had learned to 
 walk. With an imperfect knowledge of architecture and 
 anatomy, and a limited stock of information, he would paint 
 history mythology. He sought to illustrate poetry, and 
 dared attempt scenes from the Bible, Shakspeare, and Mil 
 ton. He failed, though there were glimpses of grandeur 
 and glory in his faulty attempts. 
 
 Then he turned back, with a sickening feeling, to the ele 
 ments of art, distasteful as he found them. It was hard to 
 pore over rectangles and curves, bones and muscles, angles 
 and measurements, after sporting with irregular forms and 
 fascinating colors. He tried portraiture, but he had no 
 feeling for the business. He could not transfigure the dull 
 and commonplace heads he was to copy. He had not the 
 nice tact that makes beauty of ugliness without the loss of 
 identity. He could not ennoble vulgarians. The sordid 
 
104 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 man bore the stamp of baseness on his canvas.- His 
 pictures were too true ; and truth is death to the portrait 
 painter. 
 
 He began to grow morbid in his feelings, and was fast 
 verging to a misanthrope. His clothes grew shabby, and 
 looked shabbier for his careless way of wearing them. He 
 was often cold and hungry. There were times when he 
 viewed with envy and hate the evidences of prosperity he 
 saw about him. He railed against those pursuits of life 
 which made men rich and prosperous. He began to think 
 with the French demagogue, that " property was a theft," 
 and to regard with great favor the socialistic doctrines then 
 coming into vogue. The American social system he pro 
 nounced corrupt and rotten, and deserving to be uprooted and 
 subverted. And this was the rustic boy, who, a few months 
 before, had left his home so full of hope, and generous feel 
 ing, and high aspiration. 
 
 There were times when he yearned for the humble 
 scenes of his boyhood. But he was too proud to throw up 
 his pencils and palette, and go back to the old farm 
 house ; and so he found a vent for his home feeling in 
 painting some of the scenes of his earliest life the rustic 
 dances, the huskings, the haymakings, and junketings with 
 which he was so familiar. 
 
 One of these pictures a rustic dance was the subject 
 he sent to a gilder's to be framed. He had consecrated three 
 dollars to this purpose, and went one day to see how his 
 commission had been executed. He found the picture fra- 
 mer, who was also a picture dealer, in his shirt sleeves, talk 
 ing with a middle-aged gentleman, who was praising his 
 performance. 
 
 " Really a very clever thing," said the gentleman, scan- 
 Ding the painting through his gold-bowed eye glasses 
 
THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 105 
 
 f< The composition, coloring, and light and shade, are ad 
 mirable; but the life, animation, and naturalness of the 
 figures make its great charm. Ah, why don't our artists 
 study to produce life as it exists around them, and as 
 they themselves know it and feel it, instead of giving us the 
 gods and goddesses of a defunct and false religion, and 
 scenes three thousand miles and years away ? " 
 
 " Mr. Greville," said the picture framer, " allow mv 
 to make you acquainted with the artist, Mr. Montfort ; 
 he's a next-door neighbor of yours lives at No , Broad 
 way." 
 
 " Mr. Montfort," said the gentleman, warmly shaking the 
 hand the artist shyly extended, " you found me admiring your 
 work. And I'm sure I did not know I had so talented a 
 neighbor. I shall be glad to be better acquainted with 
 you. I presume your picture is for sale." 
 
 " Not so, sir," replied the artist, coldly. " It is a remi 
 niscence of earlier and happier days. It was painted for 
 my own satisfaction, and I shall keep it as long as I have 
 a place to hang it in. It is a common mistake, sir, with our 
 patrons, to suppose they can buy our souls as well as our 
 labor." 
 
 Mr. Greville's cheek flushed ; but as he glanced at the 
 shabby exterior and wan face of the artist, his color faded, 
 and he answered gently 
 
 " Believe me, Mr. Montfort, /am not one of the persons 
 you describe if, indeed, they exist elsewhere but in your 
 imagination. I should be the last person to fail in sym 
 pathy for the high-toned feelings of an artist ; for in early 
 life I was thought to manifest a talent for art and, indeed. 
 I had a strong desire to follow the vocation." 
 
 " And you abandoned it you turned a deaf ear to the 
 iivine inspiration you preferred wealth to glory to be 
 
106 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 one of the vulgar many rather than to belong to the choica 
 few. I congratulate you, Mr. Greville, on your taste." 
 
 " You judge me harshly, Mr. Montfort," replied the gen 
 tleman, pleasantly. " I am hardly required to justify my 
 choice of calling to a perfect stranger ; and yet your very 
 frankness induces me to say a word or two of the motives 
 which impelled me. My parents were poor. An artist's 
 life seemed to hold no immediate prospects of competence. 
 They to whom I owed my being might die of want before I 
 nad established a reputation. I had an opportunity to en 
 ter commercial life advantageously. I prospered. I have 
 lived to see the declining days of my parents cheered by 
 every comfort, and to rear a family in comfort and opu 
 lence. One of my boys promises to make a good artist. 
 Fortunately, I can bestow on him the means of following 
 the bent of his inclination. Instead of being an indifferent 
 painter myself, I am an extensive purchaser of works of 
 art, so that my conscience acquits me of any very great 
 wrong in the course I adopted." 
 
 Montfort was silent ; he was worsted in the argument. 
 
 " Mr. Montfort," pursued the gentleman, after a pause, 
 " my evenings are always at my disposal, and I like to sur 
 round myself with men of talent. I have already a large 
 circle of acquaintances among artists, musicians, and literary 
 men, and once a week they meet at my house ; I shall be 
 very happy to see you among us. To-night is my evening 
 of reception will you join us ? " 
 
 Proud and shy as he was, Montfort could not help ac 
 cepting an invitation so frankly and pleasantly tendered. 
 He promised to come. 
 
 " One favor more," said Mr. Greville. " You won't sell 
 that picture. Will you lend it to me for a day or two ? " 
 
 " I cannot refuse you, of course, Mr, Greville." 
 
THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 107 
 
 " If you have the slightest objection, say so frankly," said 
 the kind-hearted merchant. 
 
 " I have not the slightest objection, Mr. Greville. It is 
 entirely at your disposal." 
 
 Mr. Greville was profuse in his thanks. 
 
 " Shall I send it to your house ? " said the picture 
 framer. 
 
 " No, Mr. Tennant," replied the merchant. " It is too 
 valuable to be trusted out of my hands. I am personally 
 responsible, and I fear that I am not rich enough to remu 
 nerate the artist, if any harm happens to it." 
 
 With these words, bowing to the artist, Mr. Greville took 
 the picture carefully under his arm, and left the shop, Mont- 
 fort soon following. 
 
 " Well, I declare," said the picture framer, when he was 
 left alone, " artists is queer animils, and no mistake. Neg 
 lect 'em, and it makes 'em as mad a? a short-horned bull 
 in fly time ; coax 'em and pat 'em, and they lets fly their 
 heels in your face. Seems to me, if I was an artist, I 
 shouldn't be particular about being a hog, too. There ain't 
 no sense in it. Now, it beats my notion all to pieces to see 
 how Mr. Greville could talk so pleasantly and gentlemanly 
 to that dratted Montfort, and he flyin' into his face all the 
 time like a tarrier dog. I'd a punched his head for him, 
 I would if they'd had me up afore the Sessions for saltin' 
 and batterin'. Consequently it's better to be a pictur' fra 
 mer than a pictur' painter. Cause why ? a pictur* framer 
 is a gentleman, and a pictur' painter is a hog." 
 
 There was a good deal of truth in what Mr. Tennant said, 
 mixed up with a good deal of uncharitableness. But what 
 did he know of tl.e genus irritdbile vatum c f 
 
 Evening came ; and after many misgivings, Montfort, in 
 an eclectic costume, selected from his whole wardrobe, at a 
 
108 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 late hour, ventured to emerge from his humble domicile, and 
 present himself at the rosewood portal of his aristocratic 
 neighbor. He soon found himself in the dazzling drawing 
 room, bewildered by the lights, and the splendor of the 
 decoration and the furniture. Mr. Greville saw his embar 
 rassment, and* hastened to dispel it. He shook him warm 
 ly by the hand, and presented him to his lady and daughter, 
 and then to a crowd of guests. A distinguished artist begged 
 the honor of an introduction to him, and he soon found 
 himself among people who understood him, and with whom 
 he could converse at his ease. Though he was lionized, he 
 was lionized by people who understood the sensitiveness of 
 artistic natures. They flattered delicately and tastefully. 
 Their incense excited, but did not intoxicate or suffocate. 
 In one of the drawing rooms the gratified artist beheld his 
 picture placed in an admirable light, the cynosure of all 
 eyes, and the theme of all lips. 
 
 " I am certainly very much indebted to you for placing 
 it so advantageously," said the artist to his host. " It owes 
 at least half its success to the arrangement of the light." 
 
 " Do you hear that, Caroline ? " asked Mr. Greville, 
 turning to his beautiful daughter, who stood smiling beside 
 him. 
 
 " I was afraid I had made some mistake in the arrange 
 ment," said the beautiful girl, blushing with pleasure. 
 
 Montfort attempted a complimentary remark, but his 
 tongue failed him. He would have given worlds for the 
 self-possession of some of the nonchalant dandies he saw 
 hovering around the peerless beauty. He was forced to 
 content himself with awkwardly bowing his thanks. 
 
 In the latter part of the evening, one of the rooms was 
 cleared for a dance. Montfort was solicited to join in a 
 quadrille, and a beautiful partner was even presented to his 
 
THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 109 
 
 notice ; but he wanted confidence and knowledge, and h6 
 had no faith in the integrity of the gaiter shoes he had 
 vamped up for the occasion, so that he was forced to decline. 
 This incident revived some of his morbid feelings that had 
 begun to slumber, and he caught himself muttering some 
 tb ; iig about the "frivolities of fashion." 
 
 He thought to make his exit unnoticed ; but Mr. Greville 
 detected liim, and urged him to repeat his visit. 
 
 The next day, during his reception hours, several visitors 
 called an unheard-of thing. They glanced indifferently 
 at his mythological daubs, but were enthusiastic in their 
 praises of his rustic subjects. The day following, more 
 visitors came. He was offered and accepted four hundred 
 dollars for one of his cabinet pictures. In a word, orders 
 flowed in upon him ; he could hardly paint fast enough to 
 supply the demand. He became rather fastidious in his 
 dress patronized the first tailors and boot makers, culti 
 vated the graces, and took lessons in the waltz and polka. 
 At Mr. Greville's, and some of the other houses he visited, 
 he was remarked as being somewhat of a dandy. And this 
 was Mcntfort the misanthrope Montfort the socialist 
 Montfort the agrarian. 
 
 An important episode in his career was an order to 
 paint the portrait of Miss Caroline Greville. He had 
 already had three or four sittings, and the picture was 
 approaching completion; then the work suddenly ceased. 
 Day after day the artist pleaded engagements. At the same 
 time he discontinued his visits at the house. 
 
 Mr. Greville, somewhat offended, called on Montfort for 
 an explanation. He found his daughter's picture covered 
 )>y a curtain. 
 
 " My dear sir," said he, " how does it happen that you 
 10 
 
110 THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. 
 
 can't go on with that picture ? My wife is very anxious 
 about it." 
 
 " I can never finish it," said the artist sadly. 
 
 " How so, my young friend ? ' 
 
 u Mr. Greville, I will be frank with you. I love your 
 daughter ; I, a poor artist, have dared to lift my eyes to the 
 child of the opulent merchant. I have never in look or 
 word, though, led her to divine my feelings the secret is 
 in my own keeping. But I cannot see her day after day 
 I cannot scan her beautiful and innocent features, or listen 
 to the brilliant flow of her conversation, without agony. 
 This has compelled me, sir, to suspend my work." 
 
 " Mr. Julian Montfort," said the merchant, " you seem 
 bent excuse me on making yourself miserable. You 
 are no longer a poor artist ; you have a fortune in your 
 pencil. Your profession is now a surer thing than mine. 
 There is no gentleman in the city who ought not to be 
 proud of your alliance ; and if you can make yourself ac 
 ceptable ti> my daughter, why, take her and be happy." 
 
 How Julian sped in his wooing may be inferred from the 
 fact that, at a certain wedding ceremony in Grace Church, 
 he performed the important part of bridegroom to the bride 
 of Miss Caroline Greville ; and after the usual quantity 
 of hand shakings, and tears, and kisses, and all the usual 
 efforts to make a wedding resemble a funeral as much as 
 possible, Mr. and Mrs. Montfort took passage in one of 
 the Havre steamers for an extensive tour upon the Euro 
 pean continent. 
 
 When they returned, Mr. Montfort's reputation rose 
 higher than ever, of course, and he made money with mar 
 vellous rapidity. He is now as well known in Wall Street 
 AS in his studio, has a town and country house, is a strong 
 conservative in politics, and talks very learnedly about the 
 
THE CAREER OF AN ARTIST. Ill 
 
 moneyed interest. He has made some efforts to transplant 
 his good old father and mother to New York; but they 
 prefer residing at his villa, and taking care of his Durham 
 cattle and Suffolk pigs, and seeing that his " Cochin Chinas " 
 and "Brahma Pootras" do not trample down the chil 
 dren when they go out to feed the poultry of a summer 
 morning. 
 
SOUVENIKS OF A RETIRED OYSTERMAN 
 IN ILL HEALTH. 
 
 SAMIVEL, my boy, always stick to the shop ; and if eve* 
 you become a millionhair, like me, never be seduced by 
 any womankind into enterin' fash'nable society, and moving 
 among the circles of bong tong. (I have been obligated to 
 study French without a master ; 'cause the Upper Ten al 
 ways talks in bad French, and so a word or two will slip in 
 onawares, even ven talking to a friend just as a bad 
 oyster will sometimes make its way into a good stew, spite 
 of the best artist.) 
 
 I envies you, Samivel. You don't know what a treat it 
 is to me to be admitted confidentially behind the counter, 
 and to find myself surrounded once more by these here 
 congenial bivalves. I can't escape from old associations. 
 Oysters stare me in the face wherever I go. They're fash 
 'nable, Samivel, and it's about the only think in fash'n as I 
 reg'larly likes. 
 
 The other day we gave a derjerner, (that's French for 
 brekfax, Samivel,) which took place about dinner time, and 
 consisted of several distinguished pussons of the city, and 
 three or four Hungry'uns as came over in the last steamer 
 > reg'lar rang-a-tangs, vith these 'ere yaller anchovies 
 growin' onto their upper lips. The old ooman, or madame, 
 as she calls herself, was on hand to receive but I was 
 out of the way. Sjie was mightily flustered, for she know'd 
 
 112 
 
SOUVENIRS OF A RETIRED OYSTERMAN. 113 
 
 I could talk a little Dutch, and she wanted me for to in 
 terpret with the Ilungrj'uns. 
 
 So she speaks up werry sharp, (the old ooraan can 
 speak werry sharp by times,) and says to my youngest, a 
 boy, 
 
 " Where on airth can your father be ? " 
 
 " 0, daddy's in the sink room," says the young 'un, " a 
 openin' eyesters." 
 
 The whole derjerner bust into a hoss larff for these 
 Upper Ten folks, Samivel, betwixt you and me and the 
 pump, my boy, ain't got no more manners than hogs. 
 The child was voted an ongfong terriblee but it wor a 
 fack. I had went down into the sink room, as a mere 
 looker-on in Veneer, and I seen one of my employees a 
 making such botchwork of openin', hagglin' up his hands, 
 and misusin' the oysters, than I off coat, tucked up sleeves, 
 and went to work, and rolled 'em off amazin' I tell you. 
 The past rushed back on me the familiar feel of the knife 
 almost banished my dyspepsy I lived I breathed I 
 vas a oysterman again. Did I ever show you them lines 
 I wrote into my darter's album ? No. Veil, then, 'ere 
 
 TO AN UNOPENED OYSTER. 
 
 Thou liest fair within thy shell ; 
 
 Thy charms no mortal eye can see ; 
 And so, as Lamprey * says, of old 
 
 Was "Wenus lodged the fairest she. 
 
 But beauties such as yourn and hern 
 Were never born unseen to waste ; 
 
 Like her, you're bound to come to light, 
 To gratify refinement's taste. 
 
 * Probably Lempriere. 
 10* 
 
114 SOUVENIRS OP A RETIRED OYSTERMAN. 
 
 The fairest of the female race 
 
 To Ilium vent vith Priam's boy ; 
 So the best oysters that I see 
 
 Are sent by railroad off to Troy. 
 
 Sleep on sleep on nor dream of woe 
 
 Until the horrid deed be done - 
 Then out and die, like Simile,* 
 
 In thy first glance upon the sun. 
 
 Well, and 'ows bizness, Samivel ? You've got a good 
 stand, and you're bound to succeed. But beware of the 
 Cracker-Fiend. I'll tell you about him. 
 
 There vas a chap as used to patronize me that vas one 
 of the hungriest customers you ever did see. He was 
 werry shabbily dressed, and he looked for all the world like 
 the picturs I've seen of Shakspeare's " lean and hungry 
 Cashier." 
 
 He used to come in, give his order, (generally a stew,) 
 and then go and set down in a box and drop the curting. 
 It allers looks suspicious for a customer to drop his curting 
 afore you bring him the oysters arterwards it's all per 
 fectly proper, in course. Afore the stew was ready, be 
 would call out 
 
 " Waiter ! crackers ! " 
 
 The boy would hand him a basket ; but when his stew 
 was set before him, there warn't no crackers in his box. 
 
 So ve put him on a allowance of a dozen crackers, which 
 is werry liberal, considerin' as pickles and pepper-sarce is 
 throw'd in gratis. But he used" to step out quietly and 
 snake baskets of crackers outen other boxes, so's the other 
 customers, as alvays conducted themselves like perfick gen- 
 'lemen, vas all the time a singing out, " Waiter ! plate of 
 Brackers." 
 
 * Semele(?) 
 
SOUVENIRS OF A RETIRED OTSTERMAN. 115 
 
 Then we kept a boy a-watching of him, so's to keep him 
 in his box till he'd eat his oysters, and then you had to keep 
 a worry sharp eye on him ven he was paying, and you vas 
 ft-makin* change, els't you'd hev all the crackers took off 
 the counter. 
 
 One day arter he vas gone, ve found all the crackers 
 missin' from one side of the room. Of course, ve suspected 
 he done it, but how he done it vas as much a puzzle as the 
 Spinks. 
 
 Next day, arter ve got him into his box, ve vatched and 
 listened. Ve heard a queer kind of sound, like a man try 
 ing to play the jewsharp vith his boots ; and, sir, ve detect 
 ed the cracker-fiend a climbin' over the partitions into the 
 neighborin' boxes, and a collarin' all the crackers he could 
 come acrost. 
 
 Perhaps you think I vent into him like a knife into a 
 Prince's Bay. But I didn't do no such think. I treated 
 him werry perlite, and gin him two dollars, a keg of crack 
 ers, and a jar of pickled oysters, on condition he'd go and 
 patronize some other establishment. Keep an eye open for 
 him, Samivel. 
 
 Be generous, Samivel, but don't carry generosity to XS, 
 for an antidote I'm about to relate, out of my pusnol ex 
 perience, illustrates the evil effex of excessive philan- 
 throphy. 
 
 A little gal used to come into my shop to buy oysters. I 
 seen she was some kind of a foreigner, so I set her clown 
 for Dutch as them vas the only foreigners I vas acquaint 
 ed vith at the time. I artervards discovered she was French. 
 She was werry thin, and as pale as a soft-shelled clam ; 
 there was a dark blue color under her eyes, like these here 
 muscle shells. At first, she used to buy ninepence worth 
 nf oysters. Arter a while it came down to fourpence ; and 
 
116 SOUVENIRS OF A RETRIED OYSTERMAW. 
 
 one day she only vanted two cents vorth. I asked her who 
 they vas for, and she said, 
 
 " For my grandfather ; he is very sick, sare." 
 
 I followed her, and found out where her grandfather 
 lived. So one night I opened four gallons of prime New 
 Yorkers, put 'em in a kettle, took a lot of crackers and soft 
 bread, and started for the Frenchman's. The little gal 
 came to the door, and showed me up stairs. The poor old 
 customer was all alone, in bed, and yaller as a blanket. He 
 rtart up ven he see us, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Ah ! mon Dieu ! Antoinette, priez le gentilhomme de 
 'asseoir" 
 
 The leetle gal offered me a stool, but I didn't set down. 
 
 " Mounseer," said I, in some French manufactured for 
 tb.e occasion, " I havey broughtee you sommey oy teries," 
 and I showed him the kittle, with the kiver off. 
 
 I thought his eyes kind of vatered at the sight, but he 
 sighed, and turnin' to the leetle gal, said, 
 
 "Antoinette, dites a Monsieur, queje n^ai plus d'ai jent 
 pas un sou." 
 
 I guessed it was something about money, so afore the 
 leetle gal could translate it, I sang out, 
 
 " I don't want no money, Mounseer ; these here are free 
 gratis, for nothin' at all. I always treats my customers 
 once in a while." 
 
 That was a lie, Samivel but never mind, I gin him a 
 dozen, and the old fellur seemed to like 'em fusi rate. 
 Then I offered him some more, but he hung back. How 
 ever I made him swallow 'em, and offered some n the 
 leetle gal. 
 
 " After grandpapa," said she. 
 
 So I offered him some more. 
 
 " No more, 1 zank you ; I 'ave eat too moosh." 
 
SOUVENIRS OF A RETIRED OTSTERMAN. 117 
 
 I know'd he was only sogerin' out of delixy. So I says 
 as perlite as possible, 
 
 "None of that, old fellur catch hold. I fetched 'em 
 for you, and I'm bound to see you eat 'em." 
 
 " Sare, you are too kind," said he ; and he vent to vork 
 again. Arter a spell, he stopped. 
 
 " Don't like 'em hey ? " says I, pretendin* to be mad. 
 
 " I sail prove ze contraire," said he, in a kind of die-away 
 manner, and he went into 'em agin. 
 
 Presently, he gin over, and fell back on his piller mur- 
 murin' 
 
 " Sare, you are too good." 
 
 I gin the balance to the leetle gal, and told her to come 
 round in the mornin', and I'd fill her kittle for her, adding 
 that her grandfather would be all straight in the mornin'. 
 
 Samivel ! he vas all straight in the morning, but just as 
 stiff as a cold poker. The last two or three dozen finished 
 him ; his digestion wasn't strong enough for 'em, and he 
 know'd it, but he eat himself to death out of politeness. 
 The French are certingly the perlitest people on the face 
 of the yairth. 
 
 Howsever, I see him buried decently, and I adopted the 
 leetle gal. She was well brung up and educated, and she 
 larned my darters French the real Simon Pure for 
 she was a Canadian, and her grandfather came from Gas- 
 cony. But his fate vos a orful lesson. Benevolence, like 
 an oyster-roast, is good for nothink if it's over done. And 
 now, Samivel, my boy, a-jew, for I have a sworray this 
 evenin', and receive half Beacon Street. A-jew. 
 
 H 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 
 
 u NEVER crosses his t's, nor dots his i's, and his n's and 
 v's and r's are all alike ! " said, almost despairingly, Mr. 
 ..Simon Quillpen, the painstaking clerk of old Lawyer 
 Latitat, as he sat late at night, on the last day of the year, 
 digging away at the copy of a legal document his liberal 
 pation and employer had placed in his hands in the early 
 part of the evening. " Thank Heaven ! " he added, laying 
 down his pen, and consulting a huge silver bull's eye which 
 he pulled from a threadbare fob, " I shall soon get through 
 this job, and then, hey for roast potatoes and the charming 
 society of Mrs. Q. ! " And with this consolatory reflection, 
 he resumed his work with redoubled energy. 
 
 Mr. Quillpen was a little man ; not so very little as to 
 pass for a phenomenon, but certainly too small to be noticed 
 by a recruiting grenadier sergeant. His nose was quite 
 sharp and gave his mild, thin countenance, particularly as 
 he carried his head a little on one side, a very bird-like air. 
 He trod, too^ gingerly and lightly, very like a sparrow or a 
 tomtit ; and, to complete the analogy, his head being almost 
 always surmounted by a pen, he had a sort of crested, blue- 
 jayish aspect, that was rather comical. Quillpen had a. very 
 little wife and three very little children, Bob, Chiffy, and the 
 baby ; the last the ultimate specimen of the diminuendo. 
 It was well for them that they were so small, for Quillpen 
 obtained his starvelihood by driving the quill for Mr. Latitat 
 
 118 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 119 
 
 at four hundred dollars a year, to which Mrs. Quillpen 
 added, from time to time, certain little sums derived from 
 making shirts and overalls at the rate of about ten cents 
 the million stitches. 
 
 Whether Mr. Latitat was able to pay more was a ques 
 tion that never entered the minute brain of Simon Quillpen ; 
 for he had so humble an opinion of his own merits, and 
 was always so contented and cheerful, that he regarded his 
 salary as enormous, and was wont playfully to sign little 
 confidential notes Croesus Quillpen and Girard Quillpen, 
 and on rare convivial occasions would sometimes style him 
 self Baron Rothschild. But this last title was very rarely 
 indulged in, because it once sent his particular crony, a 
 chuckle-headed clerk in the post-office, into a cachinnatory 
 fit which was " rayther in the apoplectic line." 
 
 " To return to our muttons." Simon dug away at his 
 copying with an occasional reverential glance at a certain 
 low oaken door, opening into the penetralia of this abode of 
 law and righteousness, behind which oaken door, at that 
 very moment, sat Mr. Lucius Latitat, either deeply engaged 
 in the solution of some vast legal problem, or calculating 
 the interest on an outstanding note, or consulting with 
 chuckling delight a list of mortgages to be foreclosed. 
 
 Well Quillpen finished his document, wiped his pen 
 on a thick velvet butterfly, laid it in the rack above tliG 
 ink, pushed back his chair from the table, withdrew the 
 cambric sleeve from his right arm, and smoothed down his 
 wristbands, having first put on his India rubber overshoes. 
 The fact is, he was very anxious to get home, and he could 
 not go without first seeing Mr. Latitat. The idea of knock 
 ing at Mr. Latitat's door on business of his own never once 
 occurred to him. He would do that for a client, but not 
 for himself. So he ventured on a series of low coughs, and 
 
120 THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 
 
 finding no notice was taken of them, he dropped the poke* 
 into the coalhod, the most daring act he had ever perpe 
 trated. The slight noise thus produced crashed on his 
 guilty ears like thunder, or rather with the roar of a uni 
 versal earthquake. Slight, however, as it was, it brought 
 out Mr. Latitat from his interior. 
 
 " What the deuse are you making such a racket for ? " 
 he exclaimed in tones that thrilled to the heart of his 
 employee ; then, without waiting for an answer, he slightly 
 glanced at the table, and asked, " Have you got through 
 that job?" 
 
 " Yes'm I mean, yes'r," replied the quivering Simon. 
 
 " Well, then, you can go. I'm going myself. You blow 
 out the lights and lock the room. And mind and be here 
 early to-morrow morning. Nothing like beginning the New 
 Year well. Good night." 
 
 " Mr. Latitat, sir ! " cried Quillpen, with desperate reso 
 lution, as he saw the great man about to disappear "please, 
 sir could you let me have a little money to-night ? " 
 
 " Why ! what do you want of money ? " retorted the 
 lawyer. "Oil 'spose you have a host of unpaid bills." 
 
 " No, sir ; no, sir ; that's not it," Simon hastened to say. 
 " I hain't got narry bill standing. I pay as I go. Cash 
 takes the lot ! " 
 
 " None of your coarse, vulgar slang to me ! " said Latitat. 
 " Reserve it for your loose companions. If not to pay bills, 
 what for?" 
 
 " Please, sir, we, that is Mrs. Q. and myself, want to 
 put something in the children's stockings, sir." 
 
 " Then put the children's legs in 'em ! " said the lawyer 
 with a grin. " I make no payments to be used for any 
 such ridiculous purposes. Good night. Yet stay take 
 this letter there's money in it a large amount put 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 121 
 
 it in the post-office with your own hands as you go 
 home." 
 
 " And you can't let me have a trifle ? " gasped Simon. 
 
 " Not a cent ! " snarled the lawyer ; and he slammed the 
 door behind him, and went heavily down the stairs. 
 
 " I wonder how it feels to punch a man's head," said 
 Simon, as he stood rooted to the spot where Mr. Latitat left 
 him. " It's illegal it's actionable there are fines and 
 penalties provided by the statute : but it seems as if there 
 were cases that might justify the operation morally. 
 But then, again what good would it do to punch his head? 
 Punching his head wouldn't get me money and if I was 
 to try it, on finding that the licks didn't bring out the cash, 
 I might be tempted to help myself to the cash, and that 
 would be highway robbery ; and when the punchee ventured 
 to suggest that, the puncher might be tempted to silence 
 him. O Lord ! that's the way these murders in the first 
 degree happen ; and I think that I was almost on the point 
 of taking the first step. I really think I look a little like 
 Babe the pirate," added the poor man, glancing at his 
 mild but disturbed features in the glass ; " or like Captain 
 Kidd, or leastways like Country McClusky a regular 
 bruiser ! " 
 
 Sitting down before the grate, and stirring it feebly with 
 the poker, he tried to devise some feasible plan for supply 
 ing the vacuum in his treasury. He might borrow, but 
 then all his friends were very poor, and particularly hard 
 up at this particular season of the year. The bull's 
 eye watch might have been " spouted," if he had foreseen 
 this contingency ; but every avuncular relative was now at 
 this hour of the night snug abed to a dead certainty. Pur 
 chasing on credit was not to be thought of, and the only toy 
 shop which kept open late enough for his purchases, was 
 11 . 
 
122 
 
 kept by a man to whom he was totally unknown. Time 
 galloped on, meanwhile, and the half-hour struck. 
 
 " I'll slip that letter in the post-office, and then go home," 
 gaid Simon sorrowfully, rising as he spoke, and grasping hi? 
 inseparable umbrella. 
 
 " Hallo ! shipmate ! where-away ? " cried a hoarse voice. 
 And Mr. Quillpen became aware of th presence of an 
 " ancient mariner," enveloped in a very rough dread 
 nought, and finished off with a large amount of whiskers 
 and tarpaulin. 
 
 " I was going home, sir," replied Simon, with the defer 
 ential air of a very little to a very big man. 
 
 " Ay going to clap on hatches and deadlights. Well, 
 tell me one thing where-away may one find one Mr. 
 Latitat a shore-going cove, a regular land-shark, d'ye 
 see?" 
 
 " This is Mr. Latitat's ofiice, sir," said Simon. 
 
 Ay and is he within hail ? " 
 
 " No, sir, he has gone home." 
 
 "Slipped his cable hey? just my luck! Well, one 
 might snooze comfortably on this here table mightn't he ? 
 You can clear out, and I'll take care of the shop till 
 morning." 
 
 " That would be perfectly inadmissible, sir," said Simon, 
 " the idea of a stranger's sleeping here ! " 
 
 " A stranger ! " cried the sailor. " Why, shipmate, do 
 you happen to know who I am ? Look at me ! Don't you 
 find somewhat of a family likeness to Lucius in my old 
 weather-beaten mug ? Why, man-alive, I'm his brother, - 
 his own blood brother ! You must a heard him speak of 
 me. Been cruising round the world in chase of Fortune, 
 but could never overhaul her. Been sick, shipwrecked, and 
 now come back as poor as I went. But Lucius has got 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 123 
 
 enough for both of us. How glad he'll be to see me to 
 morrow, hey, old Ink-and-tape ? " 
 
 Simon had his doubts about that matter, but told the 
 sailor to come in the morning, and see. 
 
 "That I will," said the tar, "and start him up with a 
 rousing Happy New Year ! But I say, shipmate, I don't 
 want to sleep in the watch-house. Have you never a shil 
 ling about your trousers ? " 
 
 Simon answered that he hadn't a cent. 
 
 " Why, don't that brother of mine give you good wages ? " 
 
 " Enormous ! " said Simon. 
 
 " What becomes of it all ? " 
 
 "I spend it all I'm very extravagant," said Simon, 
 shaking his head. " And then, I'm sorry to say, your 
 brother isn't always punctual in his payments. To-night, 
 for instance, I couldn't get a cent from him." 
 
 " Then I tell you what I'd do, shipmate," said the sailor, 
 confidentially. " I'd overhaul some of his letters. Steam 
 will loosen a wafer, and a hot knife-blade, wax. I'd over- 
 naul his money-letters and pay myself. Ha ! ha ! do you 
 take ? Now, that letter you've got in your fin, my boy, 
 looks woundy like a dokiment chock full of shinplasters. 
 What do you say to making prize of 'em ? wouldn't it be a 
 jolly go ? " 
 
 " Stand off! " said Simon, assuming a heavy round ruler 
 and a commanding attitude. " Don't you come anigh me, 
 or there'll be a case of justifiable homicide here. How 
 dare you counsel me to commit a robbery on your own 
 brother ? I wonder you ain't ashamed to look me in the 
 face." 
 
 u A chap as has cruised as many years as I have in the 
 low latitudes ain't afraid to look any body in the face," 
 answered the " ancient mariner," grimly. " I made you a 
 
124 THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 
 
 fair offer, shipmate, and you rejected it like a long-shore 
 jackass as you are. Good night to ye." 
 
 Much to Us relief, the sailor took himself off, and Simon, 
 after locking and double locking his door, went to the post- 
 office and deposited the letter with which he had been 
 intrusted. As he lived a great way up on the Neck, he did 
 not reach home until after all the clocks of the city had 
 struck twelve, so that he was able to surprise his little wife, 
 who was sitting up for him, with a " Happy New Year ! " 
 
 He cast a rueful eye at the line of stockings hung along 
 the mantel-piece in the sitting room, and then sorrowfully 
 announced to his wife his failure to obtain money of Mr. 
 Latitat. 
 
 " There'll be nothing for the stockings, Meg," said he, 
 " unless what the poor children put in ours." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said his wife, who bore the announce 
 ment much better than he anticipated ; " but we'll have a 
 happy New Year for all that." 
 
 Simon's roasted potatoes were completely charred, he had 
 been detained so late ; but there was a little meal in the 
 centre of each, and charcoal is not at all unhealthy. He 
 went to bed, and in spite of his cares, slept the sleep of the 
 just. 
 
 A confused babbling awoke him at daylight. Master 
 Bobby was standing on his stomach, Miss Chiffy was seated 
 nearly on his head, and baby was crowing in its cradle. 
 Happy New Years and kisses were exchanged. " 0, dear 
 papa and mamma ! " cried Bobby, " what a beautiful horse 
 I found in my stocking ! " 
 
 " And what a beautiful wax doll, with eyes that move, in 
 mine," said Chiffy, " and such a splendid rattle and 
 coral in baby's. Now, pray go down and see what there is 
 in yours." 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS. 125 
 
 u This is some of your work, little woman,'* whispered 
 Simon to his wife. But the little woman denied it em 
 phatically. Much mystified, he hurried down to the break 
 fast room. The children had made the usual offering of very 
 hard and highly-colored sugar plums ; but in each of the 
 two large stockings, stowed away at the bottom, was a roll 
 of bank notes, five hundred dollars in each. 
 
 " Somebody wants to ruin us ! " cried Simon, bursting 
 into tears. " This is stolen money, and they wa^t to lay it 
 on to us." 
 
 "All I know about it," said Mrs. Quillpen, "is, that last 
 night, just before you came home, a sailor man came here 
 with all these things, and said they were for us, and made 
 me promise to put them in the stockings, as he directed, and 
 say nothing about his visit to you." 
 
 " A sailor ! " cried Simon '' I have it ! I think 
 I know who it is. Good by I'll be back to breakfast 
 directly." 
 
 Simon ran to the office, and found, as he anticipated, Mr. 
 Latitat there before him. 
 
 " A happy New Year to you, sir," said he. " Have you 
 seen your brother ? " 
 
 " I have not," replied Mr. Latitat. 
 
 Simon then told him all that happened on the preceding 
 night ; the apparition of the sailor, the temptation, 
 the money found in the stockings, in proof of which he 
 showed the thousand dollars, and stating his fears that they 
 had been stolen, offered to deposit the sum in his employer's 
 hands. 
 
 " Keep 'em, shipmate ; they were meant for you ! " ex 
 claimed Mr. Latitat, suddenly and queerly, assuming the 
 very voice and look of the nautical brother of the preced 
 ing evening. 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 While Simon stared his eyes out of his head. Mr. Latital 
 informed hina that he had no brother that he had dis 
 guised himself for the purpose of putting his clerk's long- 
 tried fidelity to a final test, and, that sustained triumphantly, 
 had rewarded him in the manner we have seen. He told 
 how, disgusted in early life by the treachery and ingratitude 
 of friends and relations who had combined to ruin him, he 
 had become a misanthrope and miser ; how the spectacle of 
 Simon's disinterested fidelity, rigid sense of honor, self- 
 denial and cheerfulness, had won back his better nature ; 
 and he wound off, as ho shook Quillpen warmly by the hand, 
 by announcing that he had raised his salary to twelve hun 
 dred dollars per annum. 
 
 The good news almost killed Simon. "Please your 
 honor," said he, endeavoring to frame an appropriate reply, 
 
 "no that ain't it please your excellency you've 
 gone and done it you've gone and done it ! I was Baron 
 Rothschild before, and now no I can't tell what I am 
 
 it isn't in no biographical dictionary, and I don't believe 
 it's in the * Wealth of Nations ! ' " 
 
 " Well, never mind," said Latitat, laughing, " go home and 
 tell Mrs. Q. the office won't be open till to-morrow, and 
 that I shall depend on dining with you all to-day." 
 
THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN. 
 
 " CARS read}- for Boston and way stations ! " shouted the 
 conductor of a railroad train, as the steamhorse, harnessed 
 for his twenty mile trip, stood chafing, snorting, and cough 
 ing, throwing up angry puffs of mingled gray and dingy 
 vapor from his sturdy lungs. " Cars ready for Boston and 
 way stations ! " 
 
 " O, yes ! " replied a brisk young man, with a bright eye, 
 peculiar smirk, spotted neckcloth, and gray gaiters with 
 pearl buttons. " Cars ready for Boston and way stations. 
 All aboard. Now's your time quick, or you'll lose 'em. 
 Now then, ma'am." 
 
 " But, sir," remonstrated the old lady he addressed, and 
 whom he was urging at the steps of a first class car. 
 
 " O, never mind ! " replied the brisk young man. " Know 
 what you're going to say too much trouble none what 
 ever, I assure you. Perfect stranger, true but scriptural 
 injunction, do as you'd be done by. In with you ding ! 
 ding ! there's the bell off we go." 
 
 And so in fact they did go off at forty miles an hour. 
 
 " But, sir," said the old lady, trembling violently. 
 
 " I see," interrupted the OBLIGING YOUNG MAN ; " want 
 a seat here it is a great bargain cars full quick ; 
 or you'll lose it." 
 
 " But, sir," said the old lady, with nervous trepidation, 
 "I I wasn't going to Boston." 
 
 127 
 
128 THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN. 
 
 " The dense you weren't. Well, well, well, why couldn't 
 you say so ? Hullo ! Conductor ! Stop the cars ! " 
 
 " Can't do it," replied the conductor. " This train don't 
 stop short of "VYoburn watering 'station." 
 
 " Woburn watering station ! " whimpered the old woman, 
 wringing her hands. " O, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Sit still ; take it easy no use crying for spilt milk ; 
 what can't be cured must be endured. I'll look out sharp ; 
 you might have saved yourself all this trouble." 
 
 Away went the cars, racketting and oscillating, while the 
 obliging young man was looking round for another recipient 
 of his good services. 
 
 " Ha ! " he muttered to himself. " There's a poor young 
 fellow quite alone. Lovesick, perhaps; pale cheek 
 sunken eye never told his love ; but let Shakspeare 
 I'm his man ! Must look out for the old woman. Here 
 we are, ma'am, fifteen miles to Lowell out with you 
 look out for the cars on the back track. Good by 
 pleasant trip ! " 
 
 Ding dong, went the bell again. 
 
 "Hullo! here's her bundle! Catch, there heads! 
 All right get on, driver ! " 
 
 And having tossed a bundle after the old woman, he re 
 sumed his seat. 
 
 " Confound it ! " roared a fat man in a blue spencer. 
 " You're treading on my corns." 
 
 "Beg pardon," said the obliging young man. "Bad 
 things, corns, * trifling sum of misery new added to the 
 foot of your account ; ' old author name forgotten. Never 
 mind drive on ! " 
 
 " But where's my bundle ? " asked the fat man. " Con 
 ductor ! Where's my bundle ? Brown paper red string 
 Saw it here a moment since." 
 
THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN. 129 
 
 The conductor knew nothing about it. The obliging 
 young man did. It was the same he had thrown out after 
 the old woman. 
 
 " You'll find it some where," he said, with a consolatory- 
 wink. " Can't lose a brown paper bundle. I've tried 
 often always turned up ; little boy sure to bring it. 
 ' Here's your bundle, sir ; ninepence, please.' All right 
 go ahead ! " 
 
 Here the obliging yoang man took his seat beside the 
 pale-faced youth. 
 
 "Ill health, sir?" 
 
 "No, sir," replied the pale-faced youth, fidgeting. 
 
 " Mental malady eh ? " 
 
 The young man sighed. 
 
 " See it all. Don't say a word, man ! Cupid, heart from 
 heart, forced to part. Flinty-hearted father ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Flinty-hearted mother ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Flinty-hearted aunt ? " 
 
 The lovesick young man sighed, and nodded assent. 
 
 " Tell me the story. I'm a stranger but my heart is 
 here, sir." "Whereupon the obliging young man referred 
 to a watch pocket in his plaid vest, and nodded with a great 
 deal of intelligence. " Tell me all like to serve my fel 
 lows no other occupation ; out with it, as the doctor said 
 to the little boy that swallowed his sister's necklace." 
 
 The lovesick youth informed the obliging young man 
 that he loved and was beloved by a young lady of Boston, 
 whose aunt, acting as her guardian, opposed his suit. He 
 was going to Boston to put a plan of elopement into oper 
 ation. He had prepared two letters, one to the aunt re 
 nouncing his hopes, to throw her off her guard ; the other 
 
130 THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN. 
 
 to the young lady, appointing a meeting at the Providence 
 cars. The difficulty was to get the letters delivered. This 
 the obliging young man readily undertook to do in person. 
 Both the aunt and niece bore the same name Emeline 
 Brown ; but the aunt's letter was sealed with black, the 
 niece's with red wax. The letters were delivered with 
 many injunctions to the obliging young man, and the two 
 new-made friends parted on the arrival of the cars in 
 Boston. 
 
 The Providence cars were just getting ready to start, 
 when, amid all the bustle and confusion, a pale-faced young 
 man "might have been seen," as Mr. James, the novelist, 
 says, nervously pacing to and fro, and occasionally darting 
 into Pleasant Street, and scrutinizing every approaching 
 passenger and vehicle. At last, when there was but a 
 single moment to spare, a hack drove up furiously, and a 
 veiled lady hastily descended, and gave her hand to her 
 expectant admirer. 
 
 " Quick, Emeline, or we shall lose the train ! " 
 
 The enamoured couple were soon seated beside each other, 
 and whirling away to Providence. The lady said little, but 
 sat with downcast head and veiled face, apparently over 
 whelmed with confusion at the step she had taken. But it 
 was enough for young Dovekin to know she was beside him, 
 and he poured forth an unbroken stream of delicious non 
 sense, till the train arrived at its destination. 
 
 In the station house the lady lifted her veil. Horror and 
 confusion ! It was the aunt ! The obliging young man had 
 delivered the wrong letter. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Miss Brown, " I am the person whom 
 you qualified, in your letter intended for my niece, as a 
 hateful hag/ in whose eyes you were ' throwing dust. 
 What do you say to that, sir ? " 
 
THE OBLIGING YOUNG MAN. 131 
 
 " Say ! " replied the disconsolate Dovekin. " It's no use 
 to say any thing ; for it is my settled purpose to spring over 
 the parapet of the railroad bridge and seek oblivion in a 
 watery grave. But first, if I could find that obliging young 
 man, I'd be the death of him." 
 
 " No you wouldn't," said the voice of that interesting in 
 dividual, as he made his appearance with a lady on his arm. 
 " Here she is take her be happy. After I'd given the 
 notes, mind misgave me went back to the house found 
 the aunt gone niece in tears followed after same 
 train last car here she is ! " 
 
 " I hope this will be a lesson," said Dovekin. 
 
 " So it is. Henceforth, I shall mind my own business ; 
 for every thing I've undertaken lately, on other folks' ac 
 count, has gone amiss. Come, aunty, give your blessing 
 let 'em go. Train ready I'm off best of wishes 
 good by. Cars ready for Boston and way stations ! all 
 aboard." 
 
 The aunt gave her blessing ; and this was the last thai 
 any of the party saw of the Obliging Young Man. 
 
EULALIE LASALLE. 
 
 A STORY OF THE REIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 O, what was love made for if 'twas not for this, 
 The same amidst sorrow, and transport, and bliss ? 
 
 MOORB. 
 
 THE fanaticism of the French revolutionists had reached 
 its height ; the excitable population, intoxicated with pow 
 er, and maddened by the vague dread of the retribution of 
 despair, goaded on by profligate, ferocious, or insane leaders, 
 was plunging into the most revolting and sanguinary ex 
 cesses. The son of St. Louis had ascended to heaven, 
 the beautiful and unfortunate Marie Antoinette had laid her 
 head upon the block, the baby heir of the throne of the 
 Capets was languishing in the hands of his keepers, and 
 the Girondists, the true friends of republican liberty, were 
 silenced by exile or the scaffold. In short, the Reign of 
 Terror, the memorable sway of Robespierre, hung like a 
 funeral pall upon the land which was fast becoming a vast 
 cemetery. The provincial towns, faithful echoes of the 
 central capital, were repeating the theme of horror with a 
 thousand variations. Each considerable city had its guil 
 lotine, and where that instrument of punishment was want 
 ing, the fusillade or the mitraille supplied its place. 
 
 At this crisis, Eugene Beauvallon, a young merchant of 
 Toulouse, presented himself one morning in the drawing 
 
 132 
 
EULALIE LASALLE. 133 
 
 loom of Mademoiselle Eulalie Lasalle, an orphan girl of 
 great beauty and accomplishment, to whom he had long 
 been betrothed, and whom he would ere this have married 
 but for the political troubles of the period. Eulalie was a 
 graceful creature, slenderly and symmetrically formed, 
 with soft blue eyes, and an exceedingly gentle expression, 
 which was indicative of her character. She seemed too 
 fair and fragile to buffet with the storms of life, and ill fitted 
 to endure its troubles, created to be the idol of a drawing 
 room, the fairy queen of a boudoir. 
 
 Eugene was a handsome, manly fellow, of great energy 
 and character. The revolution surprised him in the act of 
 making a fortune ; the whirlwind had stripped him of most 
 of his property, but had yet left him liberty and life. He 
 had contrived to avoid rendering himself obnoxious to the 
 sansculottes without securing their confidence. The tri- 
 colored cockade which he wore in his hat shielded him 
 from the fatal epithet of aristocrat a certain passport to 
 the guillotine. 
 
 Beauvallon then seated himself beside Eulalie, who 
 was struck with the radiant expression of his countenance, 
 and begged to know the reason of his joyous excitement. 
 
 " I have good news to tell you," he said, gayly ; " but we 
 are not alone," he added, stopping short, as his eyes rested 
 on the sinister face of an old woman, humbly attired, who 
 was busily engaged in knitting, not far from the lovers. 
 
 " O, don't mind poor old Mannette," said Eulalie. " The 
 poor old creature is past hearing thunder. It is a woman, 
 Eugene, I rescued from absolute starvation, and she is so 
 grateful, and seems so desirous of doing something to render 
 herself useful, that I am mortified almost at her sense of 
 the obligation." 
 
 " I hope she has not supplanted your pretty femme dt 
 12 i 
 
134: EULALIE LASALLE. 
 
 chcimbre, Julie, of whom you threatened to be jealous. 
 My admiration, I hope, has not cost the girl her place." 
 
 " O, dear, no ! I couldn't part with Julie ! " replied Eu- 
 lalie, laughing gayly. "But come, you must not tanta 
 lize me what has occurred to make you so gay, at a 
 time when every true Frenchman wears a face of mourn 
 ing?" 
 
 " The Marquis de Montmorenci is at liberty. " 
 
 " At liberty ? How happened it that the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal acquitted him ? " 
 
 "Acquitted him! Eulalie, does the tiger that has once 
 tasted the blood of his prey permit him to escape ? Is 
 Robespierre more lenient than the beast of prey ? No, Eu 
 lalie, he escaped by the aid of a true friend. He fled 
 from Paris, reached Toulouse, and found shelter under my 
 roof!" 
 
 The cheek of Eulalie turned ashy pale. " Under your 
 roof ! " she faltered. " Do you know the penalty of shel 
 tering a fugitive from justice ? " 
 
 " It is death upon the scaffold," answered the young mer 
 chant, calmly. " But better that a thousand times than the 
 sin of ingratitude ; the sin of turning a deaf ear to the claims 
 of humanity." 
 
 " My own noble Eugene ! " exclaimed the young girl, 
 enthusiastically, pressing her lover's hand. " Every day 
 increases my love, my respect for you, and my sense of my 
 own unworthiness. But you will never have to blush for 
 the inferiority of your wife." 
 
 " What do you mean, dearest ? " inquired Eugene, with 
 alarm. 
 
 " This is no time for marriage," said Eulalie, sadly. 
 " Images of death and violence meet our eyes whichever 
 way they turn. We were born, Eugene, in melancholy 
 
EULALIE LASALLE. 135 
 
 times, and our loves are misplaced. We shall meet 
 hereafter ; on this earth, I fear, our destinies will never be 
 united." 
 
 " Prophetess of evil ! " said Beauvallon, gayly. " Your 
 rosy lips belie your gloomy augury. No, Eulalie, this dark 
 cloud cannot forever overshadow the land even now I 
 think I can see glimpses of the blue sky. Le bon temps 
 viendra, the good time is coming, and then, Eulalie, be 
 sure that I will claim your promised hand." 
 
 The conversation of the lovers had been so animated and 
 interesting that they did not notice the moment when old 
 Mannette had glided like a spectre from the apartment. 
 
 Beauvallon lingered awhile, "parting is such sweet 
 sorrow," and finally reluctantly tore himself from the 
 presence of Eulalie, promising to see her again on the en 
 suing day, and let her know whatever had transpired in 
 the interim. 
 
 As he approached the street in which his store and house 
 were situated, he heard the confused murmur of a multitude, 
 and soon perceived, on turning the corner, that a very 
 large crowd was collected outside his door. There were 
 men and women many of the former armed with pikes 
 and sabres the latter, the refuse of the populace, who 
 appeared like birds of evil omen at every scene of violence 
 and tumult. 
 
 A hundred voices called out his name as he approached, 
 and menacing gestures were addressed to him by the mul 
 titude. 
 
 " Citizens," said the merchant, " what is the meaning of 
 ill this?" 
 
 "You shall know, traitor," shrieked a palsied hag of 
 eighty, whose lurid eyes had already gloated on every pub 
 lic execution that had taken place in Toulouse. " Here if 
 
136 EULALIE LASALLE. 
 
 Citizen Dumart of the revolutionary committee ah, he is 
 a true friend of the people he is no aristocrat in disguise ! 
 Vive le Oitoyen Dumart ! " 
 
 " Long live Citizen Dumart ! Down with the aristocrats ! " 
 shouted a hundred voices. 
 
 The Citizen Dumart was a sallow-faced man, dressed in 
 rusty black, wearing an enormous tri-colored cockade in his 
 three-cornered hat, with a sash of the same color girt 
 around his waist. His bloodshot eyes expressed a mix 
 ture of cowardice with ferocity. He was flanked by 
 a couple of pikemen as hideous as the Afrites of Eastern 
 romance. 
 
 " Citizen Beauvallon," said he, in a voice whose tremo^ 
 betrayed his native timidity, " I arrest you in the name of 
 the revolutionary committee of Toulouse. Citizen Beau 
 vallon, it is useless to resist the authority of the represen 
 tatives of the people ; if you have any concealed weapons 
 about you, I advise you to surrender them. You see I 
 stand here protected by the arms of the people." 
 
 "I have no weapons," replied Beauvallon. "I have 
 no sinister designs. I know not why I am arrested. 
 Acquaint me with the charge, and confront me with my 
 accusers." 
 
 " Seize upon the prisoner ! " cried Dumart to his satellites. 
 And he breathed freer when he saw the merchant in the 
 gripe of tw3 muscular ruffians, whose iron hands compressed 
 his wrists as if they were manacles. 
 
 " Away with him ! " screamed the hag who had spoken 
 before. " Away with him to the revolutionary committee ! 
 Down with the aristocrats ! " 
 
 Followed by the imprecations of the crowd, Beauvallon 
 was^ conducted to the town house, and in a very few mo 
 ments was placed at the bar of the revolutionary committee 
 
EULALIE LASALLE. 137 
 
 a body invested with the power of life and death. On 
 his way thither lie had found means to speak a word to an 
 acquaintance in the crowd, and to beg him to inform Eu- 
 lalie of what had happened. 
 
 So soon as he had heard the accusation read, and knew 
 that he was charged with the crime of aiding the Marquis 
 de Montmorenci, a fugitive from justice, he felt that his 
 situation was indeed critical ; but mingled with his astonish 
 ment and dread was a curiosity to learn whence his denun 
 ciation could have proceeded who could have lodged the 
 information against him. He was not long kept in sus 
 pense, for the witness brought on the stand to confront him 
 was no other than Mannette, the supposed deaf servant of 
 Eulalie Lavalle, who had overheard his confession of the 
 morning, and hastened to denounce him. Though his sen 
 tence was not immediately pronounced, and the decision of 
 his case was deferred till the next day, Beauvallon felt that 
 his doom was sealed. 
 
 He was conveyed to a house in the vicinity of the town 
 hall for confinement, as the prisons were all overstocked. 
 His jailer was a man whom the merchant had formerly be 
 friended, and whose heart was not inaccessible to emotions 
 of pity, though he was above bribery, and evidently deter 
 mined to execute his duty to the letter. 
 
 " I have a favor to ask of you, my friend," said ihr pris 
 oner, slipping a golden louis into his hand. 
 
 "If it is one that I can grant without violaMng my 
 duty," replied the jailer, returning the money to Beau 
 vallon, " I will do so for the sake of old times, but not for 
 gold." 
 
 Beauvallon explained that he wished to send a note to 
 
 Mile. Lasalle, requesting her to visit him in prisop an 
 
 interview which would probably be their last, and 
 
 12* 
 
188 EULALIE LASALLE. 
 
 undertook readily to see the missive delivered, and to per 
 mit the visit. The note having been despatched, Beauval- 
 lon sat down to wait for the arrival of his mistress. 
 
 The sad hours passed away, but though he learned 
 from the jailer that his errand had been performed, no Eu- 
 lalie made her appearance. 
 
 " She forsakes me ! " he muttered bitterly. The wound 
 ed df er is abandoned by the herd, and an . unfortunate man 
 is shunned by his fellows. Well, the dream was pleasant 
 while it lasted the regret of awakening can scarce be 
 tedious a few hours, and all the incidents of this transitory 
 life will be forgotten. But Eulalie whom I loved better 
 than my life itself it is hard to die without one word 
 from thee." 
 
 When on the following day Beauvallon was again taken 
 before the revolutionary committee, he looked anxiously 
 around the court room to see if he could discover the face 
 of Eulalie among the spectators, many of whom were 
 women. But he was disappointed. Her absence convinced 
 him that she had abandoned him, and wholly absorbed by 
 this reflection, he paid no attention to the formula of his 
 trial. He was condemned to death, the sentence to be ex 
 ecuted on the following day. 
 
 " Mr. President," said he, rising, " I thank you, and I 
 have merely one favor to ask. Anticipate the time of 
 punishment let it be to-day instead of to-morrow let 
 me go hence to the scaffold." 
 
 " Your request is reasonable," replied the president, in a 
 bland voice, " and if circumstances permitted, it would af 
 ford me the greatest pleasure to grant it. But the guil 
 lotine requires repair, and will not be in a condition to 
 perform its functions until to-norrow, at which time, Citi- 
 
EULALIE LASALLE. 139 
 
 ren Beauvallon, at the hour of ten, A. M., you will have 
 ceased to exist. Good night, and pleasant dreams ! " 
 
 This sally was received with roars of applause, and 
 the unhappy prisoner was reconducted to the place of con 
 finement. 
 
 That night was a sleepless one. Beauvallon's arrest, his 
 speedy trial and condemnation, the desertion of Eulalie 
 had followed each other with such stunning rap id ity^ that, 
 until now, he had hardly time to reflect upon the dismal 
 chain of circumstances now they pressed upon his at 
 tention, and crowded his mind to overflowing. At midnight, 
 as he lay tossing on his bed, upon which he had thrown 
 himself without undressing, he thought he heard a confused 
 noise in the apartment of the next house adjoining his. 
 The noise increased. He placed his hand upon the wall, 
 and felt it jar under successive shocks. Suddenly a current 
 of air blew in upon him, and at the same time a faint 
 ray of light streamed through an opening in the partition. 
 
 " Courage ! " said a soft voice. " The opening enlarges. 
 Now, Julie ! " 
 
 Julie ! Beauvallon was sure he heard the name, and 
 yet uncertain whether or not he was dreaming. 
 
 " Julie ! " he exclaimed, cautiously. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur it is Julie sure enough," answered 
 a pleasant voice. 
 
 " Then you, at least, have not forgotten me." 
 
 " No one who has once known you can ever forget 
 you. Courage ! you will soon be free. Aid us if you can." 
 
 " Then you are not alone ? " 
 
 " Have patience, and you will see." 
 
 His own exertions, added to those of his friends with 
 out, soon enabled the prisoner to force his way into the 
 next house ; but there disappointment awaited him. Two 
 
140 EULALIE LASALLE. 
 
 soldiers in the uniform of the gensdarmerie stood before 
 him. 
 
 " On ne passe par id, you can't pass here," said one. 
 
 " What cruel mockery is this ? " cried Beauvallon. " I,* 
 it not enough that I am condemned to death, but you must 
 subject me to an atrocious pleasantry ? This is refinement 
 of "cruelty." 
 
 " It seems that our disguise is perfect, Julie," said the 
 soldier who had not yet spoken. " Eugene does not know 
 his best friends." 
 
 In an instant the speaker was folded in the arms of Beau 
 vallon. It was Eulalie herself, as bewitchingly beautiful 
 in her uniform as in the habiliments of her sex. She hur 
 riedly explained that the moment she heard of Eugene's 
 arrest, she prepared to meet the worst contingency. She 
 had already converted her money into cash. Learning the 
 place of his imprisonment, she had hired, through the agen 
 cy of another person, the adjoining house, which happened 
 to be unoccupied. The task of making an aperture in the 
 partition was an. easy one the difficulty of passing through 
 the city was greater. The idea of military disguises then 
 occurred. Julie and herself had already equipped them 
 selves, and they were provided with a uniform for Beau 
 vallon. 
 
 Secured by this costume, the three fugitives ventured 
 forth. In the great square of the city, workmen were busily 
 employed in repairing the hideous engine of death, anc 
 Beauvallon passed, not without a shudder, beneath the very 
 shadow of the guillotine, to which he had been doomed. 
 
 Seated on the cold ground, beneath the fatal apparatus, 
 was an old woman muttering to herself. 
 
 " Good evening, citizens," said she. " We shall have a 
 fine day for the show to-morrow. Look how the bonny 
 
EULALIE LASALLE. 141 
 
 Btars are winking and blinking on the gay knife blade they've 
 been sharpening. It will be darker and redder when the 
 clock strikes ten again. Down with the aristocrats I " 
 
 The fugitives needed no more to quicken their steps. 
 They reached the frontiers in safety, and beyond the Rhine, 
 in the hospitable land of Germany, the lovers were united ; 
 nor did they return to France till the star cf Robespierre 
 had set in blood, and the master mind of Napoleon had 
 placed its impress on the destinies of France. 
 
THE OLD CJTY PUMP. 
 
 MANT evenings since, we were passing up State 
 Street late at night. State Street at midnight is a very dif 
 ferent affair from State Street at high noon. The shadows 
 of the tall buildings fall on a deserted thoroughfare ; save 
 where, here and there, a spectral bank watchman keeps 
 ward over the granite sepulchres of golden eagles, and the 
 flimsier representatives of wealth. The bulls and bears 
 have retired to their dens, and East India merchants are 
 invisible. Newsboys are nowhere, and every sound has 
 died away. There stands the Old State House, peculiar and 
 picturesque, rising with a look of other days, a relic of past 
 time, against the deep blue sky, or webbing the full 
 moon with the delicate tracery of its slender spars and 
 signal halliards. And there stands no ! there stood the 
 old Town Pump. But it is no more Ilium fait was 
 written on its forehead it has been reformed out of 
 office, its occupation has gone, its handle has been amputated, 
 its body has been dissected, and there is nothing of it left. 
 
 Yet on the evening to which we alluded in the beginning, 
 the old pump was there, and crossing over from the Mer 
 chants Bank, we leaned against its handle, as one leans 
 against the arm of an old friend, in a musing, idle mood. 
 Presently we heard a gurgling sound and confused mur 
 murs issuing frcm its lips " like airy tongues that syllable 
 men's names." Anon these murmurs shaped themselves 
 
 142 
 
THE OLD CITY PUMP. 143 
 
 into distinct articulations, and as we listened, wonderingly, 
 the old pump spoke : 
 
 " Past twelve o'clock, and a moonlight night. All well, 
 as I'm a pump. Nobody breaking into banks, and nobody 
 kicking up rows watchmen fast asleep, and every body 
 quiet. But I can't sleep. No! the city government has 
 murdered sleep ! There's something heavy on my buckets, 
 and I fear me, I'm a gone sucker ! They thought I could'nt 
 find out what they were up to the municipal government 
 but I'm a deep one, and I know every thing that's going 
 for'ard. What a jolly go, to be sure ! They told me Mayor 
 Bigelow hated proscription but I knew it was gammon ! 
 He must follow the fashion, and Cochituate is all the go. 
 There ain't no pumps now its all fountain ! Pump water 
 is full of animalcule, and straddle bugs don't exist in pond 
 water of course not. Nobody ever see young polly wogs 
 and snapping turtles floating down stream in fly-time. 
 Certainly not ! I'm getting old of course I am ; that's 
 the talk ! I've been in office too long. Well, well, I know 
 I'm rather asthmatic and phthisicky but nobody ever 
 knowed me to suck, even in the driest time. These living 
 waters have welled up even from the time when the salt 
 sea was divided from the land, and the rocks were cloven 
 by the hand of Omnipotence, and the sweet spring came 
 bursting upward from the fragrant earth, and light and flow 
 ers came together to welcome the birthday of the glad and 
 glorious gift. Here, many a century back, the giant mastodon 
 trod the earth into deep hollows, as he moved upon his sound 
 ing path. Then came another time. In the hollow of the 
 three hills, the Indian raised his bark wigwam, and the smoke 
 of his council fire curled up like a mist-wreath in the forest. 
 Here the red man filled the wild gourd cup when he re 
 turned weary from the chase or the skirmish. And here, 
 
144: THE OLD CITY TUMP. 
 
 too, the Indian maiden smoothed her dark locks, and her 
 lustrous, laughing eyes gazed upon the image of her own 
 dusky beauty, mirrored on the surface of the wave. By 
 and by the red man ceased to drink of my unfailing rill. 
 Beings with pale faces came to me to quench their thirst ; 
 bearded lips were moistened with my diamond drops ; and 
 I looked up upon iron corselet and steel hauberk, and faces 
 harder than either. But the old Puritans gave me form 
 and substance a ' local habitation and a name.' The 
 spirit of the fountain was wedded to its present tabernacle. 
 The dwellings of men sprang up around me in the place of 
 the departing forest. I gave them all a cheerful welcome. 
 If the colonists worked hard, I worked harder yet. I filled 
 their pails and cups, and revived their failing hearts, and 
 cheered their unremitting labors. They called me their 
 friend. The pretty girls smiled upon me, as, under pre 
 tence of levying contributions on my treasures, they chatted 
 with young men who gathered at my side. Then came a 
 sterner period. I heard no more love tales no more idle 
 gossip. Men stood here, and spoke of deep wrong, of 
 tyranny, of trampled rights, of resistance, of liberty ! That 
 was a word I had not heard since the red man drank of my 
 unfettered tide. One night, there was a great gathering 
 here. There were men and boys, a multitude. There was 
 much angry talk and much confusion. Then I heard the 
 roll of the drum and the regular tramp of an armed force. 
 A band of British soldiers, all resplendent with scarlet, and 
 gold, and burnished muskets that glittered in the moon 
 beams, were formed into line at the command of an officer, 
 and confronted the dark array of citizens. Then came an 
 angry discussion orders on the part of the commander 
 for the multitude to disperse, which were unheeded or dis 
 obeyed. Then that line of glittering tubes was levelled. 
 
THE OLD CITY PUMP. 145 
 
 1 heard the fatal word " fire ! " the flame leaped from the 
 muzzles of the muskets, and the volley crashed and echoed 
 in the street. Blood flowed upon the pavement the 
 blood of citizens mingled with my waters, and I was the 
 witness of a fearful tragedy. In after times, I heard it 
 named the Boston Massacre. Since then, I have seen 
 hours of sunshine and triumph, of fun and frolic, of anger 
 and rejoicing. My waters have laved the dust that it might 
 not soil the uniform of Washington as he rode past on his 
 snow-white charger, amid the acclamations of the multi 
 tude. I have seen Hull and his tars pass up the street, 
 bearing the stripes and stars in triumph from the war of 
 the ocean. I have heard long-winded orators spout over 
 my head in emulation of my craft, " in one weak, washy, 
 everlasting flood." I have seen many a military, many 
 a civic pageant. The last I witnessed was, as Dick Swivel- 
 ler remarks, a *' stifler.' It was that confounded Water 
 Celebration. Republics is ungrateful. I was forgotten on 
 that occasion. Nobody drank at the old city pump. Peo 
 ple sat on my head and stood on my nose, just as if I had 
 no feelings. I heard a young lady in the gallery overhead 
 say, * Well, that horrid old pump will soon be out of the 
 way now.' And a city father answered her, * Of course." 
 It was a workin' then treason and fate, and all them 
 things. I knew they were going to * put me out of my 
 misery,' as the saying goes. I'm getting superannuated 
 I heard 'em say so. Sometimes an office boy tastes a drop, 
 and then turns up his nose, as if it wasn't pug enough be 
 fore, and says, * What horrid stuff! the Cochituate for 
 my money!' General Washington's canteen was filled 
 here and he said, Delicious ! ' when he raised U to his 
 lips. But he was no judge, of course not, Time was 
 when I wasn't slow but I'm not fast enough for this gen- 
 13 
 
14:6 THE OLD CITY PUMP 
 
 eration. When folks write letters with lightning, and sail 
 ships with tea-kettles, pumps can't come it over 'em. Well, 
 well, I'll hold out to the last I'll make 'em carry me off 
 and bury me decently at the city's expense, and perhaps 
 some kind old friend will write my epitaph." 
 
 The old pump was mute the speech was ended its 
 " song had died into an echo." We passed on mournful 
 and thoughtful. Republics are ungrateful old friends 
 are forgotten with a change of fashion, and there is a period 
 to the greatness of town pumps as well as the glory of in 
 dividuals. 
 
THE TWO PORTRAITS. 
 
 "BEAUTIFUL! beautiful!" exclaimed Ernest Lavalle, 
 as, throwing himself back in his chair, he contemplated, 
 with eyes half shut, a lovely countenance that smiled on 
 him from a canvas, to which he had just added a few hesi 
 tating touches. It was but a sketch little more than 
 outline and dead coloring, and a misty haze seemed spread 
 over the face, so that it looked vision-like and intangible. 
 The young painter's exclamation was not addressed to his 
 workmanship he was not even looking at that faint 
 image ; but, through its medium, was gazing on lineaments 
 as rare and fascinating as ever floated through a poet's or 
 an artist's dream. Deep, lustrous blue eyes, in whose 
 depth sincerity and feeling lay crystallized ; features as 
 regular as those of a Grecian statue ; a lip melting, ripe, 
 and dewy, half concealing, half revealing, a line of pearls ; 
 soft brown hair, descending in waves upon a neck and 
 Bhoulders of satin surface and Parian firmness. Such 
 were some of the external traits of loveliness belonging to 
 
 " A creature not too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food," 
 
 who had completely actualized the ideal of the young Pa 
 risian artist, into whose studio we have introduced our 
 readers. The fair original, whose portrait is before us, was 
 Kose d' Amour, a beautiful actress of one of the metropoli- 
 
 147 
 
148 THE TWO PORTRAITS. 
 
 tan theatres, who had just made her deb at with distin 
 guished success. There was quite a romance in her history. 
 Of unknown parents, she had commenced her career like 
 the celebrated Rachel as a street singer, and was looking 
 forward to no more brilliant future, when her beauty, 
 genius, and purity of character attracted the attention of a 
 distinguished newspaper editor, by whose benevolent gen 
 erosity she was enabled to prepare herself for the stage, 
 by two or three years of assiduous study. The success of 
 his protegee more than repaid the kind patron for his exer 
 tions and expenditure. 
 
 A word of Ernest Lavalle, and it shall suffice. He was 
 the son of a humble vine dresser in one of the agricul 
 tural departments of France. His talent for drawing, 
 early manifested, attracted the notice of his parish priest, 
 whose earnest representations induced his father to send 
 the boy to Paris, and give him the advantages afforded by 
 the capital for students of art. In the great city, Ernest 
 allowed none of the attractions, by which he was surround 
 ed, to divert him from the assiduous pursuit of his beloved 
 art. His mornings were passed in the gallery of the Lou 
 vre, his afternoons in private study, and his evenings at the 
 academy, where he drew from casts and the living model. 
 The only relaxation he permitted himself, was an occasional 
 excursion in the picturesque environs of the French capi 
 tal ; and he always took his sketch book with him, thus 
 making even his pleasure subservient to his studies. Two 
 prizes pbtained, for a drawing and a picture, secured for 
 him the patronage of the academy, at whose expense he 
 was sent to Italy, to pursue his studies in the famous gal 
 leries of Rome and Florence. He returned with a mind 
 imbued with the beauty and majesty of the works of those 
 great masters, whose glory will outlive the canvas and 
 
THE TWO PORTRAITS. 149 
 
 marble which achieved it, determined to win for himself a 
 niche in the temple of Fame, or perish in his laborious ef 
 forts to obtain it. At this time he was in his twenty-second 
 year. A vigorous constitution was his heritage ; and his 
 rounded cheek glowed with the warm color of health. His 
 strictly classical features were enhanced by the luxuriance 
 of his hair, which he wore flowing in its native curls, while 
 his full beard and mustache relieved his face from the 
 charge of effeminacy. 
 
 Ernest was yet engaged in the contemplation of the un 
 finished work or rather in dreaming of the bright original 
 when a light tap was heard at his door. He opened it 
 eagerly, and his poor studio was suddenly illuminated, as it 
 were, by the radiant apparition of Rose d'Amour. She 
 was dressed with a charming simplicity, which well became 
 a sylph like form, that required no adventitious aid from art. 
 
 " Good morning, Monsieur Lavalle!" said the beautiful 
 actress, cheerfully, as she dropped gracefully into the fan- 
 teuil prepared for her reception. " You find me in the best 
 possible humor to-day, thanks to this bright morning sun, 
 and to the success of last night. Mon Dieuf so many 
 bouquets ! you can't think ! Really, the life of an artiste 
 begins to be amusing. Don't you find it so, as a painter ? " 
 
 " I confess to you, mademoiselle, I have my moments of 
 despondency." 
 
 " With your fine talent ! Think better of yourself. I 
 hope, at least, that I have not been so unlucky as to sur 
 prise you in one of those inopportune moments." 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle," said the painter, "if it were so, 
 one of your smiles would dispel the cloud in a moment." 
 
 " Really ! " replied the actress, gayly. " Are you quite 
 sure there is no flattery in the remark ? I am aware that 
 flattery is an essential part of an artist's profession." 
 13* K 
 
150 THE TWO PORTRAITS. 
 
 "Not of a true artist's," replied Ernest. "The aim and 
 end of all art is truth ; and he who forgets it is untrue to 
 .his high mission." 
 
 " True," said the lady. " Well, then, faites votre pos 
 sible as Napoleon said to his friend David for I am 
 anxious that this portrait shall be a chef-d'oeuvre. I design 
 it for a present." 
 
 " With such a subject' before me," replied the painter 
 "I could not labor more conscientiously, if the picture were 
 designed for myself." 
 
 The sitting passed away rapidly, for the artist ; and he 
 was surprised when the lady, after consulting her watch, 
 rose hastily, and exclaimed, "That odious rehearsal! I 
 must leave you but you ought to be satisfied, for I have 
 given you two hours of my valuable time. Adieu, then, 
 until to-morrow." 
 
 With a smile that seemed natural to her, the beautiful 
 girl vanished, taking with her half the sunshine of the room. 
 
 The painter continued his labor of love. Indeed, so ab 
 sorbed was he in his employment, that he did not notice the 
 entrance of a visitor, until he felt a light tap on his shoul 
 der, accompanied by the words, 
 
 " Bravo, mon cher ! You are getting on famously. That 
 is Rose herself as radiant as she appears on the stage, 
 when the focus of a lorgnette has excluded all the stupid 
 and ennuyantes figures that surround her." 
 
 The speaker was Sir Frederic Stanley, an English 
 baronet, now some months in Paris, where he had plunged 
 into all the gayeties of the season. He was a handsome 
 man, of middle age, whose features bore the impress of 
 dissipation. 
 
 " You know the original, then ? " asked the painter, some* 
 what coldly. 
 
THE TWO PORTRAITS. 151 
 
 " Know her ! My dear fellow, I don't know any body 
 else, as the Yankees say. Why, I have the entry of the 
 Gaite, and pass all my evenings behind the scenes. I flat 
 ter myself but no matter. I have taken a fancy to that 
 picture : what do you say to a hundred louis for it ? " 
 
 " It is not for me to dispose of it." 
 
 " You have succeeded so well, you wish to keep it for 
 yourself eh ? Double the price, and let me have it ! " 
 
 "Impossible, Sir Frederic. It is painted for Mile, 
 d' Amour herself, and she designs it for a present." 
 
 " Say no more," said the baronet, with a self-satisfied 
 smile. " I think I could name the happy individual." 
 
 Ernest would not gratify his visitor by a question, and 
 the latter, finding the artist reserved and distrait, suddenly 
 recollected the races at Chantilly, and took his leave. 
 
 " Can it be possible," thought the painter, " that Rose 
 has suffered her affections to repose on that conceited, purse- 
 proud, elderly Englishman ? O, woman ! woman ! how 
 readily you barter the wealth of your heart for a handful 
 of gold ! " 
 
 Another tap at the door another visitor ! Really, La- 
 valle must be getting famous ! This time it is a lady a 
 lady of surpassing loveliness one of those well-preserved 
 Englishwomen, who, at forty, are as attractive as at twenty. 
 This lady was tall and stately, with elegant manners, and 
 perhaps a thought of sadness in her expression. She gazed 
 long and earnestly upon the portrait of Rose d' Amour. 
 
 " It is a beautiful face ! " she said, at length. " And one 
 that indicates, I should think, goodness of heart." 
 
 " She is an angel ! " said the painter. 
 
 "You speak warmly, sir," said the lady, with a sad 
 smile. 
 
 Ernest blushed, for he feared that he had betrayed his 
 
152 THE TWO PORTRAITS. 
 
 secret. The lady did not appear to notice his embarrass 
 ment, and passed to the occasion of her visit, which was to 
 engage the young artist to paint her portrait a task which 
 he readily undertook, for he was pleased with, and inter 
 ested in, his fair patroness. The picture was immediately 
 commenced, and an hour fixed for a second sitting, on the 
 next day. It was on that occasion that the fair unknown 
 encountered the actress, and they retired in company. 
 
 The two portraits were finished at the same time, and 
 reflected the greatest credit upon the artist. They were 
 varnished, framed, and paid for, but the painter had re 
 ceived no orders for their final disposition, when, one morn 
 ing, he was waited on by the two ladies, who informed him 
 that they should call upon him the following day, when the 
 two portraits would be presented, in his study, to the per 
 sons for whom they were designed. The artist was en 
 joined to place them on two separate easels, that of the 
 actress to stand nearest the door of the studio, and both to 
 be concealed by a curtain until the ladies should give the 
 signal for their exposure. The portrait of the English 
 lady, we will here remark, had, by her request, been hith 
 erto seen only by the artist. There was a mystery in this 
 arrangement, which piqued, excessively, the curiosity of 
 the painter, and he was anxious to witness the denouement. 
 
 The next day, at eleven o'clock, every thing was in read 
 iness, and the painter awaited the solution of the mystery. 
 
 The first person who presented himself was Sir Freder 
 ic Stanley. He was very radiant. 
 
 " Congratulate me, mon cher" said he. " Read that." 
 
 Ernest took an open note from his hand, and read as 
 follows : 
 
 "Be at the studio of Ernest Lavalle, to-morrow, at 
 
THE TWO PORTRAITS. 153 
 
 eleven. You will there receive a present, which, if there 
 be any truth in man's vows, will certainly delight you. 
 
 " ROSE." 
 
 The astonishment and disappointment of Ernest was at 
 its height, when his door opened, and the actress entered, 
 followed by a female, closely veiled. 
 
 "You are true to your appointment, Sir Frederic," 
 said the actress, gayly, " and your punctuality shall be re 
 warded." 
 
 She advanced to the farther easel, and, lifting the cur 
 tain, disclosed the features of the English lady. 
 
 " This is for you ! " she said, laughing. 
 
 "My wife! by all that's wonderful!" exclaimed the 
 baronet. 
 
 "Accompanied by the original!" said Lady Stanley, as 
 she unveiled and advanced. " Sir Frederic ! Sir Freder 
 ic ! when you were amusing yourself, by paying unmean 
 ing attentions to this young lady, I am afraid you forgot to 
 tell her that you had a wife in England." 
 
 " I thought it unnecessary," stammered the baronet. 
 
 " How could you disturb the peace of mind of a young 
 girl, when you knew you could not requite her affection ? " 
 continued Lady Stanley. 
 
 "It was only a flirtation, to pass the time," said Sir 
 Frederic ; " but I acknowledge it was culpable. My dear 
 Emeline, I thank you for your present. I shall ever cherish 
 it as my dearest possession next to yourself." 
 
 " For you, sir," said the beautiful actress, turning to 
 Ernest, " I cannot think of depriving you of your best 
 effort. Take the portrait. I wish the subject were 
 worthier." And she withdrew the curtain from he* 
 picture. 
 
154 THE TWO PORTRAITS. 
 
 "I am ungrateful," said Ernest, in a low and tremulous 
 torife. " Much as I prize the picture, I can never be happy 
 without the original." 
 
 " Is it so ? " replied the actress, in the same low tone of 
 emotion ; then, placing her hand timidly in his, she added, 
 " The original is yours ! " 
 
UNCLE OBED. 
 
 A FULL LENGTH PORTRAIT IN PEN AND INK. 
 
 UNSLE OBED we omit his family name for various 
 reasons lived away down east, in a small but flourishing 
 village, where he occupied a snug house, and what with a 
 little farming, a little fishing, a little hunting, and a little 
 trading, contrived, not only to make both ends meet at the 
 expiration of each year, but accumulated quite a little 
 property. 
 
 In personal appearance he was small, but muscular and 
 wiry. He was far from handsome ; a pug nose, set be 
 tween a pair of gooseberry eyes, a long, straight mouth, a 
 head of hair in which sandy red and iron gray were mixed 
 together, did not give him a very fascinating aspect. He 
 rarely smiled, but when he did, his smile was expressive of 
 the deepest cunning. 
 
 Uncle Obed had one grievous fault an unhappy pro 
 pensity for acquiring the property of others "a natural 
 proclivity," as General Pillow says, to stealing. The Spar 
 tans thought there was no harm in stealing in fact that 
 it was rather meritorious than otherwise, providing that it 
 was never found out ; and both in theory and practice, Uncle 
 Obed was a thorough Spartan. A few of his exploits in 
 this way will serve to show his extraordinary 'cuteness. 
 
 A neighbor of his had a black heifer with a white face, 
 
 155 
 
156 UNCLE OBED. 
 
 which occasionally made irruptions into Uncle Obed's pas 
 turage. One evening, Obed made a seizure of her, and tied 
 her up in his barn. He then went to the owner of the 
 animal. 
 
 " Mr. Stagg," said he, " there's been a cantankerous 
 heifer a breaking into my lot, and I've been a lookin' for her, 
 and I've cotched her at last." 
 
 " Well," said the unconscious Mr. Stagg, " I 'spose you're 
 going to drive her to the pound." 
 
 " No, I ain't," answered Uncle Obed, with the smile we 
 have alluded to, " I know a trick worth two of that. I'm 
 going to kill her ; and if you won't say nothing to nobody, 
 but'll come up to-night and help me, you shall hev the 
 horns and hide for your trouble." 
 
 " Done," said Mr. Stagg. I'll come." 
 
 In the mean time, Uncle Obed took a pot of black paint, 
 and covered the white face of the heifer, so as to prevent 
 recognition. The neighbor came up at night, and helped 
 despatch his own " critter," receiving the horns and hide for 
 his pay, and laughing with Obed to think how cleverly the 
 owner had been " done." 
 
 The next day he missed his heifer, and called on Obed 
 to ask if he had seen her. 
 
 " I hain't seen her to-day," replied Uncle Obed, " but if 
 you'll go to the tannery, where you sold that hide, and 'li 
 just take the trouble to overhaul it, Mr. Stagg, prehap? 
 you'll find out where your heifer is." 
 
 jPrehaps he did. 
 
 On another occasion Uncle Obed appropriated w 
 scorn to charge him with stealing a cow which had had the 
 misfortune to lose her tail. Stepping into a tannery, he 
 cut off a tail, and sewed it on to the fragment which yet 
 
UNCLE OBED. 157 
 
 decorated the hind quarters of the stolen animal. He then 
 drove her along towards the next market, and having to 
 cross a ferry, had just got on board the boat with his booty, 
 when down came the owner of the missing cow, " bloody 
 with spurring, fiery red with haste/' and took passage on 
 the same boat. 
 
 He eyed his cow very sharply, while Uncle Obed stood 
 quietly by, watching the result of the investigation. 
 
 ** That's a pretty good cow, ain't it ? " "said Uncle Obed 
 
 " Yes," replied the owner, " and if her tail was cut off, I 
 could swear it was mine." 
 
 Uncle Obed quietly took his knife out of his pocket, and 
 cutting the tail short off above where the false one was 
 joined on, threw it into the river. 
 
 " Now, neighbor," said he, triumphantly, " can you swear 
 that's your cow ? " 
 
 " Of course not," said the owner. " But they look very 
 much alike." 
 
 After stealing something or other, we forget what, Uncle 
 Obed was observed, and the sheriff was sent in pursuit of 
 him, in hot haste, mounted on a fine and very fast horse. 
 After a hard run, Uncle Obed halted at the edge of a rough 
 piece of ground, pulled off his coat, and pulled down about 
 a rod of stone wall, then quietly went to work building it 
 up again, as if that was his regular occupation. 
 
 Presently the sheriff came riding up on the spur, and 
 reining in, asked Obed if he had seen a fellow running for 
 his life. 
 
 " Yes," said Obed, " I see him jest now streakin' it like 
 a quarter hoss in that direction," pointing off. " But he 
 was pretty nigh blown, and I 'xpect-you can catch him in 
 about two minnits." 
 14 
 
158 UNCLE OBED. 
 
 "Well, just hold my horse," said the sheriff, "and I'D 
 overhaul him." 
 
 The sheriff scrambled over the stones and through the 
 bushes in the direction indicated, and the moment he was 
 out of sight, Uncle Obed jumped on the horse and rode 
 off at the top of his speed. He rode his prize to a town a 
 good ways off, and sold the horse for a hundred and fifty 
 dollars. 
 
 For some similar exploit, he was arrested and committed 
 to jail in Essex county, to await his trial. But the prison 
 being then in a process of repair, Uncle Obed, with other 
 victims of the law, was incarcerated in the fort in Salem 
 harbor. He made his escape, however, by crawling through 
 the sewer, as Jack Sheppard did from Newgate prison. 
 The sentinel on duty saw a mass of seaweed floating on 
 the surface of the water. Now, this was nothing extra 
 ordinary, but it was extraordinary for seaweed to float 
 against the tide. Uncle Obed's head was in that floating 
 mass. He was hailed and ordered to swim back. He 
 made no answer. A volley of musketry was discharged at 
 him, but no boat being very handy, he got off and made his 
 escape, very much after the manner of Rob Roy at the ford 
 of Avondow. 
 
 Uncle Obed had a famous black Newfoundland dog, 
 worth from sixty to eighty dollars. When hard up, he 
 used to take the dog about fifty or a hundred miles from 
 home, where he was unknown, and sell him. No matter 
 what the distance was, the dog always came back to his 
 old master, who realized several hundred dollars by the 
 repeated sales of him. 
 
 Such were a few of the exploits of this departed worthy, 
 actually vouched for by contemporaries. His passion for 
 
UNCLE OBED. 159 
 
 etealing was undoubtedly a monomania, for he was known 
 in many cases to make voluntary restitution of articles that 
 he had purloined, and his circumstances did not allow him 
 the plea of necessity which palliates the errors of despe 
 rately poor rogues in every eye except that of the law. 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 MR. LUKE BRANDON was a Wall Street broker, of mod 
 erate business capacity, little education, and of plain man 
 ners, partaking of the rustic simplicity of his original em 
 ployment he was, in early life, a farmer in one of the 
 western counties of New York. With less talent and more 
 cunning, he might have become a very rich man, at short 
 notice ; but being brought up in an old-fashioned school of 
 morality, he could never learn te dignify swindling by the 
 epithet of smartness, nor consider overreaching his neighbor 
 a "fair business transaction." Hence he plodded along 
 the even tenor of his way, contented with moderate profits, 
 and satisfied with the prospect of becoming independent by 
 slow degrees. 
 
 But in an evil hour, during a fortnight's relaxation at the 
 Catskill Mountain House, this steady and respectable gen 
 tleman, at the mature age of thirty-five, quite an old bach 
 elor indeed, fell desperately in love with a dashing girl of 
 twenty, the orphan daughter of a bankrupt ship chandler. 
 Miss Maria Manners was highly educated ; that is, she 
 could write short notes on perfumed billet paper, without 
 making any orthographical or grammatical mistakes, had 
 taken three quarters' lessons of a French barber, could 
 work worsted lapdogs and embroider slippers, danced 
 like a sylph, and played on the piano indifferently welL 
 She had visited the Catskilh on a matrimonial specu 
 
 160 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 161 
 
 lation, and made a dead set at poor Brandon. Of course 
 with his experience in the ways of women, he fell a ready 
 dupe to the fascinating wiles of Miss Manners. She kept 
 him in an agony of suspense for a week, during every even 
 ing of which she waltzed with a young lieutenant of dra 
 goons, who was playing billiards and drinking champagne 
 on a sick leave, until she could hear from a fabulous 
 guardian at Philadelphia, and obtain his consent to a sacri 
 fice of her brilliant prospects nothing a year and a very 
 suspicious account at a fashionable milliner's. 
 
 Mr. Brandon went down to the city, purchased a snug 
 house, furnished it modestly, gave a liberal order on his 
 tailor, and one memorable morning, mtght have been seen 
 looking very uncomfortable, in a white satin stock and 
 kids, beside a lady elegantly dressed in satin and blonde 
 lace, while a portly clergyman pronounced his sentence in 
 the shape of a marriage benediction. 
 
 There was a snug wedding breakfast in the new house, 
 at which were present several eminent apple speculators 
 from Fulton market, two or three bank clerks, and a re 
 porter for a weekly newspaper, who consumed a ruinous 
 amount of sandwiches and bottled ale. 
 
 Before the honeymoon was over, the bride began to dis 
 play some of the less amiable features of her character. 
 She sneered at the situation and simplicity of the establish 
 ment, and protested she was unaccustomed to that sort of 
 style. She was perfectly sincere in this, for the defunct 
 ship chandler had lived in a basement and two attic cham 
 bers. 
 
 By dint of repeated persecutions, she induced her hus 
 band to move into a larger house ; and finally, after the ex 
 piration of many years, we find them established in the 
 upper part of the city, in a splendid mansion, looking out 
 14* 
 
162 THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 upon a fashionable square, with a little marble boy in front 
 sitting on a brick, and spouting a stream of Croton through 
 a clam shell. 
 
 One morning, Mr. Brandon came home about eleven 
 o'clock. On entering his front door, he beheld, lounging 
 on a sofa, with the Courrier des Etats Unis in his hand, 
 Claude, the handsome French page of Mrs. B. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. B. ? " asked the elderly broker. 
 
 " Madame is in her boudoir," replied the page ; " but," 
 he added, seeing his master move in that direction, " I do 
 not know whether she is visible." 
 
 " That I will ascertain myself, young gentleman," replied 
 the broker, with a slight shade of irony in his tone. " But 
 tell me, is there any one with her ? " 
 
 "Only M. Auguste Charmant," said the page. 
 
 " That confounded Frenchman ! " muttered the plebeian 
 broker. " My Yankee house is turned topsyturvy by these 
 foreigners. There's a French cook, and a French cham 
 bermaid, and the friend of the family is a Frenchman. I 
 don't know what I'm eating, and I hardly understand a 
 word that's said at my table. Sometimes, by way of change, 
 I hey talk Italian instead of French. One might as well asso 
 ciate with a stack of monkeys. Out of the way, jackanapes." 
 
 " Monsieur," said the page, with true Gallic dignity, " I 
 was about to proceed to announce monsieur." 
 
 " Monsieur can announce himself," replied Brandon, with 
 the grin of a hyena ; and proceeding up stairs, he entered 
 the boudoir without knocking. 
 
 Mrs. Brandon was lounging on afauteuil, in an elegant 
 morning toilet literally plunged and embowered in 
 costly Brussels lace. Her delicate, bejewelled fingers 
 were playing with the petals of an exquisite bouquet. Thanks 
 to a good constitution, a life of ease, an accomplished milliner 
 
THE C'ASKET OF JEWELS. 165 
 
 and an incomparable dentist, the fair Maria, though the 
 mother of a marriageable girl, was still a lovely and fascinat 
 ing wo-rnan, and Brandon, as he gazed on her superb figure, 
 almost forgave her absurd ambition and her ruinous extrava 
 gance. Still, when he glanced at his own anxious, ema 
 ciate i, and careworn features, in the splendid Versailles 
 mirror that hung opposite, his transitory pleasure gave way 
 to stern and bitter feelings. He merely nodded to his wife, 
 and bowed coldly to her companion, a young man attired 
 in the height of fashion, with dark eyes and hair, and the 
 most superb mustache imaginable. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Meestare Brandon," said the dandy, " give 
 me your hand. I congratulate you on such a bonne fortune 
 such good luck as has befallen you." 
 
 " Explain yourself, sir," said the broker. 
 
 " Avec plaisir. I have secured for you a box at the 
 opera for the whole season and for only five hundred 
 dollars. 
 
 The broker whistled. 
 
 " Really nothing," said Mrs. Brandon ; " only think the 
 best troupe we have yet had a new prima donna and a 
 new basso" 
 
 " Fiddlestick ! " said the matter-of-fact husband. " What 
 does it amount to ? " 
 
 " Brandon," said the lady with a true maternal dignity, 
 "reflect upon the importance of the opera to the education 
 of your daughter." 
 
 u Nonsense ! " said the broker, angrily. " My daughter 
 Julia would please me much better if she cultivated a little 
 common sense, and adopted the plain, republican manners 
 fitted to the eventualities of her future life, instead of aping 
 foreign fashions, and doing her best to denationalize hex 1 
 character." 
 
Itfl THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 Monsieur Auguste Charm ant shrugged his shoulders, 
 Mrs. Brandon clasped her hands, and the former, rising? 
 said, 
 
 " Au revoir, madame, au plaisir, Monsieur Brandon. I 
 will bid you good morning, and leave you to the pleasures 
 of a conjugal tete-a-tete" 
 
 Mr. Brandon rose and paced the room to and fro for 
 several minutes after the departure of the Frenchman, nar 
 rowly eyed by Mrs. Brandon, who was anticipating a 
 " scene," and preparing to meet it. In these contests the 
 victory generally rested with the lady. The broker 
 finally opened the door, and finding the page with ear glued 
 against the keyhole, quietly took that young gentleman by the 
 lobe of his left ear, and leading him to the head of the stair 
 case, advised him, as a friend, to descend it as speedily as 
 possible, before his gravitation was assisted by the appli 
 cation of an extraneous power. This accomplished, he 
 returned to the boudmr, and locking the door, sat down 
 beside his wife. The latter playfully tapped his cheek 
 with her bouquet, but the broker took no notice of the co 
 quettish action, and gloomily contemplating his gaiters, as 
 if afraid to trust his eyes with the siren glances of his 
 partner, commenced : 
 
 " Mrs. B., I want to have some serious talk with you." 
 
 " You never have any other kind of small talk," retorted 
 the tedy. " You have a rare gift at sermonizing." 
 
 Mr. Brandon passed over the sneer, and continued : 
 
 " You alluded just now to Julia ; it is of her I wish to 
 speak. Let me remind you of her future prospects, and 
 ask you whether it be not time to change your system of 
 educating her, and prepare her for a change of life. You 
 will remember then, that, two years ago, with the consent 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 165 
 
 of all parties, she was engaged to Arthur Marton, a Tery 
 promising young dry goods merchant of Boston." 
 
 " Only a retail merchant," said Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 " A promising young merchant, the son of my old friend 
 Jasper Merton. It was agreed between us that I should 
 bestow ten thousand dollars on my daughter, and Merton 
 an equal sum upon his son. In case of the failure of either 
 party to fulfil the engagement, the father of the party was 
 to forfeit to the aggrieved person the sum of ten thousand 
 dollars. This very week, I expect my old friend and his 
 son to ratify the contract. You know with what difficulty, 
 owing to the enormous expenses of our mode of life, I have 
 laid aside the stipulated sum ; for in your hands, the hands 
 of the mother of my child, I have lodged this sacred de 
 posit." 
 
 " Very true," said the lady, " and it is now in my 
 secretary, under lock and key. But what an odious ar 
 rangement ! How the contract and the forfeit smell of the 
 shop ! " 
 
 ' Don't despise the smell of the shop, Maria," said the 
 broker, smiling gravely, " it is the smell of the shop that 
 perfumes the boudoir." 
 
 " And then Arthur Merton is such a shocking person," 
 continued the lady ; " really, no manners." 
 
 " To my mind, Maria," said the broker, " his manners, 
 plain, open, and frank, are infinitely superior to those 
 of the French butterfly who is always fluttering at your 
 elbow." 
 
 " And if he is always fluttering at my elbow," retorted 
 the lady, " it is because you are always away." 
 
 " That is because I always have business," said the bro 
 ker. " If we lived in less style, I should have more leisure. 
 Ah ! Maria ! Maria ! I fear that we are driving on too 
 
 L 
 
166 THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 recklessly ; the day of reckoning will come we seem to 
 be sailing prosperously now, but a shipwreck may termi 
 nate the voyage." 
 
 " Not while I have the helm," said the lady. " Listen to 
 me, Brandon. You know little of the philosophy of life. 
 To command success, we must seem to have obtained it. 
 To be rich, we must seem so. You have done well to fol 
 low my advice in one particular. You have taken a very 
 prominent part in the present presidential canvass. There 
 cannot fail to be a change of administration, and while you 
 have been making yourself conspicuous in public, I have 
 been electioneering for you in private. I have been feast 
 ing and petting the men who hold the winning cards in 
 their hands. It is not for mere ostentation that I have in 
 vited to my soirees, the Hon. Mr. A., and Judge B., and 
 Counsellor C." 
 
 " I don't see what you're driving at," said the broker. 
 
 " O, of course not. But when you find yourself a mil- 
 lionnaire, and all by the scheming of your wife, perhaps, B^ 
 you'd think there was some wisdom in what you are pleased 
 to call my fashionable follies. But to make the matter 
 plain a change of administration occurs you are the 
 confidential friend of the secretary of the treasury your 
 talents as a financier are duly recognized you have the 
 management of the most important loans and Contracts 
 you have four years, perhaps eight, to flourish in, and your 
 fortune is made." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the broker, doubtfully. 
 
 " If such success attends you, and there can be no doubt 
 of it, how painful would be your reflections, if you thou< * 
 that you had sacrificed your daughter's future in an allian^ 
 with a petty trader. I have arranged a brighter destiny foi 
 her a marriage with a foreign nobleman." 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 167 
 
 * I'd rather see her the wife of a Yankee peddler." 
 
 " Out upon you ! " cried the lady. " I tell you, you* 
 opposition will have little weight, Mr. B. Come to my 
 soiree this evening, and I will present you to Count Alfred 
 de Roseville, an exile from France for political offences 
 only think, B., he was the intimate friend of Henry V." 
 
 " And who vouches for this paragon ? " 
 
 " Our friend, Auguste." 
 
 " Tour friend, Auguste, you mean." 
 
 " I mean M. Charmant, the friend of the family." 
 
 " And what does Julia think of this Phoenix ? " 
 
 " She adores him." 
 
 " Alas ! how her gentleness of nature must have been 
 perverted ! Well, well, Maria, in spite of myself, I cannot 
 resolve to humble your pride, or thwart your schemes. I 
 believe you love me and your daughter. Yet you are play 
 ing a desperate game remember, our all is staked upon 
 the issue." 
 
 " And I'll await the hazard of the die," replied Mrs. B., 
 as she kissed her husband fondly, and dismissed him with a 
 wave of the hand. 
 
 When Brandon came down into the hall, he was thun 
 der-struck at meeting there three persons, whose appear 
 ance, after what had just passed up stairs in the boudoir, 
 might well be considered inopportune. The first was uncle 
 Richard Watkins, a relative of Mr. Brandon's, who resided 
 in the country, and had become immensely rich by land 
 speculations, and the others were Mr. Merton and his 
 eon. A pile of baggage announced that they were not mere 
 callers. 
 
 " Give us your hand, Luke," said uncle Richard, ex 
 tending his enormous brown palm, " you ain't glad to see 
 me, nor nothin', be you ? Brought my trunk, valise, carpet 
 
1 38 THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 bag, and hatbox, and cal'late to spend six weeks here. 
 How's the old woman and the gal pretty smart ? Well, 
 that's hearty." 
 
 The broker shook the old man by the hand, and then 
 turned to welcome with the best grace he could his friend 
 Merton, and his proposed son-in-law. 
 
 " You know what we've come for," said the elder Merton, 
 with a sly wink. 
 
 " Pray walk into the drawing room," said the broker, 
 and * on hospitable thoughts intent,' he threw wide the door, 
 and the party entered. 
 
 Ah! unlucky Brandon! why didst thou not summon 
 the French page to announce thy guests? Thou hadst 
 then been spared a scene that might have figured in a 
 comedy, and came near furnishing material for a tragedy. 
 
 An elegant young man was kneeling at the feet of an 
 elegant young lady. The former was Count Alfred de 
 Roseville, the latter Miss Julia Brandon. The count start 
 ed to his feet, the young lady blushed and shrieked. The 
 count was the first to recover his voice and self-possession. 
 Rushing to the broker, he exclaimed in broken English, 
 
 " O, my dear monsieur, how I moost glad to see you 
 your daughter Mees Julie she 'ave say yais yais 
 yais to my ardent love suit and now I have the 
 honneur to salute her respectable papa." 
 
 " O, father," said the terrified girl, " it was with mother's 
 knowledge and consent." 
 
 Brandon could not speak a word. 
 
 " This lady, sir," said Merton, fiercely, advancing to the 
 count, " is my affianced bride." 
 
 "Your bride eh? "cried the count, " when she has 
 just come to say yais to my ardent love suit ! " 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 169 
 
 " What does the gal say? what does the gal say?" asked 
 uncle Richard, interposing. 
 
 " Speak, Julia," said her father, sternly, " and weigh 
 well your words. I will not force you to fulfil a contract 
 against your will the penalty and contingency of such a 
 refusal have been provided for but pause before you re 
 ject the son of ray old friend for a foreigner a man with 
 whom you can have had but a few days' acquaintance." 
 
 Julia averted her eyes, and blushed scarlet, but placed 
 her hand in that of the count just as her mother entered 
 the apartment. 
 
 " Enough," said young Merton, " I am satisfied. Come, 
 father, let us retire our presence here is only a burden. 
 O, Julia ! " he added, in a tone of deep feeling, " little did 
 I expect this at your hands. I have looked forward to this 
 meeting with the fondest hope. It is past farewell 
 may you be happy." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to see you again nevair ! " 
 said the count. 
 
 " O, as to that," said young Merton, approaching him, 
 asvl addressing him in a low tone, " I think you, at least, 
 have not seen the last of me, monsieur. At any rate, you 
 shall hear from me soon." 
 
 " I 'ave not nozzin to do nor not to say viz canaille" said 
 the count. 
 
 " Then, perhaps, it will be more agreeable to you, sir, to 
 be horsewhipped in Broadway," said Merton. 
 
 " Me ! horsevhip ! me ! the friend of Henri V. ! hor- 
 reur!" cried the count. 
 
 " Very good, monsieur, I have presented the alternative. 
 Where may you be found ? " 
 
 Hotel de Ville City Hotel." 
 
 "Auplaisir, then Count Alfred de Roseville," said Mer 
 15 
 
170 THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 ton, glancing at the card the Frenchman handed Him. 
 " Come, father." 
 
 " Mr. Brandon, I shall wait on you at your counting room 
 in the course of the forenoon," said Mr. Merton, senior ; " we 
 have an account to settle together." 
 
 And the father and son bowed themselves out of the 
 room. Julia was so much agitated at the events which had 
 just transpired, that she was compelled to retire to her 
 room. Uncle Richard and Mr. and Mrs. Brandon remained 
 upon the field of battle. 
 
 " Well, Maria," said the broker, " the first act of the 
 comedy has been played, in which you have assigned me a 
 very insignificant and low-comedy part, but I don't think 
 either of us has made a very distinguished figure in it. I 
 hope the last act will redeem the first." 
 
 The lady reddened, but made no reply. 
 
 " Let us foot up the column to see what amount is to be 
 carried forward," continued the broker. " Here's an old 
 friendship dissolved a worthy young man broken hearted 
 a suspicious suitor introduced into my family, and ten 
 thousand dollars to be paid on demand. A very pretty 
 morning's work." 
 
 " It will come out right," said Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 " As the boy remarked when he was gored by the cow's 
 horn," observed uncle Richard, philosophically, as he ex 
 tended his length upon an ottoman, including his boots in 
 the enjoyment of the comfort of cut velvet 
 
 " I leave uncle Richard to your care, madam," said the 
 broker, " while I go down in town to ascertain the value of 
 my new son-in-law's paper upon 'change." 
 
 On an evening not long after the above scenes, the bro* 
 ker's house was brilliantly lighted up from basement to 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 171 
 
 attic. Through the open hall door, at the head of the 
 flight of marble steps, servants in livery were seen re 
 ceiving the shawls and hats of the guests, as carriage after 
 carriage deposited its brilliant contents at the house of the 
 financier. Mingled with the black coats of the gentlemen, 
 and the gossamer attire of the ladies, were seen the bril 
 liant uniforms of officers of the army and navy. The 
 crowd poured into the magnificent ball room, where, flanked 
 by her husband, and by the indefatigable Monsieur Char- 
 mant, the lovely hostess received her guests with an ele 
 gance of manner truly aristocratic. The delicious waltzes 
 of Strauss, performed by a German band, floated through 
 ihe magnificent rooms. Glistening chandeliers poured 
 down a flood of soft light on the fair faces and the polished 
 ivory shoulders of the ladies. It was a scene of enchant 
 ment, and Mrs. Brandon revelled in the splendor that sur 
 rounded her and the incense that was offered. She was 
 pleased at the distinguished appearance of her husband, 
 pleased to see her daughter hanging on the arm of the 
 French count, pleased at every thing but one. One object 
 alone, like the black mask at the bridal of Hernani, marred 
 the festivity, and created a discord in the midst of the har 
 mony that was uncle Richard, walking up and down the 
 ball room in a meal-colored coat and cowhide boots. 
 
 Various efforts were made to get possession of uncle 
 Richard and lead him away into captivity. A whist table 
 was suggested in an anteroom, an Havana was proposed in 
 the library, but he " didn't want to play cards, and had just 
 quit smoking," and so he paraded his coat and boots before 
 the company, the " observed of all observers." 
 
 Mrs. B. made the best of it, whispering confidentially 
 that he was a distant connection, immensely rich, partially 
 insane, but perfectly harmless. O, how dazzling was Mrs, 
 
172 THE CASKET OF JEWELS 
 
 Brandon that evening, in the beauty of her person and of 
 her attire ! She wore diamonds that were valued at ten 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 In the midst of the brilliant festivities, Mr. Brandon was 
 suddenly summoned from the ball room. He presently re 
 turned, looking very pale, and beckoned his wife, who fol 
 lowed him into the library. Mr. Merton, senior, was there, 
 with a very stern expression on his countenance. 
 
 " What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Brandon. 
 
 " The matter," said her husband, " is simply this Mr. 
 Merton leaves town to-night for Philadelphia, on special 
 business, and having occasion for a large sum of money, 
 requires the immediate payment of the ten thousand dol 
 lars which are due him for our violation of the marriage 
 contract." 
 
 " Yes, madam," said Mr. Merton, " and I called on your 
 husband for it, and he referred me to you as having the 
 deposit in your possession." 
 
 " Wouldn't to-morrow do as well ? " asked the lady anx 
 iously. 
 
 " No, madam, my necessity is urgent." 
 
 " Go, Maria," said the broker, " and bring the money 
 instantly. A debt like this admits of no postponement." 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " stammered the poor woman, " I have not 
 this money by me. Surely, Mr. Brandon, you must be 
 able to command it." 
 
 " Not one dollar, madam," said the broker. " I would 
 have spared you this explanation to-night, but you have 
 brought it on yourself. This is our last night of factitious 
 splendor my affairs are in inextricable confusion lossej 
 have this day come to light which complete my ruin 
 and to-morrow the world will know me as a bankrupt." 
 
 Mrs. Brandon wrung her hands and sobbed bitterly. 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 173 
 
 "l3ut that is a grief for to-morrow," said the broker 
 sternly. " There is music and dancing, champagne and 
 flowers, in the next room enough glory for to-night. Buf 
 this business of Mr. Morton's requires instant attention 
 What have you done with the ten thousand dollars ? Have 
 you dared to squander it ? " 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Brandon earnestly. " I am not so 
 bad as that. I deposited it with Sandford, the jeweller, of 
 whom I hired the casket of jewels to deck myself to 
 night." 
 
 " Mr. Merton," said the broker, calmly, " I shall have to 
 trouble your patience a little while longer. I will write 
 instantly to Mr. Sandford, late as it is, and bid him bring the 
 money here at once." 
 
 After despatching the note, Brandon and his wife re 
 turned to the ball room. O, how insipid to the lady's ear 
 seemed now the babble of her guests ! The flowers had 
 lost their perfume the music its divine influence. Yet, 
 with the serpent of remorse and anguish gnawing at her 
 heart, she was fprced to smile and seem happy and at ease. 
 A half hour passed in this way seemed an age of torture ; 
 and when the messenger despatched by her husband had 
 returned and summoned them again to the library, it gave 
 her inexpressible relief. 
 
 " 0, Mr. Sandford ! " she exclaimed to the jeweller, who 
 was now added to the party, " how happy I am to see you ! 
 There is your casket and here are your diamonds ! " and 
 she tore the jewels from her neck, ears, and wrists, and 
 offered them to the jeweller. 
 
 " Madam," said the jeweller, gravely, after having" ex 
 amined the gems, " these are not the articles I furnished 
 you. I lent you a set of diamonds these are paste ! " 
 15* 
 
174 THE CASKET OF JEAVELS. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ? " asked the broker 
 Bternly. 
 
 " I know not. I cannot explain. O, Luke ! Luke ! 1 
 am innocent ! " and Mrs. Brandon sunk fainting into a 
 chair. 
 
 When she had recovered her senses, Mr. Brandon 
 asked, 
 
 " Did you make this arrangement in person ? " 
 
 " No," she replied ; " it was through the mediation of Mr. 
 Charm ant." 
 
 " Let's send for him," said Merton. 
 
 " Stay," said the broker ; " an idea has occurred to me. 
 I have observed at times that this Monsieur Charrnant had 
 a good deal to say to your French page, my good lady." 
 
 " It was he that recommended Claude," said Mrs. Bran 
 don. 
 
 " Then we will have Claude before us," said the broker. 
 
 Claude soon made his appearance. 
 
 " Claude," said Mrs. Brandon, "do you know any thing 
 about this casket of jewels?" 
 
 The boy changed color, but shook his head. 
 
 " Now, my Christian friend," said the broker, "you need 
 not tell us what you know about the jewels, if you are un 
 willing; but in case of your refusal, I shall send for a police 
 officer, who will, undoubtedly, drum the whole affair out of 
 you." 
 
 The threat had the desired effect. The boy confessed 
 that Charmant and De Roseville were impostors that 
 they were not even Frenchmen, but a brace of London 
 thieves, who had picked up a knowledge of French during 
 $, professional tour on the continent, and who had emigrated 
 to America for the purpose of introducing their art among 
 our unsophisticated countrymen. Charmant had been a 
 
' THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 175 
 
 jeweller, and this enabled him to counterfeit the gems ob 
 tained of Mr. Sandford, which he purposed disposing of at 
 the first favorable opportunity. The boy believed that 
 Charmant had them about him at that moment. In Eng 
 land, Charmant was known as French Jack, and Roseville 
 as Kusty Joe. 
 
 " Go back to the ball room," said Mr. Merton to Bran 
 don, " and take your wife with you. Mr. Sandford, you 
 stay by the boy. I'll go for an officer." 
 
 Brandon and his lady returned to the ball room, the lat 
 ter somewhat relieved, but mortified at the deceptions 
 which had been practised on her. 
 
 In a few minutes a burly member of the police, with a 
 very thick stick, and a very red handkerchief knotted round 
 his neck, made his appearance, to the astonishment and 
 consternation of the guests, amid whom the host and 
 hostess alone testified no excitement or alarm. 
 
 " Sarvant, ladies and gentlemen, sarvant," said the legal 
 functionary, scraping his right boot, and plucking desperate 
 ly at the brim of his hat. " Don't let me interrupt yer 
 innercent amusement sorry to intrude, as the bull said 
 when he rushed into the china shop but business before 
 pleasure now then, my hearty ! how are you ? " 
 
 The last words were accompanied by a vigorous blow on 
 the shoulder of M. Auguste Charmant, who was at that mo 
 ment paying his attentions to a belle from Union Square. 
 
 " Monsieur me parle-t-il ? " exclaimed the dandy, with 
 well-feigned astonishment. 
 
 " O, nix the lingo, French Jack," said the officer, " or 
 leastways patter Romany so's a cove can understand you. 
 Fork over them are dimonds or else it will go harder 
 with you. The boy's peached, and the game's up you 
 were spotted long ago." 
 
176 THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 
 
 With a smothered curse, French Jack dived his hand 
 into his vest pocket and produced the stolen jewels. "While 
 this was enacting, the count had been quietly stealing to the 
 door, but the vigilant officer had an eye upon his move 
 ments, and a hand upon his shoulder before he could 
 escape. 
 
 " Now I've got the pair of you," said the worthy man, 
 chuckling apoplectically in the folds of his red handkerchief. 
 *' Now, don't ride rusty, Joe for there's a small few of us 
 outside with amazin' thick sticks, that might fall on your 
 head and hurt you, if so be you happened to be rambus- 
 tical." 
 
 " Curse the luck ! " muttered the thief, as with his com 
 panion he marched off. 
 
 It may well be imagined that the scene dispersed the 
 party in a hurry. They took French leave, like birds 
 scattered by a sudden storm. Julia was carried to bed in 
 hysterics, accompanied by her mother. Merton and the 
 jeweller had disappeared, the three rogues had been taken 
 into custody, and only Brandon and uncle Richard 
 
 trod alone 
 
 The banquet hall deserted." 
 
 " Well, uncle," said the broker, bitterly, " the game's up. 
 I have been ruined, stock and fluke, by letting my wife 
 have her own way, and to-morrow I shall be a bankrupt." 
 
 " No you won't," said uncle Richard. 
 
 " Yes I shall," said the broker, angrily. " And Julia, 
 abandoned by her lover, will be broken hearted." 
 
 " No she won't," said uncle Richard. 
 
 " Who's to prevent it ? " asked the broker. 
 
 u Uncle Richard," replied that personage. " What's the 
 
THE CASKET OF JEWELS. 177 
 
 nse of a friend, unless he's a friend in need. I've got 
 plenty of money, and neither chick nor child in the world. 
 I'll meet your liabilities with cash. Young Merton loves 
 Julia in spite of her temporary alienation he will gladly 
 take her back. The rogues will get their deserts. Your 
 wife, sick and ashamed of her fashionable follies, will glad 
 ly gin' up this house and the servants. You'll buy a little 
 country seat on the Hudson, and I'll come and live with 
 you." 
 
 As every thing turned out exactly as uncle Richard 
 promised and predicted, we have no occasion to enlarge on 
 the fortunate subsiding of this " sea of troubles." 
 
ACTING CHARADES 
 
 But, masters, remember that I am an ass ; though, it be not written 
 down, yet forget not that I am an ass. SHAK.SPEARE, Much Ado abcui 
 Nothing. 
 
 MANY of our readers have doubtless witnessed, or per 
 chance participated in, the amusement of acting charades 
 a divertisement much in vogue in social circles, and if 
 cleverly done, productive of much mirth. To the unin 
 itiated, a brief description of an acted charade may not be 
 unacceptable. A word of two or more syllables is selected, 
 each part of which must make sense by itself as, for in 
 stance, the word inspector, which would be decomposed, 
 thus ; inn spectre. The company of performers would 
 then extemporize a scene at a public house, leaving the 
 spectators to guess at the first syllable, inn. The second 
 scene would represent the terror occasioned by the appa 
 rition of a phantom, and give the second part of the word 
 spectre. The third scene would represent the whole word, 
 and would perhaps be a brigade inspector reviewing his 
 troops, giving occasion for the humors of a Yankee mi 
 litia training. Much ingenuity is required in the selection 
 of a word, and in carrying out the representation, with ap 
 propriate dialogue, &c. 
 
 Acting charades generally turns a house topsy turvy ; 
 wardrobes and garrets are ransacked for costumes and 
 properties ; hats, canes, umbrellas, and firearms are mus- 
 
 178 
 
ACTING CHARADES. 179 
 
 tered, and old dresses that haven't seen the light for forty 
 years are rummaged out as disguises for the actors in these 
 extempore theatricals. 
 
 In a certain circle in this city there was a knot of clever 
 young people, of both sexes, strongly addicted to acting 
 charades, and very happy in their execution. But they 
 were unfortunately afflicted by an interloper, 
 
 " Whose head 
 Was not of brains particularly full, " 
 
 one of those geniuses who have a fatal facility for making 
 blunders. Yet, with a pleasing unconsciousness of his de 
 ficiencies, he was always volunteering his services, and al 
 ways expected, in this matter of acting charades, to be 
 intrusted with the leading parts. 
 
 One evening the usual coterie was assembled, charades 
 were proposed, as usual, and the little knot of performers 
 retired to the back drawing room, dropping the curtain 
 behind them, and prepared for their performance, congrat 
 ulating themselves that Mr. Blinks, the name of the mar 
 plot, was not on hand to spoil their sport. They selected 
 the word catastrophe, and the curtain went up. 
 
 A very pretty and lively young lad}, who had been 
 abroad, gave a very happy imitation of the almost inimita 
 ble Jenny Vertpre, in the French vaudeville of the " Cat 
 metamorphosed to a Woman," in that scene where she be 
 trays her original nature. She purred, she frolicked, she 
 pounced on an imaginary mouse, caught it, tossed it up in 
 the air, and went through all the manoeuvres of a veritable 
 grimalkin. When the curtain fell, amidst roars of laughter 
 and applause, the first syllable cat was whispered from 
 mouth to mouth, among the audience. 
 
 At this moment the hated Blinks arrived in the green 
 room. 
 
180 ACTING CHARADES. 
 
 "What are you up to? Acting charades eh? By 
 Jove ! I'm just in time. You must give me a part can't 
 get along without me. What's the word ? " 
 
 " No matter," said the young lady who had played the 
 cat, with a wicked smile of intelligence. " Prompter, ring 
 the curtain up. All you've got to do, Mr. Blinks, is to walk 
 across the stage." 
 
 " But where's my dress ? " 
 
 " What you have on. Appear in your own character." 
 
 The curtain went up, and Blinks stalked across with his 
 accustomed air of intolerable stupidity. Amidst smothered 
 laughter, the audience guessed the second syllable of the 
 charade ass. 
 
 The curtain went up for the third time. A group of In 
 dian chiefs were located in a wigwam. A young brave 
 entered, distinguished by the eagle plume and wampum 
 belt, the bow and hatchet, and threw down at the feet of 
 the eldest warrior a bundle of the scalps he had brought 
 back from battle. A hum of approbation rose from the 
 assembly. * The curtain fell. The word trophy had been 
 thus indicated. The whole word was then represented by 
 an appropriate scene from the close of a popular tragedy, 
 and the spectators, cheering the performance, called out 
 catastrophe to the actors. 
 
 " Well, they made out to guess it," said Blinks, when the 
 curtain had fallen for the last time. " But now it's all over, 
 you made one confounded blunder." 
 
 " What was that ? " asked the wicked young lady. 
 
 " You didn't act the second syllable." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " No ! indeed ! " said Blinks, with a look of intense cun 
 ning. " You had cat and trophy but where was the ass ? * 
 
 " O, indeed ! y> said the young lady. 
 
ACTING CHARADES. 181 
 
 (t You see, ladies and gentleman," said Blinks, enjoying 
 his triumph, " you can't get along without me. If I'd been 
 here in the beginning, you'd have had the ass." 
 
 " We certainly should," said the young lady, winking to 
 her companions, who could hardly suppress their laughter. 
 
 " And I move we repeat this charade to-morrow night/ 
 Raid Blinks " and mind, I'm the ass." 
 
 Of course." 
 
 " I'll get a costume and disguise myself." 
 
 " Disguise yourself ! " echoed his tormentor " for Heav 
 en's sake, don't do that they'd never guess it." 
 
 The next night the charade was ass-ass-in, and Blinks 
 went on for the first two syllables. He was perfectly at 
 home "Richard himself again!" and the wicked young 
 lady, in complimenting his performance, declared it was 
 *pirfectly natural" 
 
 16 M 
 
THE GEEEN CHAMBER. 
 
 IN my younger days, " ghost stories " v^ere the most 
 popular narratives extant, and the lad/ or g- ntteman who 
 could recite the most thrilling adventui % in* .Wg a gen 
 uine spiritual visitant, was sure to be the lion <. T k ness of 
 the evening party he enlivened (?) with the disrnal ietails. 
 The elder auditors never seemed parties larly horrilied or 
 terror-stricken, however much gratified they were, but the 
 younger members would drink in every word, " supping 
 full of horrors." After listening to one of these authentic 
 narratives, we used to be very reluctant to retire to our 
 dormitories, and never ventured to get into bed till we had 
 examined suspicious-looking closets, old wardrobes, and, in 
 deed, every nook and corner that might be supposed to har 
 bor a ghost or a ghoul. 
 
 Fortunately for the rising generation, these tales have 
 gone out of fashion, and though some attempts to revive 
 the taste have been made as in the " Night Side of Na 
 ture " such efforts have proved deplorable failures. The 
 young people of to-day make light of ghosts. The spectres 
 in the incantation scene of " Der Freyschutz " are received 
 with roars of laughter, and even the statue in Don Gio 
 vanni seems "jolly," notwithstanding the illusive music ot 
 Mozart. We were about to remark that the age had out 
 grown superstition, but we remembered the Rochester 
 knockings, and concluded to be modestly silent. 
 
 182 
 
1UE GREEN CHAMBER. 183 
 
 One evening, many years since it was a blustering 
 December evening the wind howling as it dashed the old 
 buttonwood limbs in its fury against the parlor windows of 
 the country house where a few of us were assembled to 
 pass the winter holidays, we gathered before a roaring tire 
 of walnut and oak, which made every thing within doors as 
 cheery and comfortable as all without was desolate and 
 dreary. The window shutters were left unfastened, that 
 the bright lamplight and ruddy firelight might stream afar 
 upon the wintry waste, and perhaps guide some benighted 
 wayfarer to a hospitable shelter. 
 
 We shall not attempt to describe the group, as any such 
 portrait painting would not be germane to the matter more 
 immediately in hand. Suffice it to say, that one of the 
 youngsters begged aunt Deborah, the matron of the man 
 sion, to tell us a ghost story, "a real ghost story, aunt 
 Deborah," for in those days we were terribly afraid of 
 counterfeits, and hated to hear a narrative where the ghost 
 turned out in the end to be no ghost after all, but a mere 
 compound of flesh and blood like ourselves. 
 
 Aunt Deborah smiled at our earnestness, and tantalized 
 our impatience by some of those little arts with which the 
 practised story-teller enhances the value and interest of her 
 narrative. She tapped her silver snuffbox, opened it de 
 liberately, took a very delicate pinch of the Lundy Foot, 
 shut the box, replaced it in her pocket, folded her hands 
 before her, looked round a minute on the expectant group, 
 and then began. 
 
 I shall despair of imparting to this cold pen-and-ink 
 record of her story the inimitable conversational grace with 
 which she embellished it. It made an indelible impression 
 on my memory, and if I have never before repeated it, it 
 was from a lurking fear that though the old lady assured 
 
184 THE GREEN CHAMBER. 
 
 us it was " not to be found in any book or newspaper " 
 it might have found its way into print. However, as twen 
 ty years have elapsed, and I have never yet met with it in 
 type, I will venture to give the outlines of the narrative. 
 
 Major Rupert Stanley, a "bold dragoon" in the service 
 of his majesty George III., found himself, one dark and 
 blustering night in autumn, riding towards London on the 
 old York road. He had supped with a friend who lived at 
 a village some distance off the road, and he was unfamiliar 
 with the country. Though not raining, the air was damp, 
 and the heavy, surcharged clouds threatened every moment 
 to pour down their contents. But the major, though a 
 young man, was an old campaigner ; and with a warm cloak 
 wrapped about him, and a good horse under him, would 
 have cared very little for storm and darkness, had he felt 
 sure of a good bed for himself, and comfortable quarters 
 for his horse, when he had ridden far enough for the 
 strength of his faithful animal. A good horseman cares as 
 much for the comfort of his steed as for his own ease. To 
 add to the discomfort of the evening, there was some chance 
 of meeting highwaymen ; but Major Stanley felt no un 
 easiness on that score, as, just before leaving his friend's 
 house, he had examined his holster pistols, and freshly 
 primed them. A brush with a highwayman would enhance 
 the romance of a night journey. 
 
 So he jogged along ; but mile after mile was passed, and 
 no twinkling light in the distance gave notice of the appear 
 ance of the wished-for inn. The major's horse began to 
 give unmistakable evidence of distress stumbling once or 
 twice, and recovering himself with difficulty. At last, a 
 dim light suddenly appeared at a turn of the road. The 
 horse pricked up his ears, and trotted forward with spirit, soon 
 baiting beside a one-story cottage- The major was disap- 
 
THE GREEN CHAMBER. 185 
 
 pointed, but he rode up to the door and rapped loudly with 
 the but of his riding whip. The summons brought a sleepy 
 cotter to the door. 
 
 " My good friend," said the major, u can you tell me how 
 far it is to the next inn ? " 
 
 " Eh ! it be about zeven mile, zur," was the answer, in 
 the broad Yorkshire dialect of the district. 
 
 " Seven miles ! " exclaimed the major, in a tone of deep 
 disappointment, " and my horse is already blown ! My 
 good fellow, can't you put my horse somewhere, and give 
 me a bed ? I will pay you liberally for your trouble.*' 
 
 " Eh ! goodness zakes ! " said the rustic. " I be nought 
 but a ditcher ! There be noa plaze to put the nag in, and 
 there be only one room and one bed in the cot." 
 
 " What shall I do ? " cried the major, at his wits' end. 
 
 " I'll tell 'ee, zur," said the rustic, scratching his head 
 violently, as if to extract his ideas by the roots. " There 
 be a voine large house on the road, about a moile vurther 
 on. It's noa an inn, but the colonel zees company vor the 
 vun o' the thing 'cause he loikes to zee company about 
 'un. You must 'a heard ov him Colonel Rogers a* 
 used to be a soger once." 
 
 " Say no more," cried the major. " I have heard of this 
 hospitable gentleman ; and his having been in the army 
 gives me a sure claim to his attention. Here's a crown for 
 your information, my good friend. Come, Marlborough ! " 
 
 Touching his steed with the spur, the major rode off, feel 
 ing an exhilaration of spirits which soon communicated it 
 self to the horse. A sharp trot of a few minutes brought 
 him to a large mansion, which stood unfenced, like a huge 
 caravansery, by the roadside. He made for the front door 
 and, without dismounting, plied the large brass knocker till 
 a servant in livery made his appearance. 
 16* 
 
186 THE GREEN CHAMBER. 
 
 "Is your master up?" asked the major. 
 
 " I am the occupant of this house," said a venerable gen 
 tleman, making his appearance at the hall door. 
 
 " I am a benighted traveller, sir," said the major, touch- 
 ;ng his hat, " and come to claim your well-known hospitality. 
 Can you give me a bed for the night ? I am afraid my 
 four-footed companion is hardly able to carry me to the 
 next inn." 
 
 " I cannot promise you a bed, sir," said the host, " for I 
 have but one spare bed in the house." 
 
 " And that " said the major. 
 
 " Happens to be in a room that does not enjoy a very 
 pleasing reputation. *In short, sir, one room of my house 
 is haunted ; and that is the only one, unfortunately, that I 
 can place at your disposal to-night." 
 
 " My dear sir," said the major, springing from his horse, 
 and tossing the bridle to the servant, " you enchant me be 
 yond expression ! A haunted chamber ! The very thing 
 and I, who have never seen a ghost ! What luck ! " 
 
 The host shook his head gravely. 
 
 " I never knew a man," he said, " to pass a night in that 
 chamber without regretting it." 
 
 Major Stanley laughed as he took his pistols from the 
 holster pipes. " With these friends of mine," he said, " I 
 fear neither ghost nor demon." 
 
 Colonel Rogers showed his guest into a comfortable par 
 lor, where a seacoal fire was burning cheerfully in a grate, 
 and refreshments most welcome to a weary traveller stood 
 upon a table. 
 
 " Mine host" was an old campaigner, and had seen much 
 service during the war of the American revolution, and he 
 was full of interesting anecdotes and descriptions of adven 
 tures But while Major Stanley was apparently listening 
 
THE GREEN CHAMBER. 187 
 
 nttentively to the narrative of his hospitable entertainer, 
 throwing in the appropriate ejaculations of surprise and 
 pleasure at the proper intervals, his whole attention was in 
 reality absorbed by a charming girl of twenty, the daughter 
 of the colonel, who graced the table with her presence. 
 Never, he thought, had he seen so beautiful, so modest, and 
 so ladylike a creature ; and she, in turn, seemed very fa 
 vorably impressed with the manly beauty and frank man 
 ners of their military guest. 
 
 At length she retired. The colonel, who was a three- 
 bottle man, and had found a listener to his heart, was some 
 what inclined to prolong the session into the small hours of 
 the morning, but finding that his guest was much fatigued, 
 and even beginning to nod in the midst of his choicest story, 
 he felt compelled to ask him if he would not like to retire. 
 Major Stanley replied promptly in the affirmative, and the 
 old gentleman, taking up a silver candlestick, ceremoniously 
 marshalled his guest to a large, old-fashioned room, the 
 walls of which being papered with green, gave it its appel 
 lation of the " Green Chamber." A comfortable bed in 
 vited to repose ; a cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, 
 and every thing was cosy and quiet. The major looked 
 round him with a smile of satisfaction. 
 
 " I am deeply indebted to you, colonel," said he, " for 
 affording me such comfortable quarters. I shall sleep like 
 a top." 
 
 "J am afraid not," answered the colonel, shaking his 
 head gravely. " I never knew a guust of mine to puss a 
 quiet night in the Green Chamber." 
 
 "I shall prove an exception," said the major, smiling. 
 " But I must make one remark," he added, seriously. "It 
 is ill sporting with the feelings of a soldier ; and should any 
 of your servants attempt to play tricks upon me, they will 
 
188 THE GREEN CHAMBER. 
 
 have occasion to repent it." And he laid his heavy pistol 
 on the lightstand by his bedside. 
 
 "My servants, Major Stanley," said the old gentleman, 
 with an air of offended dignity, "are too well drilled tc 
 dare attempt any tricks upon my guests. Good night, 
 major." 
 
 " Good night, colonel." 
 
 The door closed. Major Stanley locked it. Having 
 done so, he took a survey of the apartment. Besides the 
 door opening into the entry, there was another leading to 
 some other room. There was no lock upon this second 
 door, but a heavy table, placed across, completely barri 
 caded it. 
 
 " I am safe," thought the major, " unless there is a 
 storming party of ghosts to attack me in my fastness. I 
 think I shall sleep well." 
 
 He threw himself into an arm chair before the fire, and 
 watching the glowing embers, amused himself with building 
 castles in the air, and musing on the attractions of the fair 
 Julia, his host's daughter. He was far enough from think 
 ing of spectral visitants, when a very slight noise struck on 
 his ear. Glancing in the direction of the inner door, he 
 thought he saw the heavy table glide backwards from its 
 place. Quick as thought, he caught up a pistol, and chal 
 lenged the intruder. There was no reply but the door 
 continued to open, and the table to slide back. At last 
 there glided into the room a tall, graceful figure, robed in 
 white. At the first glance, the blood curdled in the major's 
 veins ; at the second, he recognized the daughter of his 
 host. Her eyes were wide open, and she advanced with an 
 assured step, but it was very evident she was asleep. Here 
 was the mystery of the Green Chamber solved at once. The 
 young girl walked to the fireplace and seated herself in the 
 
THE GREEN CHAMBEB. 189 
 
 arm chair from which the soldier had just risen. His first 
 impulse was to vacate the room, and go directly and alarm 
 the colonel. But, in the first place, he knew not what apart 
 ment his host occupied, and in the second, curiosity prompted 
 him to watch the denouement of this singular scene. Julia 
 raised her left hand, and gazing on a beautiful ring that 
 adorned one of her white and taper fingers, pressed it 
 repeatedly to her lips. She then sank into an attitude of 
 repose, her arms drooping listlessly by her sides. 
 
 The major approached her, and stole the ring from her 
 finger. His action disturbed, but did not awaken her. She 
 seemed to miss the ring, however, and, after groping hope 
 lessly for it, rose and glided through the doorway as silently 
 as she had entered. She had no sooner retired than the 
 major replaced the table, and drawing a heavy clothes press 
 against it, effectually guarded himself against a second in 
 trusion. 
 
 This done, he threw himself upon the bed, and slept 
 soundly till a late hour of the morning. "When he awoke, 
 he sprang out of bed, and ran to the window. Every trace 
 of the storm had passed away, and an unclouded sun was 
 shining on the radiant landscape. After performing the 
 duties of his toilet, he was summoned to breakfast, where 
 he met the colonel and his daughter. 
 
 " "Well, major, and how did you pass the night ? " asked 
 the colonel, anxiously. 
 
 " Famously," replied Stanley. " I slept like a top, as I 
 told you I should." 
 
 " Then, thank Heaven, the spell is broken at last," said 
 the colonel, " and the White Phantom has ceased to haunt 
 the Green Chamber." 
 
 "By no means," said the major, smiling ; "the White 
 Phantom paid me a visit last night, and left me a token 
 of the honor." 
 
190 THE GREEN CHAMBER. 
 
 "A token!" exclaimed the father and daughter in a 
 breath. 
 
 " Yes, my friends, and here it is." And the major hand 
 ed the ring to the old gentleman. 
 
 " What's the meaning of this, Julia ? " exclaimed the 
 colonel. " This ring I gave you last week ! " 
 
 Julia uttered a faint cry, and turned deadly pale. 
 
 "The mystery is easily explained," said the major. 
 " The young lady is a sleep-walker. She came into my 
 room before I had retired, utterly unconscious of her ac 
 tions. I took the ring from her hand, that I might be able 
 to convince you and her of the reality of what I had wit 
 nessed." 
 
 The major's business was not pressing, and he leadily 
 yielded to the colonel's urgent request to pass a few days 
 with him. Their mutual liking increased upon better ac 
 quaintance, and in a few weeks the White Phantom's ring, 
 inscribed with the names of Rupert Stanley and Julia 
 Rogers, served as the sacred symbol of their union for 
 
HE WASN'T A HORSE JOCKEY. 
 
 IT was at the close ol' a fine, autumnal afternoon, that a 
 simple-looking traveller, attired in a homespun suit of gray, 
 and wearing a broad-brimmed, Quaker-looking hat, drove 
 up to the door of the Spread Eagle Tavern, in the town of 
 
 B , State of Maine, kept by Major E. Spike, and 
 
 ordered refreshments for himself and horse. There was 
 nothing particular about the traveller, except his air of 
 simplicity ; but his horse was a character. The animal 
 was at least thirty years of age, and was as gaunt as Ros- 
 inante, and would have been a dear bargain at fifteen 
 dollars. The traveller acknowledged that he had been 
 taken in somewhat when he bought the animal, for he 
 " wasn't a horse jockey," and " did'nt know much about 
 critters ! " However, he added, " that if he had good luck 
 in his trip down east, [he was agent for a Hartford Life 
 Assurance Company,] he meant to pick up something 
 handsome in the way of horse flesh to take home with him." 
 After communicating his name and business, and sundry 
 other particulars, with a frankness which, while it satisfied 
 the curiosity, excited the contempt of Major Spike, the 
 stranger, whom we shall call Zebulon Smith, departed. 
 
 He had a business call to make on the widow Stebbins, 
 who lived about three miles olf, in a very old, unfinished, 
 shingled house, of immense extent, in the centre of an 
 
 191 
 
192 HE WASN'T A HORSE JOCKEY. 
 
 unfenced lot, the chief products of which were rocks, 
 brambles, and barberry bushes. 
 
 " Keep much stock, Miss Stebbins ? " said he, as, having 
 transacted his business, he prepared to resume his journey. 
 
 " Why, no," said she ; " Tin a lone woman, and hain't 
 got no help ; so I keep only a cow and that 'ere colt. I 
 wish I could sell him, for I ain't got nobody to break him 
 in properly." 
 
 Zebulon looked at the colt. He was a limpsey, long- 
 legged, shaggy animal, with a ewe-neck, drooping head, 
 and little, undecided tail, completely knotted up with burs ; 
 but then he was only five years old. 
 
 " Heow'll yeou trade, Miss Stebbins? " asked the agent. 
 " I've a mind to take the critter, if you'll trade even, though 
 I don't know the pints of a horse. I ain't a horse jockey. 
 Heowever, you're a lone woman, and I want to oblige you. 
 You hain't got nobody to break the colt for you, and here's 
 my hoss would suit you to a T. He's a nice ft/mily hoss." 
 
 " Heow old is he ? " asked Mrs. Stebbins. 
 
 " He's risin* six years," said Zebulon, and no he was. 
 
 " He looks pretty well along," said the w"klow. " How 
 much boot will you give me ? " 
 
 " Boot ! " exclaimed Zebulon. " 0, if you talk about 
 boot, I'm off. I ain't no hors jockey, hut I know I'm 
 flingin' my hoss good old hoss away by tradin' even. 
 But generosity and consideration for widders specially 
 good-lookin' ones was allers a failin' in my family." 
 
 " I don't know as I had orter," said the widow, thought 
 fully ; " if Mr. Stebbins was alive, you wouldn't get the 
 colt so cheap, for he sot every thing by him. He's sot his 
 pedigree down in the births, deaths, and marriages, in our 
 family Bible. He allers said, poor mai^ he was goin' to 
 make a great hoss." 
 
HE WASN'T A HORSE JOCKEY. 193 
 
 " That 'ere was an optical delusion," said the agent ; " he 
 warn't never a goin' to make a great hoss, and he won't 
 never be a great hoss. I know so much, if I ain't a horse 
 jockey. Come, now, what say ? Shall I ungear, and leave 
 my critter, or put on the string and be a travellin' ? " 
 
 " You may have the colt," said the widow, bursting into 
 tears, and retiring, unable to witness the consummation of 
 the sacrifice. 
 
 " Come, young Burtail," said Zebulon, addressing the 
 colt. " It's time you was sot to work. I don't know 
 whether you ever had a collar over your darned ewe-neck 
 or not. I don't see how any thing short of a crooked-neck 
 squash could fit it ; but I'll try mine on." And with these 
 words he harnessed up the colt, and leaving his old " hoss " 
 with the widow, drove on his way rejoicing. 
 
 About fifteen miles farther east, he stopped and put up 
 at a tavern, where he made an arrangement to leave the 
 colt for a week, hiring the landlord's horse to pursue his 
 journey. He gave directions to have the colt fed high in 
 the interim, to have his tail nicked and put in pulleys, his 
 head checked up, and his coat carefully shaved according 
 to the new practice. A very astute hostler promised that 
 every thing should be done according to his directions, and 
 to his perfect satisfaction. 
 
 Accordingly, in a week's time, when Zebulon came back, 
 he hardly knew his bargain. The colt was fat as a hog. 
 His sides shone like silver ; his mane was neatly trimmed ; 
 his tail was crimped, and rose and fell hi a graceful curve ; 
 and he carried his head as proudly as an Arabian. 
 
 "With the metamorphosed animal in the fills, the agent 
 
 drove back to the Spread Eagle, arid put up for the night 
 
 In the morning, he ordered his team, and paid his bill. 
 
 Major Sjike, who was great on horses, standing at the 
 
 17 
 
194 HE WASN'T A HORSE JOCKEY. 
 
 front door, was struck with the appearance of his guest's 
 " cattle." 
 
 " Been buying a new hoss ? " said the major. 
 
 " Yes ; I thought I'd try one, though I ain't a horse 
 jockey," answered the agent, making an excuse to examine 
 the buckles of his harness. 
 
 " Don't want to sell him, do you ? " said the major. 
 
 " Why, no, major, I reckon not. I expect he'll suit me 
 fust rate. I'm doin' pooty well, now, and can afford to 
 hev' somethin' nice. I calklate to keep him." 
 
 " I don't like his color," said the major. 
 
 " Well, I do," said Zebulon, getting into his wagon. 
 " Good mornin', major." 
 
 " Hold on," said the major. " I've got a hoss I want to 
 show you. Jake, bring out the bay, and let Mr. Smith 
 have a squint at him." 
 
 The hostler brought out a square-built, chunky, bay 
 horse, in fine condition, and looking like a capital roadster. 
 
 " What do you think of that hoss, Mr. Smith ? " asked 
 the major, triumphantly. 
 
 " Pretty fair hoss," said the agent. " But I tell you I'm 
 no judge of horses ; I ain't a horse jockey." 
 
 " Well, now, I tell you what," said the major ; " I'm a 
 darned fool for doin' of it ; but when I take a fancy, I 
 don't mind expense to gratify it. I'm willing to swap 
 bosses even with you." 
 
 " Even ! " screamed the agent. " Now, major, that's a 
 good one. I ain't a horse jockey. I don't know the value 
 of the critters ; but I ain't altogether a reg'lar, soft-headed, 
 know-nothin' fool ; and if I had a mind to part with this 
 'ere splendiferous animal, I should want boot." 
 
 * You're a hard one," said the major ; " but as fur as 
 t wenty dollars " 
 
HE WASN'T A HORSE JOCKEY. 195 
 
 " Twenty dollars ! get out," said the agent, indignantly. 
 u G'lang, Bob ! " and he actually started his team. 
 
 " Hold on ! " roared the major. " What do you want ? " 
 
 " Say forty, and I'll do it no, I won't," said the agent, 
 
 " You said you would. It's a bargain. You said forty, 
 did'nt he, Jake ? " 
 
 The hostler could not deny it. 
 
 " Well, you're the hardest customer / ever see ! " mut 
 tered the agent, as he got out of the wagon. " This is the 
 wust mornin's work I ever did. Let me have your old 
 bay, and be a travellin'. You'd hev* a fellur's eye teeth 
 afore he knowed it, ef you wanted 'em." 
 
 The major chuckled as he counted out forty dollars and 
 handed them to the agent. He eagerly assisted the hostler 
 to ungear the coveted horse ; and when the bay was har 
 nessed up, did not urge the agent to stop, and the latter 
 drove off, looking as melancholy as if he had buried all his 
 relations. 
 
 The major drove out with his new purchase that very 
 day ; but his performance did not equal his expectations. 
 However, as an experienced horse jockey, he knew that 
 great allowances are to be made for a green horse, and he 
 promised to train him up to " 2.50," at the least. But 
 before one week had passed over his head, his expectations 
 were all dashed. There was no " go " in the animal. His 
 nose dropped to the ground, his tail slunk, and his toes dug 
 into the gravel as if he was boring for water. The major 
 had to confess that he had been completely taken in. 
 
 " That infernal rascal ! " said he ; " I wish I could catch 
 him here again." 
 
 " You ain't very likely to," remarked Jake, the hostler, 
 dryly. 
 
 " Why so ? Do you know any thirg about him? Did 
 you ever see him before ? " 
 
196 HE WASN'T A HORSE JOCKEY. 
 
 " Ever see him ! why, he came from the same place that 
 I did." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 " Meredith Bridge." 
 
 " Meredith Bridge ! " exclaimed the landlord. " And he 
 aid he wasn't a horse jockey. O, what an ass I was." 
 
 " Very true," said the hostler. 
 
 " Any how, you never saw the horse before ? " said the 
 landlord. 
 
 " Never see the horse before ! " exclaimed Jake. " Why, 
 Lord bless you, I know'd him soonsever I sot eyes on him. 
 He's Miss Stebbins's colt." 
 
 " And you never told me of this, you scoundrel ! " 
 
 " I want a goin' to spile a trade," said the hostler. " And 
 then I've heard you say so often that nobody could take 
 you in on a hoss, that I thought it warnt no use." 
 
 " The cussed swindler ! " said the major. " After havin* 
 shaved every body he came across, he went and shaved a 
 hoss, and put him off on me me, the greatest hossman in 
 the State of Maine. The next chap from Meredith Bridge 
 that comes into these diggins, I'll get a fight out of and 
 lick him, jest as sure as my name's Elnathan Spike ! " 
 
FUNERAL SHADOWS. 
 
 A MYSTERY 
 
 THE wind was howling and moaning through the almost 
 deserted streets of Boston, on a chilly evening of Septem 
 ber, as a young man of medium height and slight figure 
 drew a faded and threadbare black cloak around him, pulled 
 his fur cap down on his forehead to shelter his eyes from the 
 cutting wind, and strode down Washington Street in a 
 northerly direction, with a rapid and impatient step. Ar 
 rived at the door of a house of moderate pretensions, he 
 entered hastily. We shall follow him to the third story, 
 enter with him a large and wholly dark apartment, and 
 watch him while he kindles a fire on the ample hearth stone. 
 A pale-blue flame flickers hesitatingly among the wood, and 
 conjures up from the walls around strange shapes and coun 
 tenances bathed in the indistinct and lurid light. And now 
 the flame grows brighter, and the heavy furniture in the 
 apartment flings strange shadows, horizontal, diagonal, and 
 perpendicular ; and the pictures on the wall (for we are in 
 a painter's studio) looked quite as vague and vapory as the 
 projected shadows. It is not difficult to imagine some of 
 these faces endowed wnh vitality, and so wild and startling 
 are many of them thai the wavering shadows seem to belong 
 to them, and to be their strangely-animated limbs. 
 
 The painter lit a lamp, and then a huge meerschaum filled 
 17* x 197 
 
198 FUNERAL SIIADOAVS. 
 
 with fragrant to^aceo, his nightly solace and daily inspi 
 ration. While the smoke wreaths slowly ascended to the 
 ceiling, he wove his Gothic fancies, arid saw, in the blue 
 clouds that hovered over him, embryo designs and groups 
 that he afterwards transferred to canvas. 
 
 Malise Grey was an artist of great but peculiar talent 
 a fine draughtsman, an admirable colorist, but his imagi 
 nation was of a Gothic cast, and he delighted in strange, fan 
 tastical, and supernatural subjects. He had travelled much 
 in Germany, and his mind was imbued with the super 
 stitions and legends of that storied land. These he loved 
 to illustrate with his pencil, and his walls were covered 
 with German scenes and subjects, from the " Witches' Sab 
 bath" to the "Castled Crag of Drachenfels." Portraits 
 he painted from necessity, not choice ; but he was too true 
 an artist for the million. The sleek hypocrite wore not on 
 his canvas the deceptive look of holiness that bore him on 
 through life to wealth and honor, but the crafty, sensual 
 smile, the libertine eye, and lips that indicated the secret 
 phases of his character. Imbecile beauty saw her index 
 in the painted mirror. Folly stood convicted by the pencil. 
 It was frequently remarked, that you might learn more of 
 a man from a glance at his portrait than from months' com 
 panionship with the original. Malise Grey was not popu 
 lar but he lived for his art, and bread and water satisfied 
 his earthly cravings. 
 
 The meerschaum fairly smoked out, the artist drew from 
 a dusty pile of canvases one on which he had painted a 
 family group. It was a fancy piece. An old man lay upon 
 his death bed, over which bent a weeping wife and a sor 
 rowing and lovely child. The face of the latter was one of 
 unearthly beauty, and Raphael or Titian might not have 
 disdained the painting of those glistening blue eyes, and the 
 
FUNERAL SHADOWS. 199 
 
 falling sunbeams of that golden hair. The painter had 
 poured out his soul upon that angelic countenance and per 
 fect figure. 
 
 " It is my ideal," said the artist, " and, by the mystic 
 whisper of the heart, by the bright teaching of the star that 
 rules my destiny, by the forbidden lore of which I have 
 drank deeply, I know that the ideal of each mind is the 
 reflex of the actual, and with the true artist fancy is 
 existence ! " 
 
 The meerschaum was again filled, and Malise Grey cdn- 
 templated his picture. The smoke wreaths rolled around 
 it, but it shone out luminous and starlike. Its harmony 
 was like the silent melody of the spheres, and its musical 
 radiance dispelled the remembrance of all his sufferings, and 
 lulled him like the melody of falling waters. "When, at 
 length, he drew his poor couch from its recess, and threw 
 himself upon it, he left the picture full in sight, and con 
 tinued to watch it by the fading firelight till its last lumi 
 nous point disappeared with the blaze, and slumber closed 
 his lids to make its memory brighter. 
 
 The next morning was clear and sparkling ; the first rays 
 of the sun were like fiery rubies on the walls of the studio. 
 
 The painter sprang to his feet. " The dream ! " he cried. 
 " My heart did not deceive me. The spirits are at work for 
 its accomplishment." 
 
 He went forth to take his daily walk. There were times 
 when an appalling dread of insanity smote his heart, and 
 once the expression of a friend at the recital of one of his 
 wildest fantasies led him into a train of reflection and self- 
 examination which shook his very soul. For a time he 
 forsook his studio, and went abroad into the gay world and 
 formed fashionable acquaintances ; but he went back to his 
 lonely room and his hermit life at the expiration of a few 
 
200 FUNERAL SHADOWS. 
 
 weekg, convinced that the madness of art was preferable 
 to the madness of society. And it was a painful thing for 
 him to go abroad, for no one sympathized with him. His 
 mind dwelt either on the shadowy past, or the yet more 
 shadowy future. He held no communion with the present. 
 So, on the occasion we have referred to, after a hurried 
 walk, he returned to his room, the door of which he had left 
 unlocked. A veiled lady sat before his easel. She rose 
 upon his entrance. His heart beat high with anticipations. 
 The lady thus addressed him : 
 
 " Malise Grey, we have known each other in the land of 
 dreams ! " and removing her veil, she pointed with her left 
 hand to the picture, while she extended her right to the 
 painter. The ideal and the actual stood before him. A 
 strange light gleamed upon the painter's mind, and he spoke 
 as if prompted by some unseen power. 
 
 " Esther Vaughan, by this token do I know you." He 
 took her hand, and added, " By the mystic spell that drew 
 TZS to each other, I conjure you here to plight your troth to 
 me for weal and woe." 
 
 " My father died shortly after that picture was painted," 
 replied the maiden, " and my mother my poor mother 
 soon followed him. The spirit summons commanded me 
 to seek you out. I have obeyed." 
 
 A strange marriage was solemnized in the Old King's 
 Chapel. The bride wore no rose or orange flower in her 
 braided hair, and a long, black veil enveloped her from 
 head to foot. In fact, her entire raiment, and that of the 
 bridegroom, was of the same ghastly hue ; and the cer 
 emony was performed beneath the light of torches, which 
 threw their funeral glare upon the mortuary tablets and 
 reliefs that decorate the interior of the sacred edifice. As 
 
FUNERAL SHADOWS. 201 
 
 IL& newly-married pair were about to step into the carriage 
 at the door, a thin figure in black approached the bride, 
 and laid its hand upon her arm. The countenance was not 
 visible. The bride uttered a sharp cry of pain and terror, 
 and the figure instantly stepped back. 
 
 " Hold up your torch, there, sexton," cried the painter ; 
 ' some one has insulted the bride." 
 
 A tall figure was seen stealing away through the tomb 
 stones in the churchyard, to which he had probably gained 
 access through a breach in the wall, at that time wholly 
 ruinous. 
 
 It is not our intention to describe the happiness of Mal- 
 ise Grey and his strangely-found and strangely-wedded 
 bride. Enough to say, it was like all the circumstances 
 that composed his existence dream-like and strange. So 
 vivid were his dreams and reveries, that he often wondered 
 whether they were not the actual, and his marriage life the 
 imaginary, part of his existence. He could not give him 
 self up to enjoyment ; and sometimes, when his young wife 
 would have lavished on him the wealth of her innocent 
 caresses, he turned from her moodily, and muttered, " What 
 have I to do with a spirit bride ? Wlfcn the sun rises, 
 these shadows will disperse." 
 
 Esther Grey had often solicited her husband to paint her 
 portrait, since the likeness in the family picture showed 
 her under the influence of grief. She wished a record of 
 her happiness. Grey set about complying with her re 
 quest. He assumed the task in a moment of inspired and 
 fresh feeling, and went to work with heart and soul. His 
 V.eioL. was instantaneously executed, and then 
 
 His touches they flew like leares in a storm ; 
 
 And the pure pearly white, and the carnation warm. 
 
202 FUNERAL SHADOWS. 
 
 Suddenly he threw down his pencil, and paced the apart 
 ment to and fro with rapid strides. " The doomed look ! " 
 he muttered, " the doomed look ! Esther, I can paint no 
 more to-day." 
 
 But the morrow found him early at his task. A few 
 hours' work completed a portrait which, for fidelity of like 
 ness, harmony of accessories, and felicity of coloring, was 
 almost unsurpassable. Yet the painter refused to have it 
 framed, and concealed it from view behind a curtain in his 
 studio. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, a stranger called upon the 
 artist. He was a tall, thin man, attired in a threadbare 
 suit of black bombazine: He was frightfully pale. His 
 jaws were prominent, and the sallow, shrunken skin clung 
 close to every muscle of his countenance. His dark, 
 sunken, and glossy eyes had an unearthly expression, and 
 his air was melancholy in the extreme. A nameless chill 
 came over the painter as he surveyed the aspect of his 
 unknown visitor The stranger coldly surveyed the pro 
 ductions of the artist, and honored them with a few brief 
 comments. At length he paused before the veiled picture, 
 and said, " This picture of your wife ^belongs to me." 
 
 The painter was so strong a believer in the supernatural, 
 had been subject to so many inexplicable influences, that 
 he felt no surprise at the stranger's naming the subject of 
 the veiled picture without uncovering it. But he repeated, 
 sternly, " Belongs to you ? What mean you by that re 
 mark?" 
 
 "I mean it is, or will be mine, by purchase." 
 
 Not so." 
 
 " Then you will not sell it ? " 
 
 " I will not part with it at any price." 
 
 The stranger smiled, but not sneeringly or sarcastically 
 
FUNERAL SHADOWS. 203 
 
 The expression of his countenance was mournful in the 
 extreme, and likewise unpleasant, because the parting of 
 his shrivelled lips displayed his large, yellow teeth in un 
 pleasant relief. He opened the door, but paused upon the 
 threshold. 
 
 " You will not part with it ? " 
 
 " Once more, no ! " replied the painter. 
 
 " No matter ; the original will soon be mine." 
 
 The door closed rapidly behind his noiseless steps. A 
 vague terror shot through the soul of the artist 
 
 "When Esther Vaughan came to the dwelling of the 
 painter, she was radiant with a health which had triumphed 
 over sorrow and long watching, but the seeds of disease now 
 fastened upon her frame, and she sunk under its influence, 
 growing daily feebler. The almost distracted husband 
 employed the best physicians in the city, and under their 
 efforts Esther, for a while, seemed to revive. One day, in 
 solemn conclave, they decided that the patient would live, 
 and announced the intelligence to the poor painter, as he 
 sat in his lonely studio, with much pomposity and empha 
 sis. At the time of this announcement, the painter was 
 standing opposite the open door through which the physi 
 cians had just entered. At the moment when a smile of 
 gratified love was lighting up his intelligent countenance, 
 his eyes, looking beyond the grouj of visitors, caught in 
 the corridor those of the strange bidder for the veiled pic 
 ture. The unknown shook his head slowly and mournfully, 
 then turned and retired. 
 
 " Stop him, gentlemen," cried the painter, bursting 
 through the group of leeches ; " he is a deadly enemy ! " 
 
 The physicians looked at each other, smiled darkly, and 
 shook their heads. 
 
 " Poor Grey 1 " said an old doctor. 
 
204 FUNERAL SHADOWS. 
 
 " Mad ? " asked the youngest of the group. 
 
 " The cell, the chain, and scourge would be a wholesome 
 prescription," said the first speaker. 
 
 Such were the tender mercies of science to madness in 
 the eighteenth century. 
 
 It was a hushed midsummer night. The hum of busy 
 footsteps had long since died away, and the twinkling lights 
 had faded, one by one, from the huge bulk of the metrop 
 olis. To the lonely night watcher, there was enough of 
 light in the mild effulgence of the moon to distinguish 
 whether the pale invalid woke or slumbered ; whether the 
 repose of the dead was inviolate, or invaded by noisome 
 things that move abroad only in darkness. And midway 
 between life and death, so motionless that you would say 
 she belonged to the dark realm of the latter, so lovely 
 that the former still seemed to claim her own, lay the 
 eartL-born love of the painter, with her ethereal es 
 sence yet hovering near the beloved of her soul. The 
 painter saD by the bedside, with her thin, pale hand clasped 
 in his. He had listened to her last accents ; he had heard 
 her call him, in the fervor of her affection, " her beautiful, 
 her own ; " and he knew that, ere the unseen clock had re 
 corded the death of another hour, the feeble pulse that flut 
 tered beneath his fingers would have ceased to beat. Yet, 
 with all this, his eyes were tearless, and his heart less heavy 
 than in those dark dreams which had foreshadowed this 
 event. In weal or woe, his prophetic dreams seemed even 
 more impressive than the realities which followed them. 
 
 It appeared as if there were a magnetic influence in the 
 touch of the dying hand ; that the soul of Esther, bathed in 
 the dawning light of the better world, had communicated a 
 portion of its brightness to his own. So the hours wore 
 
FUNERAL SHADOWS. 205 
 
 on ; the feeble pulse yet beat, but fainter and fainter At 
 last, through the open window which commanded a view 
 of the east, the brightening streaks of dawn appeared ; in 
 the leaves of a solitary tree, that stood amid a wilderness 
 of brick hard by, was heard the faint, tremulous twitter of 
 a bird waiting but a ruddier ray to launch forth upon his 
 dewy pinions. A smile, like a ray of light, dawned upon the 
 countenance of Esther. She pointed to a shadowy alcove 
 in the chamber, and the painter's eye, following the indica 
 tion, detected the figure of his mysterious ami prophetic 
 visitor. But the countenance of the unknown was milder, 
 softer; a veil of brightness had fallen upon the more repul-. 
 sive lineaments, and when the broad daylight beamed into 
 the apartment, his image melted into the ray, like a rain 
 drop into a sunny sea. A thrill ran through the painter's 
 frame ; he gazed upon the face of Esther ; it was that of 
 death. 
 
 An unfinished painting rests upon an easel; it is a 
 glimpse of paradise. In the centre is a focus of almost in 
 tolerable splendor, the luminous veil of the Inconceivable 
 and Infinite ; while towards it, as if drawn by a vortex of 
 glory, yet held in suspense when too near, hovers a cloud 
 of radiant forms and faces, their souls, pure and beatified, 
 beaming from their countenances, all full of adoration, in 
 telligence, and bliss. The painter sat before it, giving the 
 last touches with a feeble yet graceful hand. A light 
 seemed to stream upon him from the picture, and lit up his 
 pale, inspired countenance. 
 
 The door opened, yet the painter turned not from his 
 task ; he heard no footstep, yet he knew that the messen 
 ger no longer feared, but hoped for was standing at his 
 side. 
 
206 FUNERAL SHADOWS. 
 
 " One touch more," he said, softly. " Thus 'tis done, and 
 bravely done ! " 
 
 He turned the mysterious messenger was truly there. 
 But as the painter gazed, the herald's form was trans 
 figured ; his poor garments had given place to shining 
 raiments ; his countenance beamed glory and goodness ; 
 effulgent wings expanded their snowy plumage from his 
 glorious shoulders, and on his forehead shone a star like 
 that of morning. He touched the mortal hand that 
 throbbed to meet his clasp ; the last film fell from the 
 painter's eye, and he saw, with ecstasy, no horrid phantom, 
 but AZRAEL, the Angel of Death, great, beautiful, and 
 good. 
 
THE LATE ELIAS MUGGS, 
 
 CAPTAIN IN THE M. V. M. 
 
 ELIAS MUGGS is no more! Hepzibah Muggs is a 
 widow ; a stranger has purchased the stock of West India 
 goods, and the Bluetown Fusileers are commanded by the 
 first l:3utenant. These are sad changes. 
 
 It is not a little remarkable that though Captain Elias 
 Muggs was not born in the same year as the Duke of Wel 
 lington, (though, by the way, every body else seems to have 
 been,) yet he died about the same time. There was a 
 striking similarity between their characters and positions. 
 The Iron Duke was commander-in-chief of the allied forces 
 at the battle of Waterloo, and Elias Muggs was commander 
 of the Bluetown Fusileers. If Elias Muggs had been born 
 on the other side of the water, he probably would have been 
 the Duke of Wellington ; and if the Duke of Wellington 
 had been born here, he would probably have been Elias 
 Muggs. This proposition may appear a metaphysical 
 subtlety to obtuse minds, but to ours it seems as clear as 
 mud. 
 
 When such a man dies, he must not be permitted to 
 depart 
 
 " Without the meed of one melodious tear." 
 
 His loss is a national loss. Nature seems to have intended 
 
 207 
 
208 THE LATE ELTAS MUGGS. 
 
 him for President of the United States, but " left him two 
 drinks behind ; " whence we may conclude that Nature is a 
 humbug, a conclusion practically arrived at by most artists, 
 living and dead. 
 
 Elias Muggs, from his tenderest years, was devoted tc 
 groceries and glory. His venerable schoolmistress, who has 
 outlived her illustrious pupil, and is now supported by the 
 town whose founders were formed by her care, and who 
 laid the foundation of our hero's greatness by the powerful 
 application of birch at the seat of learning, assured us, in 
 a recent interview, that the military propensities of Mugga 
 were developed at an early age. She observed that it was 
 impossible to fix his attention on the classic page of Noah 
 Webster when the Bluetown Fusileers were passing the 
 school house with drum and fife, and that the motive of his 
 first experiment at " hooking jack " was a desire to attend 
 a country muster in the neighboring town. She added, 
 that she distinctly remembered having confiscated a box of 
 tin soldiers with which he was amusitfg himself, and that 
 he threatened to " punch her eye " if she did not release 
 the unconscious prisoners of war on parole. These are 
 very important facts. 
 
 We are unable to state the precise age at which Elias 
 entered the service but the town clerk of Bluetown 
 places it at twenty-one. He went through the different 
 grades with great rapidity, and was finally chosen captain 
 in a warmly-contested election. There is no question that 
 he would have been elected unanimously, without difficulty, 
 had there not existed a great doubt in the corps (Cap 
 tain Muggs, by the way, always pronounced this word, and 
 spelled it, corpse) of his ability to " treat ; " whereas his ad 
 versary was distinguished for possessing a " pocket full of 
 rocks," and a willingness " to treat every body." The success 
 
THE LATE ELIAS MUGGS. 209 
 
 of our hero, under the circumstances, was purely owing to 
 military merit. The moment he was chosen, he took the 
 field at the head of his command. Admiring Bluetown 
 gazed approvingly upon his swallow-tailed coat, his tall 
 plume, his shining battle blade, his plated scabbard, worsted 
 cash, and low-heeled, cowhide boots. The fair, who are 
 ever ready to award their smiles to chivalry, were unani 
 mous in their approval, and Deacon Dogget's daughter was 
 heard to murmur, " O, what a pooty soger 'lias makes ! " 
 " Upon this hint he spake " a few days afterwards, and in 
 due time they were married. But enough of that our 
 essay treats of war, not love. 
 
 In his " first field," Captain Muggs displayed his extraor 
 dinary knowledge of tactics. He it was who first dis 
 covered the method of " dressing " a line, by backing it up 
 against a curbstone. He also divested military science of 
 many pedantic terms, which tend only to confuse the young 
 conscript, and dampen the military ardor of the patriot 
 soldier. He substituted the brief and soldierly words 
 of command, "haw!" "gee!" and "whoa!" for "left," 
 " right," and " halt." His spirited " let her rip ! " was an 
 infinite improvement on the " fire " of the Steuben manual. 
 The object of the commander is to make himself understood 
 readily by his men, and in this Captain Muggs was per 
 fectly successful. 
 
 The greatest commanders have been famous for their 
 terse eloquence. Napoleon said to his troops in Egypt, 
 " Soldiers, from the summit of these pyramids twenty cen 
 turies look down on you this day." Scott, in Mexico, said 
 to Smith's brigade, " Brave rifles, you have been baptized 
 in fire, and have come out steel." And Muggs, at Blue- 
 town, after the last mano3uvre, said, " Feller sogers, that 
 ere was prime and now less adjourn to the tavern and 
 18* 
 
210 THE LATE ELIAS MUGGS. 
 
 likker up at my expense." It is questionable whether any 
 speech of Napoleon or Scott ever excited more enthusiasm 
 
 The company adjourned to the tavern, and after plen 
 tifully refreshing with long nines, pigtail, New England, and 
 crackers, departed with three cheers for the " cap'n." We 
 would fain draw a veil over what followed. But a strict 
 regard for truth compels us to " speak right out in 
 meetin'." All great men have their weaknesses. Ccesar 
 was not immaculate. Alexander the Great died of mania 
 a potu. There was no Maine liquor law at the time of 
 which we speak. There was not even a temperance society 
 in all Bluetown. 
 
 Captain Muggs was in the green and salad days of youth. 
 He was flushed with military success, young, ardent, and 
 imprudent. 
 
 He retired to a private room with the commissioned 
 officers of his " corps," and left a liberal order at the bar. 
 Healths were drank, songs sung, patriotic and otherwise, 
 more otherwise than patriotic, and the " fast and furious " 
 fun was driven into the small hours of the morning. When 
 the bill was presented, Captain Muggs was without funds ; 
 and his gallant subordinates, on the bare suggestion of a 
 loan, incontinently vanished. Captain Muggs intimated 
 something about credit. The landlord shook his head. 
 Captain Muggs was grieved, and the landlord consulted the 
 flytraps on the ceiling, still extending his open hand, with 
 the palm upwards, in the direction of the officer. Finding 
 the publican obdurate, the captain proposed to leave his 
 uniform and equipments in pawn, and the offer was ac 
 cepted. 
 
 And here let us pause to contemplate the moral great 
 ness of this act. Those insignia of rank were as dear to 
 Muggs as the apple of his eye. They were to him what 
 
THE LATE ELIAS MUGGS. 211 
 
 the sceptre and crown were to Napoleon. It was like tug 
 ging at his heartstrings to unfasten the belt and sash, and 
 lay the sword upon the table. Marsyas suffered not more 
 when Apollo removed his skin than Muggs did when the 
 landlord stripped off his coat and epaulets. When the 
 hat and plume were laid upon the altar of offended Mam 
 mon, Muggs uttered a deep groan, and departed in his shirt 
 sleeves. If we were a great historical painter, we should 
 prefer this subject to that of Washington resigning his com 
 mission as commander-in-chief of the revolutionary army. 
 
 The same integrity distinguished Captain Muggs through 
 out his life. When, some years afterwards, he received a 
 letter from a lawyer, stating that, in case he did not imme 
 diately satisfy a certain claim of five years' standing, legal 
 measures would be adopted to enforce payment, he remitted 
 the sum in question without a murmur. 
 
 Personal courage is not deemed indispensable to great 
 commanders. Marlborough is said to have trembled on the 
 battle field. It is the part of the officer to command 
 of the men to execute. But Muggs was as valiant as he 
 was wise. On a field day, when a certain turbulent apple 
 woman persisted in encroaching on the lines, Captain Muggs 
 charged her in person, unsupported by his troops, upset her 
 apple stall, and expelled her from the lines. Such achieve 
 ments are of rare occurrence. 
 
 On every parade day, Muggs was "thar." In every 
 sham fight he was first and foremost. He was always 
 loudest in proclaiming the " dooty of the milingtary to 
 support the civil power." Yet hi the great riot caused by 
 the illegal impounding of Steve Gubbins's bull, when Blue- 
 town was divided against itself, her constabulary force and 
 "specials" ignominiously beaten and routed, Captain 
 Muggs, with an heroic deafness to the call of glory and t 3 
 
212 THE LATE ELIA8 MUGGS, 
 
 selectmen, from a reluctance to shed the blood of his fellow- 
 citizens, refused to call out his company, and concealed 
 himself in a hayloft till the affray was over, the pound com 
 pletely demolished, and the bull rescued from the minions 
 of the law. 
 
 The loss of such a man is irreparable. What a president 
 he would have made ! Magnanimity, self-denial, punctual 
 ity, eloquence, popularity, military glory why, he had all 
 the elements of success. But our heroes are fast passing 
 away. Muggs is gone, and we must make up our minds 
 to be governed by mere statesmen ! 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 IT was a fine night in the autumn of the year 1805, and 
 the stars shone as brilliantly over the gay city of Paris us if 
 they had burned in an Italian heaven. The cumbrous mass 
 of the palace of the Tuileries, instead of lying like a dark 
 leviathan in the shadows of the night, blazed with light in 
 all its many-windowed length ; for the soldier emperor, the 
 idol of his subjects, that night gave a grand ball and re 
 ception to the world. Troops in full uniform were under 
 arms, **nd the great lamps of the court yard gazed brightly 
 on the channelled bayonets and polished musket barrels of 
 the sertinels. Carriage after carriage drew up at the great 
 porta). and emitted beautiful ladies, brilliantly attired, and 
 marshals and staff officers blazing with embroidery ; for 
 Napoleon, simple and unostentatious in his own person, well 
 knew the importance of surrounding himself with a bril 
 liant court ; and the people, even the rude and ragged deni 
 zens of the Faubourgs St. Antoine and St. Marceau, as they 
 hung upon the iron railing and scanned the splendid dresses 
 of the guests as they alighted from their carriages, were 
 well pleased to see that a throne created by themselves 
 could vie in splendor with the old hereditary seats of loy 
 alty that existed in spite of the execrations of the million. 
 They marked with pleasure the arms of some of the ancient 
 Bourbon nobility on the panels of some of the glittering 
 
 o 213 
 
214 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 equipages, for all the aristocracy of France had not joined 
 the banners of her adversaries. 
 
 Within the walls of the palace, in the reception room, 
 the scene was yet more dazzling. The draperies of the 
 throne, at the foot of which stood Josephine, more impres 
 sive from her native and winning loveliness than the splen 
 dor of the priceless diamonds that decked her brow and 
 neck, and the emperor in the simple attire of a gentleman 
 with no distinctive ornament save the grand cross of the 
 Legion of Honor : the draperies of the throne, we say, 
 no longer presented the golden lilies of the Bourbon, but 
 the golden bees of Napoleon symbols of the industry 
 and perseverance which had raised him to his rank. The 
 eye, as it roamed around the brilliant circle, encountered 
 few of those vapid faces which make the staple of the sur 
 roundings of an hereditary throne. Every epaulet that 
 sparkled there graced the shoulder of a man who had 
 won his grade by exposure, gallantry, and intellect. Thero 
 was the scarred veteran of the Sambre and the Meuse r 
 heroes who had crossed " that terrible bridge of Lodi " in 
 the path of the French tricolor and the face of the wither 
 ing fire of Austrian batteries dim eyes that had been 
 blighted by the burning sands of Egypt, warriors who had 
 braved the perils of the Alps, and the dangers of the plain? 
 of Lombardy. 
 
 Somewhat apart from the brilliant circle, in the embra 
 sure of one of the deep and lofty windows, stood a young 
 officer, in conversation with a beautiful young woman. The 
 latter was attired in white satin, and the rich lace veil that 
 half hid the orange flower in her hair, and descended grace 
 fully over her faultless shoulders, proclaimed her to be a 
 bride. And the young soldier, her companion? The 
 radiant pride a' d joy that beamed from his fine dark eye, 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 215 
 
 the animation of his manner, and the tenderness of his tone, 
 as he addressed the lady, emphatically proclaimed the bride 
 groom. Such, indeed, were the relations of Colonel 
 Lioncourt and Leonide Lasalle, who had that day only 
 lost her maiden appellation at the altar of Notre Dame. 
 
 So absorbed was the young colonel in the conversation, 
 that it was only after he had been twice addressed that he 
 turned and noticed the proximity of a third person. 
 
 " Sorry to interrupt you, colonel," said the new comer, 
 a young man with dark lowering brows, deep-set eyes, and 
 a sinister expression, heightened by a sabre cut that, trav 
 ersed his left cheek diagonally, " but his majesty desires to 
 speak to you." 
 
 " Au revoir, Leonide," said the young colonel to his 
 bride ; " I will join you again in a few moments. The em 
 peror is laconic enough in his communications. Meanwhile, 
 I leave you to the care of my friend." 
 
 The emperor was already impatient, and the moment the 
 colonel appeared he grasped his arm familiarly, arid led him 
 aside, while the immediate group of courtiers fell back re 
 spectfully, and out of earshot. 
 
 " Colonel," said Napoleon,"! have news great news. 
 The enemies of France will not give us a moment's repose. 
 It is no longer England alone that threatens us. I could 
 have crushed England, had she met me single handed. In 
 a month my eagles would have lighted on the tower of 
 London. Russia, Austria, and Sweden have joined her. 
 Our frontier is threatened by half a million men. Lion- 
 court, you are brave and trusty, and I will tell you what I 
 dare communicate to few. My movements must be as se 
 cret as the grave. Paris must not suspect them. "What da 
 you think I propose doing ? " 
 
216 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 " To strengthen the frontier by concentrating your troops 
 on different points, sire." 
 
 Napoleon smiled. 
 
 " No, Lidhcourt ; we will beard the lion in his den. I 
 have broken up the camp at Boulogne. I will rush at once 
 into the heart of Germany. I will separate the enemy's 
 columns from each other. The first division that marches 
 against me shall be outflanked, attacked in the rear, and cut 
 to pieces. One after another they shall fall before me. In 
 three months I shall triumph over the coalition. I shall 
 dictate terms of peace from the field of battle. Lioncourt, 
 they are short sighted. They know nothing of me yet. 
 They fancy that my heart is engaged in these frivolous 
 pomps and gayeties with which I amuse the people that 
 I have become enervated by ' Capuan delights.' But 
 you know me better. You know that my throne is the 
 back of my war horse that the sword is my sceptre, 
 cannon my diplomatists. I wished for peace they 
 have elected war; on their heads be the guilt and the 
 bloodshed." 
 
 He paused, out of breath with the rapidity of his utter 
 ance. Colonel Lioncourt waited respectfully till he should 
 recommence. 
 
 " Colonel," he said, at last, in a tone of sadness, a mel 
 ancholy shade passing over his fine features, " they have 
 described me as a sanguinary monster. History will do 
 me justice. History will attest that I never drew the 
 sword without just cause that I returned it to its scab 
 bard on the earliest opportunity. Not on my soul the guilt 
 of slaughtered thousands, of villages burned, of peasants 
 'driven from their homes, of fields ravaged, of women wid 
 owed, and children orphaned. My whole soul yearns for 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 217 
 
 peace. I would build my true greatness on .the promul^ 
 gation of just laws, the culture of religion and intellect, the 
 triumphs of agriculture, and the arts of peace. But I must 
 obey my destiny. Europe must be ploughed by the sword. 
 The struggle is between civilization and barbarism, freedom 
 and despotism, the Frank and the Cossack. But I prate too 
 long. Colonel, I sent for you to pronounce a hard sentence. 
 Your regiment of hussars is already under arms. You 
 must march to-night instantly." 
 
 " Sire," said Lioncourt, with a sigh. " This news will 
 kill my poor wife." 
 
 "Josephine shall console her," said the emperor. "I 
 would have informed you earlier, but St. Eustache, your 
 lieutenant colonel, whom I now see talking with madame, 
 advised me not to do so." 
 
 " I thank him," muttered Lioncourt bitterly. 
 
 " You have no time to lose. I counsel you to leave the 
 presence quietly. Let your wife learn that you have 
 marched by a letter. Better that than the agony of part 
 ing. I know something of human, and particularly femi 
 nine, nature. Adieu, colonel. Courage and good fortune." 
 
 And so saying, the emperor glided easily back to the 
 circle he had left. Lioncourt's brain reeled under the 
 blow he had received. He gazed upon his wife as she stood 
 radiant, beautiful, and unsuspicious, under a glittering 
 chandelier, with the same feelings with which a man takes 
 his last look of the shore as he sinks forever in the treach 
 erous wave. In another moment he was gone. The sen 
 tries presented arms as he passed out of the palace. His 
 orderly was in the court yard holding his charger by the 
 bridle. The colonel threw himself into the saddle, and was 
 soon at the head of the regiment. The trumpets and kettle 
 drums were mute for such were the general orders ~ 
 19 
 
218 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 and the regiment rode out of the city in silence, broken 
 only by the heavy tramping of the horses' hoofs, and the 
 clankkig of scabbards rebounding from their flanks. As 
 they passed out of one of the gates, the lieutenant colonel, 
 St. Eustache, joined the column at a gallop, and reported 
 to his commander. 
 
 St. Eustache had been a lover of Leonide Lasalle, had 
 proposed for her hand, and been rejected. Still, he had not 
 utterly ceased to love her, but his desire of possession was 
 now mingled with a thirst of vengeance. He both hated 
 and loved the beautiful Leonide, while he regarded his for 
 tunate rival and commanding officer with feelings of un 
 mitigated hatred. Yet he had art enough to conceal his 
 guilty feelings and guilty projects. While he rode beside 
 the wlonel, his thoughts ran somewhat in this vein : 
 
 " Well, at least I have succeeded in marring their joy. 
 Lioncourt's triumph over me was short lived. He may 
 never see his bride again. He is venturesome and rash. 
 We have sharp work before us, or I'm very much mistaken, 
 and Colonel Eugene Lioncourt may figure in the list of killed 
 in the first general engagement. Then I renew my suit, 
 and if Leonide again reject me, there's no virtue in deter 
 mination." 
 
 While the colonel's regiment was slowly pursuing its 
 way, the festivities at the Tuileries were drawing to a close. 
 Madame Lioncourt wondered very much at the absence of 
 her husband, and still more so when the guests began to 
 depart, and he did not reappear to escort her to her car 
 riage. It was then that the empress honored her with an 
 interview, and, with tears in her beautiful eyes, informed 
 her of her husband's march in obedience to orders. The 
 poor lady bore bravely up against the effect of this intelli 
 gence so long as she was in the presence of the emperoi 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 219 
 
 and empresss ; but when alone in her carriage, on her wav 
 to her now solitary home, she burst into a flood of tears, and 
 it seemed as if her very heart were breaking. The next 
 morning brought a short but kind note from her husband. 
 It was oversowing with affection and full of hope. The 
 campaign, conducted by Napoleon's genius, he thought, 
 could not fail to be brief, and he should return with new 
 laurels, to lay them at the feet of his lovely bride. This 
 little note was treasured up by Leonide as if it had been 
 the relic of a saint, and its words of love and promise 
 cheered her day after day in the absence of her husband. 
 
 At last, news came to the capital from the seat of war. 
 The battle of Austerlitz had been fought and won. The 
 cannon thundered from the Invalides, Paris blazed with 
 illuminations, and the steeples reeled with the crashing 
 peals of the joy bells. No particulars came at first ; many 
 had been killed and wounded ; but the French eagles were 
 victorious, and this was all the people at first cared for. 
 Lioncourt's regiment had covered itself with glory, but 
 no special mention was made of him in the first despatches. 
 
 At last, one morning, a visitor was announced to Madame 
 Lioncourt, and she hastily descended to her salon to receive 
 him. St. Eustache advanced to meet her. She eagerly 
 scanned his countenance as he held out his hand. It was 
 grave and sombre. A second glance showed her a black 
 crape sword knot on the hilt of his sabre. She fainted and 
 sank upon the floor before St. Eustache could catch her in 
 his arms. He summoned her maid, and the latter, with 
 the assistance of another servant, bore her mistress from 
 the apartment. 
 
 St. Eustache paced the room to and fro, occasionally 
 rising his eyes to contemplate the rich gilded ceiling, the 
 paintings and statuettes, which adorned the salon. 
 
220 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 " Some style here ! " he muttered. " And they say 
 she has this in her own right. Lioncourt left her some 
 funds, I fancy. Young, beautiful, rich ; by Jove, she is a 
 prize." 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by the return of Ma 
 dame Lioncourt, who motioned her visitor to be seated, and 
 sank into &fauteuil herself. She was pale as marble, and 
 her eyes were red with recent tears, but her voice was calm 
 and firm as she said, 
 
 " I need hardly ask you, sir, if my poor husband has 
 fallen. I could read ill news in your countenance as soon 
 as you appeared. Were you near him when he fell ? " 
 
 " I was beside him, madame. We were charging the 
 flying Russians. Our horses, maddened with excitement, 
 had carried us far in advance of our column, when sudden 
 ly we were surrounded by a group of horsemen, who took 
 courage and rallied for a moment. Lioncourt was carrying 
 death in every blow he dealt, when a Russian cavalry offi 
 cer, discharging his pistol at point blank distance, shot him 
 dead from the saddle. I saw no more, for I was myself 
 wounded and swept away in the torrent of the fight. But 
 he is dead. Even if that pistol shot had not slain him, the 
 hoofs of his own troopers, as they rushed madly forward in 
 pursuit of the enemy, would have trampled every spark of 
 life out of his bosom." 
 
 Leonide wrung her hands. 
 
 " But you, at least, recovered his his remains ?" 
 
 " Pardon, madame. I instituted a search for our colonel's 
 body where he fell. But the spot had already been visited 
 by marauders. All the insignia of rank had disappeared ; 
 and in the mangled heap of stripped and mutilated corpses, 
 It was impossible to distinguish friend from foe." 
 
 The widowed bride groaned deeply as she covered he* 
 
THE SOLDIEK'S WIFE. 221 
 
 face with her handkerchief and rocked to and fro on her 
 seat. 
 
 " Madame," said St. Eustache, " I will no longer intrude 
 upon your grief. When time has somewhat assuaged the 
 .poignancy of your affliction, I will arain call on you to ten 
 der my respectful sympathies." 
 
 Time wore on, and with it brought those alleviations it 
 affords to even the keenest sorrow. The assiduity of friends 
 compelled Madame Lioncourt to lay aside her widow's 
 weeds, arid reappear in the great world of fashion. There, 
 whatever may have been her secret sorrow, she learned to 
 wear the mask of a smiling exterior, and even to appear 
 gayest among the gay, as if she sought forgetfulness in the 
 wildest excitement and most frivolous amusement. 
 
 During all this time, St. Eustache, who had got a mili 
 tary appointment at Paris, was ever at her side. It was* 
 impossible for her to avoid him. He escorted her to her 
 carriage when she left a ball room ; he was the first to 
 claim her hand when she entered. He was so respectful, 
 so sad, so humble, that it was impossible to take offence at 
 his assiduities, and she even began to like him in spite of 
 former prejudices. Though it was evident that the free 
 dom of her hand had renewed his former hopes, still no 
 words of his ever betrayed their revival ; only sometimes a 
 suppressed sigh, the trembling of his hand as it touched 
 hers, gave evidence that could not be mistaken. 
 
 Affairs were in this condition, when a brother of Leo- 
 nide, Alfred Lasalle, a young advocate from the provinces, 
 came to establish himself in Paris. He at once became 
 the protector and guardian of his sister, and, as such, con 
 ceived the same violent dislike to St. Eustache that Leonide 
 had formerly entertained towards him. St. Eustache, after 
 many fruitless attempts to conciliate the brother, gave it up 
 19* 
 
222 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 in despair. Still, whenever Alfred's affairs called Lira 
 away, he supplied his place with the young widow. 
 
 At this time, play sometimes ran very high in the salons 
 of the capital ; and Leonide rose from the ecarte table one 
 night, indebted to St. Eustache in the sum of a thousand 
 crowns. 
 
 " Call on me to-morrow," said Leonide, with a flush 6 J 
 face, " and I will repay you." 
 
 St. Eustache was pretty well acquainted with the affairs 
 of the young widow. He knew that she had been living 
 on her capital for some time, and that she had reached the 
 limit of her resources. He knew that it was utterly im 
 possible for her to raise a thousand crowns in twenty -four 
 hours. She must, therefore, he thought, cancel her debt 
 by her hand. This was the alternative to which he had 
 been manoeuvring to bring her ; therefore he entered her 
 salon the next day with the air of a victor. He was no 
 longer covetous of wealth ; he had prospered in his own 
 speculations, and was immensely rich ; the hand of Leo 
 nide, even without her heart, was now all he sought. 
 
 Madame Lioncourt received him with the easy assurance 
 of a woman of the world. He, on his part, advanced with 
 the grace of a French courtier. 
 
 " You came to remind me, sir," said the lady, " that I 
 was unfortunate at play last night." 
 
 "No, madame," said St. Eustache, "it is yourself who 
 reminds me of it. Pardon me, I am somewhat ac 
 quainted with your circumstances. I know that you are 
 no longer as rich as you are beautiful " 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Pardon the allusion, madam ; I did not intend to insult 
 you, but only to suggest that the payment of money was 
 not the only method of cancelling a debt." 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 236 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir." 
 
 " Leonide, it is time that you did understand me ! " cried 
 St. Eustache, impetuously. " It is time that I should throw 
 off the mask and assert my claim to your hand. I loved you 
 once I love you still. You are now in my power. You 
 cannot pay me the money you owe me ; but you can make 
 me happy. Your hand " 
 
 " Colonel St. Eustache," said the lady, coldly, as she rose 
 and handed him a pocket book, "be good enough to 
 count those notes." 
 
 St. Eustache ran over them hastily. 
 
 " A thousand crowns, madame," he said. 
 
 " Then the debt is cancelled. Never renew the proposal 
 of this morning. Good day, sir." 
 
 With a haughty inclination of the head, she swept out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Never renew the proposal of this morning ! " said St. 
 Eustache to himself. "A thousand furies! It shall be 
 renewed to-night. She will be at the masquerade at the 
 opera house. I have bribed her chambermaid, and know 
 her dress. She shall hear me plead my suit. I have 
 dared too much, perilled too much, to give her up so 
 easily." 
 
 Amidst the gay crowd at the opera house was a light 
 figure in a pink domino, attended by one in black. Not to 
 make a mystery of these characters, they were Madame 
 Lioncourt and her brother. 
 
 " Dear Alfred," said the lady, " I am afraid you im 
 poverished yourself to aid me in extricating myself from 
 the toils of my persevering suitor." 
 
 " Say nothing of it, Leonide," replied Alfred. " Your 
 liberty is cheaply purchased by the sacrifice." 
 
224 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 " Lady, one word with you," said a low voice at her 
 Bide. 
 
 She turned, and beheld a pilgrim with scrip, staff, and 
 cross, and closely masked. 
 
 " Twenty, if you will, reverend sir," she replied gayly. 
 " But methinks this is a strange scene for one of your 
 solemn vocation." 
 
 " The true man," replied the mask, " finds something to 
 interest him in every scene of life. Wherever men and 
 women assemble in crowds, there is always an opportunity 
 for counsel and consolation. The pious pilgrim should 
 console the sad ; and are not the saddest hearts found in 
 the gayest throngs ? " 
 
 " True, true," replied Leonide, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " But you, at least, are happy, lady," said the pilgrim. 
 
 " Hagpy ! Could you see my face, you would see a 
 mask more impenetrable than this velvet one I wear. It is 
 all smiles," she whispered. " But," she added, laying her 
 hand on her bosom, 
 
 * I have a silent sorrow here, 
 A grief I'll ne'er impart ; 
 It heaves no sigh, it sheds no tear, 
 But it consumes my heart.' " 
 
 " Can it be possible ! " cried the pilgrim. " You have 
 the reputation of being one of the gayest of the Parisian 
 ladies." 
 
 " Then you know me not." 
 
 "I know you 'by name, Madame Lioncourt." 
 
 " Then you should know that name represents a noble 
 End gallant heart the life of my own widowed bosom. 
 You should know that Lioncourt, the bravest of the brave, 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 225 
 
 the truest of the true, lies in a nameless grave at Auster 
 litz, the very spot unknown." 
 
 " I too was at Austerlitz," said the pilgrim, in a deep 
 voice. 
 
 " You were at Austerlitz ! " 
 
 " Yes, madame, in the hussars." 
 
 " It was my husband's regiment." 
 
 " Yes, madame. I was for a long tim* supposed to be 
 dead. My comrades saw me fall, and I was reported for 
 dead. Faith, I came near dying. But I fell into the 
 hands of some good people, though they were Austrians, 
 and they took good care of me, and cured my wounds ; and 
 here I am at last." 
 
 " Ah ! why," exclaimed Madame Lioncourt, " may this 
 not have been the fate of your colonel ? Why may not ho 
 too have survived the carnage, and been preserved in the 
 same manner ? His body was never recognized." 
 
 " Very possibly Lioncourt may still be living." 
 
 " Yet St. Eustache told me he was dead." 
 
 " He is a false traitor ! " cried the pilgrim. " Leonide ! " 
 cried he, with thrilling emphasis, "you have borne bad 
 news ; can you bear good ? " 
 
 " God will give me strength to bear good tidings," cried 
 the lady. 
 
 " Then arm yourself with all your energy," said the 
 stranger. " Lioncourt lives." 
 
 " Lives ! " said Leonide, faintly, grasping the arm of the 
 stranger to support herself from falling. 
 
 " Courage, madame ; I tell you the truth. He lives." 
 
 " Then take me to him. The crisis is past. I can bear 
 to meet him ; nothing but delay will kill me now ! " cried 
 the lady, hurriedly. 
 
 " He stands beside you ! " said the stranger. 
 
226 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 A long, deep sigh, and Leonide lay in the arms of the 
 pilgrim, who was still masked. But she recovered herself 
 with superhuman energy, and said, 
 
 " Come, come, I must see you. I must kneel at you? 
 feet. I must clasp your hands ; my joy ^ my love my 
 life!" 
 
 " Room, room, there ! " cried a seneschal. " The em 
 peror!" 
 
 " Dearest Leonide," whispered a voice in her ear, " I 
 resolved to see you again to-night, in spite of your prohibi 
 tion to renew my suit." 
 
 " Then wait here beside me ; do not leave me," answered 
 the lady, as she recognized St. Eustache. 
 
 " That will I not, dearest," was the fervent reply. 
 
 Napoleon, with Josephine leaning on his arm, advanced 
 through the broad space cleared by the attendants, and 
 when he had taken up a position in the centre of the hall, 
 near Lioncourt and his bride, St. Eustache and Lasalle, 
 gave the signal for the company to unmask. As they 
 obeyed, and every face was uncovered, his quick glance 
 caught the pale and handsome features of the young 
 cavalry colonel. 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, impetuously. " Can the grave 
 give up its dead ? Do our eyes deceive us ? Is this in 
 deed Lioncourt, whom we left dead upon the field of Aus- 
 terlitz ? Advance, man, and satisfy our doubts." 
 
 Lioncourt advanced, and the emperor laid his hand upon 
 his arm. 
 
 "You are pale as a ghost, man; but still you're flesh 
 and blood. Give an account of yourself. Speak quickly ; 
 don't you see these ladies are dying of curiosity ? and, faith, 
 so I am too," he added, smiling. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 227 
 
 " Sire," said the colonel, " you will, perhaps, remem 
 ber ordering my regiment in pursuit of the flying Rus 
 sians?" 
 
 " Perfectly well ; and they performed the service gallant 
 ly. Their rear was cut to pieces." 
 
 " St. Eustache and I rode side by side," pursued tli<? 
 colonel. 
 
 " Here is St. Eustache," cried the emperor, beckoning 
 the officer to advance. 
 
 " My dear colonel ! " cried St. Eustache, embracing his 
 old commander. 
 
 " Go on, colonel," cried the emperor, stamping his fool 
 impatiently. 
 
 " "We hung upon the flying rear of the enemy, sabring 
 every man we overtook. Faith, I hardly know what hap 
 pened afterward* ;' said the colonel, pausing. 
 
 " Take up the thread of the story, St. Eustache," said the 
 emperor ; " don't let it break off here." 
 
 " Well, sire," said St. Eustache, drawing a long breath, 
 " as the colonel and I were charging side by side, cutting 
 right and left, separated from our men by the superior 
 speed of our horses, a Russian officer wheeled and shot the 
 colonel from his saddle." 
 
 " That was how it happened, Lioncourt," said the em 
 peror. " Now go on. Afterwards " 
 
 " "When I came to my senses, sire," resumed Lioncourt, 
 gloomily, " I found myself in the hands of some Austrian 
 peasants. I had been plundered of my epaulets and uni 
 form, and they took me for a common soldier. But they 
 carried me to their cottage, and dressed my wound, and 
 eventually I got well." 
 
 " But where were you wounded, colonel ? " asked the em 
 peror. 
 
228 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 " A pistol ball had entered behind my left shoulder, and 
 came out by my collar bone." 
 
 " Behind your left shoulder ! " cried Napoleon. " And 
 yet you were facing the enemy. How was that ? " 
 
 " Because," said the colonel, sternly, " a Frenchman, a 
 soldier, an officer, a disappointed rival, took that opportuni 
 ty of assassinating me, and shot me with his own hostler 
 pistol." 
 
 " His name ! " shouted the emperor, quivering with pas 
 sion, " his name ; do you know him ? " 
 
 " Well. It was Lieutenant Colonel St. Eustache ! " 
 
 All eyes were turned on St. Eustache. His knees 
 knocked together, his eyes were fixed, cold drops of per 
 spiration stood on his forehead. But in all that circle of 
 indignant eyes, the detected criminal saw only the eagle 
 orbs of the emperor, that pierced to his very soul. 
 
 " Is this charge true ?" asked Napoleon, quickly, quiver 
 ing with one of his tremendous tornadoes of passion. 
 
 St. Eustache could not answer; but he nodded his 
 head. 
 
 " Your sword ! " cried the emperor. 
 
 Mechanically the criminal drew his sabre ; he had thrown 
 off his domino, and now stood revealed in the uniform he 
 disgraced, and offered the hilt to the emperor. Napoleon 
 clutched it, and snapped the blade under foot. Then, tear 
 ing off his epaulets, he threw them on the floor, stamped on 
 them, and beckoning to an officer who stood by, gasped 
 out, 
 
 " A guard, a guard ! " 
 
 In a few minutes the tramp of armed men was heard ID 
 the saloon, and the wretched culprit was removed. 
 
 " General Lioncourt," said the emperor to his recoyered 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 229 
 
 officer, " your new commission shall be made out to-morrow. 
 In the mean while the lovely Leonide shall teach you to 
 forget your trials." 
 
 The assemblage broke up. Lioncourt, his wife, and her 
 faithful brother retired to their now happy home. 
 
 The next day was fixed for the trial of the guilty St. 
 Eustache before a court martial a mere formal prelim 
 inary to his execution, for he had confessed his crime ; but 
 it appeared that during the preceding night he had man 
 aged to escape. 
 
 Flying from justice, the wretched criminal reached one 
 of the bridges that span the Seine. Climbing to the para 
 pet, he gazed down into the dark and turbid flood, now black 
 as midnight, that rolled beneath the yawning arch. There 
 was no star in the sky, and here and there only a dim light 
 twinkled, reflected in the muddy wave. Daylight was be 
 ginning to streak the east with sickly rays. Soon the great 
 city would be astir. Soon hoarse voices would be clamor 
 ing for the traitor, the assassin, the dastard, who, in the 
 hour of victory, had raised his hand against a brother 
 Frenchman. Soon, if he lingered, his ears would be doomed 
 to hear the death penalty soon the muskets, whose fire 
 he had so often commanded, would be levelled against his 
 breast. All was lost, all for which he had schemed and 
 sinned, the applause of his countrymen, the favor of his 
 emperor, the love of Leonide. At least, he would disap 
 point Paris of a spectacle. He would die by his own act. 
 A sudden spring, a heavy plunge, a few bubbles breaking 
 on the black surface, and the wretched criminal was no 
 more ! 
 
 Days afterwards, a couple of soldiers, lounging into La 
 Morgue, the dismal receptacle where bodies are exposed 
 20 p 
 
230 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 
 
 for identification, recognized in a pallid and bloated corpse 
 the remains of the late lieutenant colonel of the th 
 hussars. 
 
 Lioncourt learned his fate, but it threw no shadow ovei 
 his bright and cloudless happiness. 
 
A KISS ON DEMAND. 
 
 IT was a very peculiar sound, something like the pop* 
 ping of a champagne cork, something like the report of a 
 small pocket pistol, but exactly like nothing but itself. It 
 was a kiss. 
 
 A kiss implies two parties unless it be one of those 
 symbolical kisses produced by one pair of lips, and wafted 
 through the air in token of affection or admiration. But 
 this particular kiss was genuine. The parties in the case 
 were Mrs. Phebe Mayflower, the newly-married wife of 
 honest Tom Mayflower, gardener to Mr. Augustus Scatter- 
 ly, and that young gentleman himself. Augustus was a 
 good-hearted, rattle-brained spendthrift, who had employed 
 the two or three years which had elapsed since his majority 
 in " making ducks and drakes " of the pretty little fortune 
 left him by his defunct sire. There was nothing very bad 
 about him, excepting his prodigal habits, and by these he 
 was himself the severest sufferer. Tom, his gardener, had 
 been married a few weeks, and Gus, who had failed to be 
 at the wedding, and missed the opportunity of " saluting 
 the bride," took it into his head that it was both proper and 
 polite that he should do so on the first occasion of his meet 
 ing her subsequently to that interesting ceremony. Mrs. 
 Mayflower, the other party interested in the case, differed 
 from him in opinion, and the young landlord kissed her in 
 spite of herself. But she was not without a champion, foi 
 
 231 
 
232 A KISS ON DEMAND. 
 
 at the precise moment when Scatterly placed his audacioua 
 lips in contact with the blooming cheek of Mrs. M., Tom 
 entered the garden and beheld the outrage. 
 
 " What are you doing of, Mr. Scatterly ? " he roared. 
 
 " 0, nothing, Tom, but asserting my rights ! I was only 
 saluting the bride." 
 
 " Against my will, Tommy," said the poor bride, blush 
 ing like a peony, and wiping the offended cheek with her 
 checked apron. 
 
 " And I'll make you pay dear for it, if there's law in the 
 land," said Tom. 
 
 " Poh, poh ! don't make a fool of yourself," said Scat 
 terly. 
 
 " I don't mean to," answered the gardener, dryly. 
 
 " You're not seriously offended at the innocent liberty I 
 took?" 
 
 Yes I be," said Tom. 
 
 " Well, if you view it in that light," answered Scatterly, 
 " I shall feel bound to make you reparation. You shall 
 have a kiss from my bride, when I'm married." 
 
 " That you never will be." 
 
 " I must confess," said Scatterly, laughing, " the pros 
 pect of repayment seems rather distant. But who knows 
 what will happen ? I may not die a bachelor, after all. 
 And if I marry I repeat it, my dear fellow you shall 
 have a kiss from my wife." 
 
 " No he shan't," said Phebe. " He shall Jdss nobody 
 but me." 
 
 " Yes he shall," said Scatterly. " Have you got pen, ink, 
 and paper, Tom ? " 
 
 " To be sure," answered the gardener. fc Here they be, 
 all handy." 
 
A KISS ON DEMAND. 233 
 
 Scatterly sat down and wrote as follows : 
 
 THE WILLOWS, August , 18 . 
 " Value received, I promise to pay Thomas Mayflower 
 or order, one kiss on demand. 
 
 "AUGUSTUS SCATTERLY." 
 
 " There you have a legal document," said the young man, 
 as he handed the paper to the grinning gardener. " And 
 now, good folks, good by." 
 
 " Mistakes will happen in the best regulated families," 
 and so it chanced that, in the autumn of the same year, our 
 bachelor met at the Springs a charming belle of Baltimore, 
 to whom he lost bis heart incontinently. His person and 
 address were attractive, and though his prodigality had im 
 paired his fortune, still a rich old maiden aunt, who doted 
 on him, Miss Persimmon Verjuice, promised to do the 
 handsome thing by him on condition of his marrying and 
 settling quietly to the management of his estate. So, un 
 der these circumstances, he proposed, was accepted, and 
 married, and brought home his beautiful young bride to 
 reside with Miss Verjuice at the Willows. 
 
 In the early days of the honeymoon, one fine morning, 
 when Mr. and Mrs. Scatterly and the maiden aunt were 
 walking together in the garden, Tom Mayflower, dressed in 
 his best, made his appearance, wearing a smile of most 
 peculiar meaning. 
 
 " Julia," said Augustus, carelessly, to his young bride, 
 " this is my gardener, come to pay his respects to you 
 honest Torn Mayflower, a very worthy fellow, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Scatterly nodded condescendingly to the gardener 
 20* 
 
234 A KISS ON DEMAND. 
 
 who gazed upon her with the open eyes of admiration. 
 She spoke a few words to him, inquired about his wife, his 
 flowers, &c., and then turned away with the aunt, as if to 
 terminate the interview. 
 
 But Tom could not take his eyes off her, and he stood, 
 gaping and admiring, and every now and then passing the 
 back of his hand across his lips. 
 
 " What do you think of my choice, Tom ? " asked Scat- 
 lerly, confidentially. 
 
 " O, splendiferous ! " said the gardener. 
 
 " Roses and lilies in her cheeks eh ? " said Scatterly. 
 
 " Her lips are as red as carnations, and her eyes as blue 
 as larkspurs," said the gardener. 
 
 " I'm glad you like your new mistress ; now go to work, 
 Tom." 
 
 " I beg pardon, Mr. Scatterly ; but I called to see you on 
 business." 
 
 "Well out with it." 
 
 " Do you remember any thing about saluting the bride ? " 
 
 " I remember I paid the customary homage to Mrs. May 
 flower." 
 
 " Well, don't you remember what you promised in case 
 of your marriage ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 Tom produced the promissory note with a grin of tri 
 umph. " It's my turn now, Mr. Scatterly." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean to kiss Mrs. Scatterly." 
 
 " Go to the deuse, you rascal ! " 
 
 . "O, what is the matter?" exclaimed both the ladies, 
 startled by Scatterly's exclamation, and turning back to 
 learn the cause. 
 
A KISS ON DEMAND. 235 
 
 u Tins fellow has preferred a demand against me," said 
 Scatterly. 
 
 " A legal demand," said the gardener, sturdily ; " and 
 here's the dokiment." 
 
 " Give it to me," said the old maid aunt. Tom handed 
 her the paper with an air of triumph. 
 
 "Ami right?" said he. 
 
 " Perfectly, young man," replied Miss Verjuice ; " only, 
 when my nephew married, I assumed all his debts ; and I 
 am now ready myself to pay your claim." 
 
 " Fairly trapped, by Jupiter ! " exclaimed Scatterly, in 
 an ecstasy of delight. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " cried the unhappy gardener, recoiling 
 from the withered face, bearded lip, and sharp nose of the 
 ancient spinster ; " I relinquish my claim I'll write a 
 receipt in full." 
 
 "No, sir," said Scatterly ; "you pressed me for payment 
 this moment and you shall take your pay, or I discharge 
 you from my employ." 
 
 " I am ready," said the spinster, meekly. 
 
 Tom shuddered crawled up to the old lady shut his 
 eyes made up a horrible face, and kissed her, while Mr. 
 and Mrs. S. stood by, convulsed with laughter. 
 
 Five minutes afterwards, Tom entered the gardener's 
 lodge, pale, weak, and trembling, and sank into a chair. 
 
 " Give me a glass of water, Phebe ! " he gasped. 
 
 " Dear, what has happened ? " asked the little woman. 
 
 "Happened! why that cussed Miss Verjuice is paying 
 Mr. Scatterly's debts." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, I presented my promissory note he handed it 
 to her and and murder! I've been kissing tht 
 old woman ! " 
 
236 A KISS ON DEMAND. 
 
 Phebe threw her arms about his neck, and pressed her 
 lips to his, and Thomas Mayflower then and there solemnly 
 promised that he would nevermore have any thing to dc 
 with KISSES ON DEMAND ! 
 
THE EIFLE SHOT. 
 
 A MADMAN'S CONFESSION. 
 
 IT is midnight. The stealthy step of the restless maniac is 
 no longer heard in the long, cheerless corridors ; the ravings of 
 the incurable cannot penetrate the deep walls of the cells in 
 which their despair is immured ; even the guardians of the 
 establishment are asleep. Without, what silence ! The 
 branches of the immemorial trees hang pendulous and motion 
 less ; the last railway train, with its monster eyes of light, has 
 thundered by. The neighboring city seems like one vast 
 mausoleum, over which the silent stars are keeping watch 
 and ward, and weeping silvery dew like angels' tears. Only 
 crime and despair are sleepless. 
 
 To my task. They allow me a lamp. They are not 
 afraid that the madman will fire his living tomb and perish 
 in the ruins. Wise men of science ! Cunning readers of 
 the human heart, your decrees are infallible. I am mad. 
 But perhaps some eager individual whose eyes shall rest 
 upon these pages will pronounce a different sentence ; per 
 haps he may know how to distinguish crime from madness. 
 
 A vision of my youth comes over me a happy boy 
 hood a tree-embowered home, babbling brooks, fertile 
 lawns a father's blessing a mother's kiss that was both 
 joy and blessing a brother's brave and tender friendship 
 and first love, that dearest, sweetest, holiest charm of all 
 
 237 
 
238 THE RIFLE SHOT 
 
 O God ! that those things were and are not ! It is agony 
 to recall them. 
 
 Pass, too, the brief Elysian period of wedded love. Julia 
 sleeps well in her woodland grave. I was false to her 
 memory. 
 
 If my boyhood were happy, my manhood was a melan 
 choly one. A morbid temperament, fostered by indulgence, 
 dropped poison even in the cup of bliss. I loved and I hated 
 with intensity. 
 
 To my widowed home came, after the death of my wife, 
 my fair cousin Amy, and my young brother Norman. Both 
 were orphans like myself. Amy was a glorious young 
 creature my antithesis in every respect. She was light 
 hearted, I was melancholy ; she was beautiful, I ill favored ; 
 she was young, I past the middle age of life, arrived at that 
 period when philosophers falsely tell us that the pulses beat 
 moderately, the blood flows temperately, and the heart is 
 tranquil. Fools ! the fierce passions of the soul belong not 
 to the period of youth or early manhood. But let my story 
 illustrate my position. 
 
 Amy filled my lonely home with mirth and music. She 
 rose with the lark, and carolled as wildly and gayly the 
 livelong day, till, like a child tired of play, she sank from 
 very exhaustion on her pure and peaceful couch. Norman 
 was her playmate. In early manhood he retained the 
 buoyant and elastic spirit of his youth. His was one of 
 those natures which never grow old. Have you ever noticed 
 one of those aged men, whose fresh cheeks and bright eyes, 
 and ardent sympathy with all that is youthful and animated, 
 belie the chronicle of Time? Such might have been the 
 age of Norman, had not But I am anticipating. 
 
 Between my cold and exhausted nature and Amy's warm, 
 fresh heart, you might have supposed that there could have 
 
THE RIFLE SHOT. 239 
 
 been no union. Yet she loved me warmly and well loved 
 me as a friend and father. I returned her pure and inno 
 cent affection with a fierce passion. I longed to possess 
 her. The memory of her I had loved and lost was but as 
 the breath on the surface of a steel mirror, which heat dis 
 places and obliterates. 
 
 I was not long in perceiving the exact state of her feel 
 ings towards me, and with that knowledge came the instan 
 taneous conviction of her fondness for my brother, so well 
 calculated to inspire a young girl's love. I watched them 
 with the keen and angry eyes of jealousy. I followed them 
 in their walks ; I played the eavesdropper, and caught up 
 the words of their innocent conversation, endeavoring to 
 turn them to their disadvantage. By degrees I came to 
 hate Norman ; and what equals in intensity a brother's hate ? 
 It surpasses the hate of woman. 
 
 In the insanity of my passion then I was insane in 
 deed I sought to rival my brother in all those things in 
 which he was my superior. He was fond of field sports, 
 and a master of all athletic exercises ; he was fond of bring 
 ing home the trophies of his manly skill and displaying 
 them in tile eyes of his mistress. He could bring down the 
 hawk from the clouds, or arrest the career of the deer in 
 full spring. I practised shooting, and failed miserably. 
 His good-natured smile at my maladroitness I treasured up 
 as a deadly wrong. While he rode fearlessly, I trembled 
 at the thought of a leap. He danced gracefully and lightly ; 
 my awkward attempts at waltzing made both Amy and her 
 lover smile. 
 
 But in mental accomplishments I was the superior of 
 Norman ; and in my capacity of teacher both to Amy and 
 my brother, I had ample opportunity of displaying the 
 powers of my mind. 
 
240 THE RIFLE SHOT. 
 
 Amy was gifted with quick intelligence ; Norman was a 
 dull scholar. What pleasure I took in humbling him in 
 the eyes of his mistress ! what asperity and scorn I threw 
 into my pedantic rebukes ! Norman was astonished and 
 wounded at my manner. As he was in a good degree de 
 pendent on me, as he owed to me his nurture, sustenance, 
 and training, I took full advantage of our relative position. 
 With well-feigned earnestness and sorrow, I exaggerated 
 my pecuniary embarrassments, and pointed out to him the 
 necessity of his providing for himself, suggesting, with tears 
 in my eyes, that he must adopt some servile trade or call 
 ing, as his melancholy deficiencies precluded the possibility 
 of his success in any other line. 
 
 Norman had little care for money. Before the fatal ad 
 vent of Amy, I had supplied him freely with the means of 
 gratifying his tastes ; but when I found that he expended 
 his allowance in presents for his fair cousin, on the plea of 
 hard necessity I restricted his supplies, and finally limited 
 him to a pittance, which only a feeble regard for the mem 
 ory of our indulgent mother forced me to grant. 
 
 One day I remember it well he came to me with 
 ]oy depicted in his countenance, and displayed a recent pur 
 chase, the fruits of his forced economy. It was a fine rifle ; 
 and he urged me and Amy to come and see him make a 
 trial of the weapon. I rebuked him for his extravagance 
 with a sharpness which brought tears into his eyes but I 
 consented to witness the trial. His first shot centred the 
 target. He loaded again, and handed the weapon to me. 
 My bullet was nowhere to be found. Norman's second 
 shot lapped his first. Mine was again wide of the mark. 
 Norman laughed thoughtlessly. Amy looked grave, for 
 with a woman's quickness she had guessed at the truth of 
 my feelings. I cut the scene short by summoning both to 
 
THE RIFLE SHOT. 241 
 
 their studies. That morning Norman, whose thoughts 
 were with his rifle, blundered sadly in his mathematics, and 
 I rebuked him with more than my usual asperity. 
 
 Be it understood that my character stood high with the 
 world. I was not undistinguished in public life, and had 
 the rare good fortune to conciliate both parties. I was a 
 working man in many charitable and philanthropic so 
 cieties. I was a member of a church, and looked up to 
 as a model of piety. . As a husband and brother, I was held 
 up as an example. I had so large a capital of character, 
 I could deal in crime to an unlimited amount. 
 
 Some days after the occurrence just related, I was alone 
 with my brother in the library. 
 
 " Come, Norman," said I, " leave those stupid books. 
 Study is a poor business for a young free heart like yours. 
 Leave books for old age and the rheumatism." 
 
 Norman sprang up joyously. " With all my heart, broth 
 er ; I'm with you for a gallop or a ramble." 
 
 " I'm but a poor horseman, and an indifferent walker," I 
 answered. " What do you say to a little rifle practice ? I 
 should like to try to mend my luck." 
 
 Norman's rifle was in his hand in a moment, and whis 
 tling his favorite spaniel, he sallied forth with me into the 
 bright, sunshiny autumnal day. We hied to a hollow in 
 the woods where he had set up a target. He made the 
 first shot a splendid one and then reloaded the rifle. 
 
 " Take care," said he, " how you handle the trigger ; you 
 know the lock is an easy one I am going to have it al 
 tered." And he went forward to set the target firmei in 
 the ground, as his shot had shaken it. 
 
 He was twenty paces off his back turned towards me. 
 I lifted the rifle, and covered him with both sights. It was 
 the work of a moment. My hand touched the trigger. A 
 21 
 
242 THE RIFLE SHOT. 
 
 sharp report followed the puff of blue smoke s^yrled up 
 ward and my brother fell headlong to the ground. The 
 bullet had gone crashing through his skull. He never 
 moved. 
 
 A revulsion of feeling instantly followed. All the love 
 of former years all the tender passages of our boyhood 
 rushed through my brain in an instant. I flew to him and 
 raised him from the earth. At sight of his pale face, 
 beautiful in death, of his long bright locks dabbled in warm 
 blood, I shrieked in despair. A mother bewailing her first 
 born could not have felt her loss more keenly, or mourned 
 it more wildly. Two or three woodmen rushed to the spot. 
 They saw, as they supposed, the story at a glance. One 
 of those accidents so common to the careless use of firearms 
 
 and I was proverbially unacquainted with their use 
 had produced the catastrophe. We were borne home, for 
 I had fainted, and was as cold and lifeless as my victim. 
 What passed during a day or two I scarcely remember, 
 Something of strange people in the house of disconnect 
 ed words of sympathy of a coffin a funeral a pil 
 grimage to the woodland cemetery, where my parents and 
 my wife slept are all the memory records of those days. 
 
 Then I resumed the full possession of my senses. Amy's 
 pale face and shadowy form were all that were left of her 
 
 my brother's seat at the table and the fireside were 
 empty. But his clothes, his picture, his riding cap and 
 spurs, a thousand trifles scattered round, called up his dread 
 image every day to the fratricide. His dog left the house 
 every morning, and came not back till evening. One day 
 he was found dead in the graveyard where his master had 
 been laid. 
 
 Amy clung to me with despairing love. She would talk 
 of the lost one. She would find every day in me some 
 
THE RIFLE SHOT. 243 
 
 resemblance to him. Perhaps she would even 'nave wedded 
 in me the memory of the departed. But that thought was 
 too horrible. I loved her no longer. 
 
 Friends came to condole with me. Every word of sym 
 pathy was a barbed arrow. I could bear it no longer. 
 Conscience stung me not to madness, but confession. 1 
 repelled sympathy I solicited denunciation. I told them 
 I was my brother's murderer. I forced my confession on 
 every one who would hear it. Then it became rumored 
 about that my " fine mind," so they phrased it, had given 
 way beneath the weight of sorrow. I was regarded with 
 fear. A physician of my acquaintance made me a friendly 
 visit, and shook his head when he heard my story. One 
 day this gentleman invited me to ride in his carriage. He 
 left me here. Society believes me mad that I am not, is 
 to me a miracle. 
 
 ye wise ones of the earth, legislators of the land, 
 would ye avenge the blood that has been spilt by vio 
 lence on the ruthless murderer, would ye inflict punishment 
 upon him, spare and slay him not. Take down the gal 
 lows, and in its place erect your prisons doubly strong, for 
 there, within their ever-during walls of granite, lies the 
 hell of the villain who has robbed his brother of his life. 
 
THE WATER CURE 
 
 SINCE the introduction of the limpid waters of Lake Co- 
 chituate into the goodly city of Boston, the water commis 
 sioners have had their hands full of business, for the various 
 accidents incidental to the commencement of the service, 
 the bursting of pipes, the demands for payments of dama 
 ges, applications for accommodations, &c., have rendered 
 the offices no sinecures. 
 
 The other day, a poorly but decently-dressed Irish wo 
 man entered the office of the commissioners on Washington 
 Street, and walked up to the head clerk. 
 
 " Well, my good woman, what do you want ? " 
 
 " I want to see the dochthor." 
 
 " The doctor ! what doctor ? " 
 
 " How should I know his name, and me niver seeing 
 him ? " 
 
 " This is the water commissioner's office, my good wo 
 man." 
 
 "Ah ! and sure I've hard of the wonderful cures you've 
 made. If my poor Teddy had been alive at this moment, 
 he wouldn't have been dead the day." 
 
 " O, you want the water brought into your house." 
 
 " Sure and I'd like that same." 
 m " Well, where do you live ? " 
 
 "Broad Strate near Purchase Strate it's a small 
 
 244 
 
THE WATER CURE. 245 
 
 cellar I have to myself. I used to take boarders ; but it's 
 poorly I am, and I can't work as I used to, dochthor." 
 
 " Well, haven't you got any water ? " 
 
 " Divil a bit. I have to take my pail and go to Bread 
 Strate for it." 
 
 " And the water doesn't come into your cellar ? " 
 
 " Sure it comes into me cellar sometimes but it's as 
 salt as brine ; it's the say water. I've tried to drink it, but 
 it made me sick. 0, I'm bad, dochthor, dear ; if you think 
 the water'll cure me, tell me where I can get it." 
 
 " You've got the pipes down your way ? " 
 
 " I've got the pipes, dochthor, dear but sorrow a bit 
 of tibaccy. Do you think smoking is good for the rheu- 
 matiz ? " 
 
 " There's some mistake here," said the clerk ; " what's 
 that you've got in your hand ? " 
 
 " They tould me to bring this bit ov pasteboord here, 
 sure." 
 
 The cbrk took it. It was a dispensary ticket. He ex 
 plained tlie mistake, and told the applicant where she should 
 go to obtain medicine and advice. 
 
 " No, dochthor, dear it's no mistake it's the water 
 cure I'm after. Sure it's the blissid wather that saves us. 
 There was Pat Murphy that brak his leg when he fell with 
 a hod of bricks aff the ladder in Say Strate, and they put 
 a bit of wet rag round it, and the next wake he was dancing 
 a jig to the chune of Paddy Rafferty, at the ball given by 
 the Social Burial Society. And there was my sister Molly's 
 old man, Phelim, that was took bad wid the fever and 
 he drank walth of whiskey, but it never did him a bit of 
 good but when he lift off the whiskey, and drank nothin 
 but wather, he came round in a wake. O, dochthor, let ma 
 have the blissid water." 
 
 21* Q 
 
246 THE WATER CURE. 
 
 " You must see your landlord about that." 
 
 " You wouldn't sind me to him, dochthor." 
 
 "I'm no doctor, good woman," said the clerk, now 
 thoroughly annoyed, " and you've come to the wrong shop, 
 as I told you." 
 
 " How do you use the water ? " inquired the woman. 
 
 "Why, you turn the cock and let it on in this way," 
 Baid the clerk, letting a little Cochituate into a basin. 
 " There, go along now, and go to the doctor's, as I have 
 directed you." 
 
 " Sorrow a dochthor I go to but the water dochthor, this 
 blissid day," said the woman, and she left the office. 
 
 She repaired to her cellar in no enviable frame of mind. 
 She was sick and discouraged, and labored under the im 
 pression that she had been to the right place, but they had 
 imposed upon her, from an unwillingness to aid her. In 
 the mean while, however, during her absence, a service pipe 
 had been admitted into her premises by the landlord, though 
 she was not aware of the fact. She became acquainted 
 with it soon enough, however. The next morning, about 
 four o'clock, as she lay on the floor, bemoaning her hard 
 fate and the neglect of the " dochthor," she heard a rush 
 ing noise. The water pipe had burst, and a stream, like a 
 fountain, was now steadily falling into the cellar. 
 
 " Bless their hearts ! " exclaimed the old woman, " they 
 haven't forgotten the poor. The dochthor's sent the water 
 at last and I must lie still and take it." 
 
 The first shock of the invading flood was a severe one. 
 
 " MiKia murther ! " she exclaimed, " how could it is ! 
 Dochthor, dear, couldn't ye have let me had it a thrifle 
 warmer ? " 
 
 The water continued to pour in, and she was thoroughly 
 soaked. Under the belief that the doctor must be some 
 where about, superintending the operation, but keeping 
 
THE WATER CURE. 247 
 
 himself out of sight from motives of delicacy, she continued 
 to address him. 
 
 " There ! dochthor, dear. Blessings on ye ! That'll do 
 for this time. It's could I am ! Stop it, dochthor ! I've 
 had enough ! It's too good for the likes of me. I fale 
 betther, dochthor ; I won't throuble ye more, dochthor ; 
 many thanks to ye, dochthor ! do ye hear ? It's drowning 
 I am ! " 
 
 By this time she had risen, and was standing ankle deep 
 in water. As the element was still rising, and the " doch 
 thor" failed to make his appearance, the poor woman 
 climbed upon a stool, which was soon insulated by the tide. 
 From this she managed to escape in a large bread trough, 
 and ferried herself over to a shelf, where she lay in com 
 parative safety, watching the rising of the waters. 
 
 What would have been her fate, if she had remained 
 alone, it is impossible to say. After some time the noise 
 of waters alarmed the neighbors ; they came to see what 
 was the matter, and finally succeeded in rescuing the tenant 
 of the cellar from the threatened deluge. She was com 
 fortably cared for by a fellow-countrywoman, and a regular 
 dispensary physician sent for. Wonderful to relate, the 
 shock of the cold bath had accomplished one of those acci 
 dental cures, of which many are recorded in the history of 
 rheumatic disorders ; and in a few days, the sufferer was 
 on her legs again. Furthermore, her sickness had proved 
 the means of interesting several benevolent individuals in 
 her fate, and by their assistance she was established in a 
 little shop, where she is making an honest penny, and laying 
 by something against a rainy day. This she all attributes 
 to the " blissid wather," and, in her veneration for the ele 
 ment, has totally abjured whiskey, and signed the pledge 
 an act which gives assurance of her future fortune. 
 
THE COSSACK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I'd give 
 
 The Ukraine back again to live 
 It o'er once more, and be a page, 
 The happy page, who was the lord 
 Of one soft heart and his own sword 
 
 MAZEPFA. 
 
 COUNT WILLNITZ was striding to and fro in the old 
 hall of his ancestral castle, in the heart of Lithuania. 
 Through the high and narrow Gothic windows the light 
 fell dimly into the cold apartment, just glancing on the 
 massive pillars, and bringing into faint relief the dusty 
 banners and old trophies of arms that hung along the walls, 
 for the wintry day was near its close. The count was a 
 dark-browed, stern-featured man. His cold, gray eyes 
 were sunken in their orbits ; and deep lines were drawn 
 about his mouth, as if some secret grief were gnawing at 
 his vitals. And, indeed, good cause existed for his sorrow ; 
 for, but a few days previously, he had lost his wife. They 
 had buried the countess at midnight, as was the custom of 
 the family, in the old, ancestral vault of the castle. Vas 
 sal and serf had waved their torches over the black throat 
 of the grave, and the wail of women had gone up through 
 the rocky arches. Still the count had been seen to shed 
 no tear. An old warrior, schooled in the stern academy of 
 
 248 
 
THE COSSACK. 249 
 
 military life, he had early learned to conquer his emotions ; 
 indeed, there were those who said that nature, in moulding 
 his aristocratic form, had forgotten to provide it with a 
 heart ; and this legend found facile credence with the cow 
 ering serfs who owned his sway, and the ill-paid soldiers 
 who followed his banner. The last male descendant of a 
 long and noble line, he was ill able to maintain the splen 
 dor of his family name ; for his dominions had been " cur 
 tailed of their fair proportion," and his finances were in a 
 disordered state. 
 
 As, like Hardicanute in the old ballad, 
 
 " Stately strode he east the wa', 
 And stately strode he west," 
 
 there entered a figure almost as grim and stern as himself. 
 This was an old woman who now filled the office of house 
 keeper, having succeeded to full sway on the death of the 
 countess, the young daughter of the count being unable or 
 unwilling to assume any care in the household. 
 
 u Well, dame," said the count, pausing in his walk, and 
 confronting the old woman, "how goes it with you, and 
 how with Alvina? Still sorrowing over her mother's 
 death?" 
 
 " The tears of a maiden are like the dews in the morn 
 ing, count," replied the old woman. " The first sunbeam 
 dries them up." 
 
 " And what ray of joy can penetrate the dismal hole ? " 
 asked the count. 
 
 " Do you remember the golden bracelet you gave your 
 lady daughter on her wedding day?" inquired the old 
 woman, fixing her keen, gray eye on her master's face as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " Ay, well," replied the count ; " golden gifts are not so 
 
350 THE COSSACK. 
 
 easily obtained, of late, that I should forget their bestowal 
 But what of the bavvble ? " 
 
 " I saw it in the hands of the page Alexis, when he 
 thought himself unobserved." 
 
 " How ! " cried the count, his cheek first reddening, and 
 then becoming deadly pale with anger ; " is the blood of 
 the gitano asserting its claim ? Has he begun to pilfer ': 
 The dog shall hang from the highest battlement of tha 
 castle ! " 
 
 " May it not have been a free gift, sir count ? " suggested 
 the hideous hag. 
 
 " A free gift ! What mean you ? A love token ? Ha ! 
 dare you insinuate ? And yet her blood is " 
 
 " Hush ! walls have sometimes ears," said the old wo 
 man, looking cautiously around. " The gypsy child you 
 picked up in the forest is now almost a man ; your daughter 
 is a woman. The page is beautiful ; they have been 
 thrown much together. Alvina is lonely, romantic " 
 
 " Enough, enough ! " said the count, stamping his foot. 
 
 " I will watch him. If your suspicions be correct " 
 
 He paused, and added between his clinched teeth, " I shall 
 know how to punish the daring of the dog. Away ! " 
 
 The old woman hobbled away, rubbing her skinny hands 
 together, and chuckling at the prospect of having her 
 hatred of the young countess and the page, both of whom 
 had excited her malevolence, speedily gratified. 
 
 Count Willnitz was on the eve of a journey to Paris 
 with his daughter. They were to start in a day or two. 
 This circumstance brought on the adventure we shall 
 speedily relate. 
 
 Between Alexis, the beautiful page whom the late 
 countess had found and fancied among a wandering Bo 
 hemian horde, and the high-born daughter of the feudal 
 
THE COSSACK. 251 
 
 house, an attachment had sprung up, nurtured by the 
 isolation in which they lived, and the romantic character 
 and youth of the parties. About to be separated from his 
 mistress for a long time, the page had implored her to 
 grant him an interview, and the lovers met in an apart 
 ment joining the suite of rooms appropriated to the coun 
 tess, and where they were little likely to be intruded upon. 
 In the innocence of their hearts, they had not dreamed 
 that their looks and movements had been watched, and 
 they gave themselves up to the happiness of unrestrained 
 converse. But at the moment when the joy of Alexis 
 seemed purest and brightest, the gathering thunder cloud 
 was overhanging him. At the moment when, sealing his 
 pledge of eternal fidelity and memory in absence, he trem 
 blingly printed a first and holy kiss upon the blushing 
 cheek of Alvina, an iron hand was laid upon his shoulder, 
 and, torn ruthlessly from the spot, he was dashed against 
 the wall, while a terrible voice exclaimed, 
 
 " Dog, you shall reckon with me for this ! " 
 
 Alvina threw herself at her father's feet. 
 
 " Pardon pardon for Alexis, father ! I alone am to 
 blame." 
 
 " Rise ! rise ! " thundered the count. " Art thou not 
 sufficiently humiliated? Dare to breathe a word in his 
 favor, and it shall go hard with thy minion. Punishment 
 thou canst not avert ; say but a word, and that punishment 
 becomes death ; for he is mine, soul and body, to have and 
 to hold, to head or to hang my vassal, my slave ! What 
 ho, there ! " 
 
 As he stamped his foot, a throng of attendants poured 
 into the room. 
 
 " Search me that fellow ! " cried the count, pointing with 
 his finger to Alexis. 
 
252 THE COSSACK. 
 
 A dozen officers' hands examined the person of Alexis 
 one of them, more eager than the rest, discovered a golden 
 bracelet, and brought it to the count. 
 
 " Ha ! " cried the count, as he gazed upon the trinket ; 
 " truly do I recognize this bawble. Speak, dog ! when got'st 
 thou this?" 
 
 Alvina was about to speak, and acknowledge that she 
 had bestowed it ; but before she could utter a syllable, the 
 page exclaimed, 
 
 " I confess all I stole it." 
 
 " Enough ! " cried the count. " Daughter, retire to your 
 apartment." 
 
 " Father ! " cried the wretched girl, wringing her hands. 
 
 " Silence, countess ! " cried the count, with terrific em 
 phasis. " Remember that I wield the power of life and 
 death!" 
 
 Casting one look of mute agony at the undaunted page, 
 the hapless lady retired from the room. 
 
 " Zabitzki," said the count, addressing the foremost of 
 his attendants, " take me this thieving dog into the court 
 yard, and lay fifty stripes upon his back. Then bear him 
 to the dungeon in the eastern turret that overlooks the 
 moat ; there keep him till you learn my further pleasure." 
 
 The page was brave as steel. His cheek did not blanch, 
 nor did his heart quail, as he heard the dreadful sentence. 
 His lips uttered no unmanly entreaty for forgiveness ; but, 
 folding his arms, and drawing up his elegant figure to its 
 full height, he fixed his eagle eye upon the count, with a 
 glance full of bitter hatred and mortal defiance. And 
 afterwards, when submitting to the ignominious punish 
 ment, with his flesh lacerated by the scourge, no groan 
 escaped his lips that might reach the listening ear of Al 
 vina. He bore it all with Spartan firmness. 
 
THE COSSACK. 25<J 
 
 Midnight had struck when the young countess, throud- 
 ed in a cloak, and bearing a key which she had purchased 
 by its weight in gold, ascended to the eastern turret, re 
 solved to liberate the prisoner. The door swung heavily 
 back on its rusted hinges as she cautiously entered the dun 
 geon. Drawing back the slide from a lantern she carried 
 in her left hand, she threw its blaze before her, calling out 
 at the same time, " Alexis ! " 
 
 No voice responded. 
 
 "They have murdered him! "she murmured, as she 
 rushed forward and glanced wildly around her. 
 
 The cell was empty. She sprang to the grated window. 
 The bars had been sawn through and wrenched apart, with 
 the exception of one, from which dangled a rope made of 
 fragments of linen and blanket twisted and knotted to 
 gether. Had Alexis escaped, or perished in the attempt ? 
 The moat was deep and broad ; but the page was a good 
 swimmer and a good climber, and his heart was above all 
 proof. There was little doubt in the mind of his mistress 
 that fortune had favored him. Sinking on her knees, she 
 gave utterance to a fervent thanksgiving to the almighty 
 Power which had protected the hapless boy, and then re 
 tired to her couch to weep in secret. The next day the 
 castle rang with the escape of Alexis. Messengers were 
 gent out in pursuit of him in every direction ; but a fall of 
 snow in the latter part of the night prevented the possibil 
 ity of tracking him, and even the dogs that the count put 
 upon the scent were completely baffled. The next day the 
 count and his daughter started on their journey. 
 22 
 
254 THE COSSACK. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 For time at last sets all things even ; 
 
 And if we do but watch the hour, 
 
 There never yet was human power 
 "Which could evade, if unforgiven, 
 
 The patient search and vigil long 
 
 Of him who treasures up a wrong. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 YEARS had passed away. The storm of war had rolled 
 over the country, and the white eagle of Poland had ceased 
 to wave over an independent land. Count Willnitz and 
 his daughter had returned to the old castle; the former 
 stern and harsh as ever, the latter completely in the power 
 of an inexorable master. She had received no tidings of 
 Alexis, and had given him up as lost to her forever. Her 
 father, straightened in his circumstances and menaced with 
 ruin, had secured relief and safety by pledging his daugh 
 ter's hand to a wealthy nobleman, Count Radetsky, who 
 was now in the castle awaiting the fulfilment of the bar 
 gain. 
 
 " Go, my child," said the count, with more gentleness 
 than he usually manifested in his manner. " You must 
 prepare yourself for the altar." 
 
 " Father," said the young girl, earnestly, " does he know 
 that I love him not ? " 
 
 " I have told him all, Alvina." 
 
 " And yet he is willing to wed me ! " She raised her 
 eyes to heaven, rose, and slowly retired to her room. 
 
 Louisa, the old woman presented in the first scene of our 
 tale, decked the unfortunate girl in her bridal robes, and 
 went with her to the chapel, where her father and Radet- 
 eky awaited her. An old priest mumbled over the cere* 
 
THE COSSACK. 255 
 
 mony, and joined the hands of the bride and bridegroom. 
 The witnesses were few only the vassals of the count ; 
 and no attempt at festivity preceded or followed the dismal 
 ceremony. 
 
 Alvina retired to her chamber when it was over, prom 
 ising to join her bridegroom at the table in a few moments. 
 The housekeeper accompanied her. 
 
 "I give you joy, Countess Radetsky," said the old 
 woman. 
 
 " I sorely need it," was the bitter answer. " I have sac 
 rificed myself to the duty I owe my sole surviving parent." 
 
 The old woman rubbed her hands and chuckled as she 
 noted the tone of anguish in which these words were 
 uttered. 
 
 " I can now speak out," she said. " After long years of 
 silence, the seal is removed from my lips. I can now re 
 pay your childish scorn, and bitter jests, by a bitterer 
 jest than any you have yet dreamed of. Countess Ra 
 detsky " 
 
 " Spare me that name," said the countess. 
 
 " Nay, sweet, it is one you will bear through life," said 
 the hag, " and you had better accustom yourself early to 
 its sound. Know, then, my sweet lady, that the count, my 
 master, had no claims on your obedience." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " He is a childless man. He found you an abandoned 
 orphan. Struck with your beauty, he brought you to his 
 lady, and, though they loved you not, they adopted you, 
 with a view to making your charms useful to them when 
 you should have grown up. The count has amply paid 
 himself to-day for all the expense and trouble you have 
 put him to. He has sold you to an eager suitor for a good 
 round price. Ha, ha ! " 
 
256 THE COSSACK. 
 
 " And you knew this, and never ttid me ! " cried the 
 hapless girl. 
 
 " I was bound by an oath not to reveal the secret till 
 you were married. And I did not love you enough to per 
 jure myself." 
 
 " Wretch miserable wretch ! " cried Alvina. " Alas ! 
 to what a fate have I been doomed ! Ah ! why did they 
 not let me rather perish than rear me to this doom ? My 
 heart is given to Alexis my hand to Radetsky ! " 
 
 " Go down, sweet, to your bridegroom," said the old wo 
 man, who was totally deaf to her complaints, " or he will 
 seek you here." 
 
 Alvina descended to the banquet hall, uncertain what 
 course to pursue. Escape appeared impossible, and what 
 little she knew of Radetsky convinced her that he was as 
 pitiless and base as her reputed father. She sank into a 
 seat, pale, inanimate, and despairing. 
 
 At that moment, ere any one present could say a word, 
 a man, white with terror, rushed into the hall, and stam 
 mered out, 
 
 " My lord count ! " 
 
 " What is it, fellow ? Speak ! " 
 
 " The Cossacks ! " cried the man. And his information 
 was confirmed by a loud hurrah, or rather yell, that rose 
 without. 
 
 " Raise the drawbridge ! " cried the count. " Curses on 
 it ! " he added, " I had forgotten that drawbridge and port 
 cullis, every means of defence, were gone long ago." 
 
 " The Cossacks are in the court yard ! " cried a second 
 servant, rushing in. 
 
 " A thousand curses on the dogs ! " cried Radetsky, draw 
 ing his sword. " Count, look to your child ; I will to the 
 eourt yard with your fellows, to do what we may." 
 
THE COSSACK. 257 
 
 By this time the court yard of the castle was filled with 
 uproar and turmoil. The clashing of swords was mingled 
 with pistol shots and groans, the shouts of triumph and 
 the shrieks of despair. Alvina, left alone by her father and 
 Radetsky, trembled not at the prospect of approaching 
 death ; she felt only joy at her deliverance from the arms 
 of a hated bridegroom. But when the crackling of flames 
 was heard, when a lurid light streamed up against the 
 window, when wreaths of smoke began to pour in from the 
 corridors, the instinct of self-preservation awakened in her 
 breast, and almost unconsciously she shrieked aloud for help. 
 
 Her appeal was answered unexpectedly. A tall, plumed 
 figure dashed into the room ; a vigorous arm was thrown 
 around her waist, and she was lifted from her feet. Her 
 unknown preserver, unimpeded by her light weight, passed 
 into the corridor with a fleet step. The grand staircase was 
 already on fire, but, drawing his furred cloak closely around 
 her, the stranger dashed through the flames, and bore her 
 out into the court yard. Almost before she knew it, she 
 was sitting behind him on a fiery steed. The rider gave 
 the animal the spur, and he dashed through the gate, fol 
 lowed by a hundred wild Cossacks, shouting and yelling in 
 the frenzy of their triumph. 
 
 Gratitude for an escape from a dreadful death was now 
 banished from Alvina's mind by the fear of a worse fate at 
 the hands of these wild men. 
 
 " You have saved my life/' she said to her unknown com 
 panion ; " do not make that life a curse. Take pity on an 
 unfortunate and sorely persecuted girl. I have no ransom 
 to pay you ; but free me, and you will earn my daily prayers 
 and blessings." 
 
 " Fear nothing," answered a deep and manly yoice. " Nc 
 22* 
 
258 THE COSSACK. 
 
 barm is intended thee ; no harm shall befall tbee. I swcaf 
 it on the word of a Cossack chieftain." 
 
 Alvina was tranquillized at once by the evident sincerity 
 of the assurance. 
 
 " You are alone now in the world," pursued the stranger 
 " I strove to save your bridegroom, but he fell before I 
 reached him." 
 
 " I loved him not," answered Alvina, coldly ; " I mourn 
 him not." 
 
 " You may hate me for the deed," said the stranger, " and 
 I would fain escape that woe ; but here I vouch it in the 
 face of heaven, Count Willnitz fell by my hand. My 
 sabre clove him to the teeth. Years had passed, but I could 
 not forget that he once laid the bloody scourge upon my 
 back." 
 
 " Alexis ! " cried Alvina, now recognizing her preserver. 
 
 "Yes, dear but unfortunate girl," cried the Cossack 
 leader, turning and gazing on the young girl, " I feel that 
 thou art lost to me forever. I have slain thy father. Love 
 for thee should have stayed my hand ; but I had sworn an 
 oath of vengeance, and I kept my vow." 
 
 " Alexis," whispered Alvina, " he Was not my father. He 
 was my bitterest enemy. Nor am I nobly born. Like you, 
 I am an orphan." 
 
 " Say you so ? " shouted the Cossack. " Then thou art 
 mine mine and forever joy of my youth blessing of 
 my manhood ! " 
 
 " Yes, thine thine only." 
 
 " But bethink thee, sweetest," said the Cossack ; " I lead 
 u strange wild life." 
 
 " I will share it with thee," said Alvina, firmly. 
 
 " My companions are rude men." 
 
 " I shall see only thee." 
 
THE COSSACK. 259 
 
 " My home is the saddle, my palace the wide steppe." 
 " With thee, Alexis, I could be happy any where." 
 " Then be it so," said the Cossack, joyously. " What 
 ho!" he shouted, at the top of his ringing, trumpet-like 
 voice. " Comrades, behold your hetman's bride ! " 
 
 From mouth to mouth the words of the Cossack chieftain 
 were repeated, and oft as they were uttered wild shouts of 
 joy rose from the bearded warriors ; for they had loved the 
 gallant Alexis from the moment when, a wayworn, fam 
 ished, and bleeding fugitive, he came among them. They 
 galloped round and round the hetman and his fair com 
 panion in dizzying circles, like the whirling leaves of autumn, 
 firing their pistols, brandishing their lances and sabres, and 
 making the welkin ring with their terrific shouts. Alvina 
 clung, terrified, to the waist of her lover, and he finally 
 silenced the noisy demonstrations by a wave of his hand. 
 Then, under his leadership, and in more regular order, the 
 formidable band of horsemen pursued their march to those 
 distant solitudes where happiness awaited their chieftain and 
 his bride. 
 
MARRIED FOR MONEY. 
 
 "JACK CLEVELAND ! " exclaimed a fast young man in 
 a drab driving coat with innumerable capes, (it was twenty 
 years ago, reader, in the palmy days of Tom and Jerry and 
 tandem teams,) as he encountered an equally fast young 
 man in Cornhill ; " what's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " It's all over, Frank ; I've gone and done it." 
 
 " Gone and done what, you spooney ? " 
 
 Proposed." 
 
 " Proposed what ? a match at billiards, a trot on the 
 milldam, or a main of cocks ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! something more serious," said Cleveland, 
 gravely ; " I've offered myself." 
 
 "Offered yourself ? To whom ? " 
 
 " Widow Waffles shy name never mind soon 
 changed one hundred and fifty thousand cool, eh ? age 
 forty good looks married for money sheriff would 
 have it no friends pockets to let pays my debts 
 sets me up house in Beacon Street carriage can't 
 help it." 
 
 " You're a candidate for Bedlam," said Frank ; " I've a 
 great mind to order you a strait jacket." 
 
 " Be my bridesman see me off eh ? " asked Cleve 
 land. 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course it will be great fun." 
 
 And so it was. Jack Cleveland was united to the widow 
 
 260 
 
MARRIED FOR MONET. . 261 
 
 Waffles in Trinity Church, and a smashing wedding it was. 
 The party that followed it was, to use Cleveland's own 
 expressions, " a crusher all Boston invited all Africa 
 waiting wax lights champagne music ices pretty 
 girls a bang-up execution." 
 
 During the honeymoon Jack Cleveland was all attention 
 to his bride, (ilfaut soigner les anciennes,) but he promised 
 to indemnify himself by taking full and complete liberty so 
 soon as that interesting period of time had been brought to 
 a close. Besides, his chains sat lightly at first; for the 
 widow was one of those splendid Lady Blessington kind of 
 women, who at forty have just arrived at the imperial ma 
 turity of their charms, and she was deeply enamoured of the 
 young gentleman whom she had chosen for her second part 
 ner in the matrimonial speculation. Moreover, she paid 
 the debts of the fast young man with an exemplary cheer 
 fulness. The only drawback to this gush of felicity was 
 that her property was " tied up ; " not a cent could Cleve 
 land handle except by permission of his lady. Then she 
 kept him as close to her apron strings as she did her Blen 
 heim spaniel ; she required him to obey her call as promptly 
 as her coachman. Galling to his pride though it was, he 
 was even forced to go a shopping with her ; and the elegant 
 Cleveland, who once thought it degrading to carry an 
 umbrella, might be seen loaded with bandboxes, or non 
 chalantly lifting bundles of cashmere shawls. The only 
 difference between Mrs. Cleveland's husband and her foot 
 man was that he received wages ; but then the footman 
 could leave when he chose, and there the parallel ended. 
 Jack's habits had to submit to a rigid and inexorable cen 
 sorship. " Those odious cigars " were prohibited, and then 
 " his list of friends " was challenged. Frank Aikin, the 
 bridesman, was tolerated the longest of all, and then he was 
 
 R 
 
262 MARRIED FOR MONET. 
 
 "bluffed off" by Mrs. Cleveland, who determined to make 
 her husband a domestic man. It was the old story of Her 
 cules and Omphale modernized to suit the times. 
 
 Jack began to think the happiest day of his life had made 
 him the most miserable dog alive, and, like Sir Peter Teazle, 
 " had lost all comfort in the world before his friends had 
 done wishing him joy." But his debts were paid that 
 was a great consolation. Several streets in Boston, which 
 were blocked up by creditors, as those of London were to 
 the respected Mr. Richard Swiveller, were now opened by 
 the magic wand of matrimony. He could exhibit his " Hy 
 perion curls " in Washington Street, without any fear of a 
 gentle " reminder " in the shape of a tap upon the shoulder. 
 
 One morning, however, a lady was ushered up into the 
 splendid drawing room in Beacon Street, being announced 
 as Madame St. Germain. She was a showy French woman, 
 about the same age as Mrs. Cleveland, and the latter waited 
 with some curiosity to learn the object of her visit. 
 
 " You are Mrs. Cleveland, I believe," said the French 
 woman. 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland bowed in her stateliest manner. 
 
 " You have undertaken, I learn, to pay the debts of Mon 
 sieur Cleveland, contracted before your marriage." 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland bowed again. 
 
 " I hold a note of his drawn in my favor for a thousand 
 dollars, payable at sight, with interest, dated two years 
 back." 
 
 " What was it given for ? " asked Mrs. Cleveland, with 
 some asperity. 
 
 " Pardon me, madam I cannot state that without the 
 permission of your husband." 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland applied her hand vigorously to a bell-pull 
 communicating with her husband's dressing room. 
 
MARRIED FOR MONEY. 265 
 
 He made his presence in a splendid robe de chanibre and 
 a Turkish cap with a gold tassel. 
 
 " This woman," said his better half, " says you owe her a 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 " Monsieur cannot deny it," said the French woman, 
 fixing her keen black eyes on the thunderstruck Cleveland. 
 
 "It's all right pay her up ! " said Mr. Cleveland. 
 
 " Not till I know what the debt was incurred for." 
 
 " I can't tell you," said Mr. Cleveland. 
 
 " I insist," said Mrs. Cleveland, stamping her foot. 
 
 Then I won't tell if you die ! " said the rebellious 
 Cleveland. 
 
 " I shall trouble you, ma'am, to leave my house," said the 
 irritated mistress of the mansion. " Not one farthing on 
 that note do you get out of me." 
 
 " Then I shall be under the unpleasant necessity of tak 
 ing legal measures to obtain the debt," said the French 
 woman, rising. " Mr. Cleveland, I wish you very much hap 
 piness with your amiable lady." 
 
 There was a storm a regular equinoctial gale after 
 the departure of Madame St. Germain. Mrs. Cleveland 
 was very provoking, and Mr. Cleveland indulged in epi 
 thets unbecoming a scholar and a gentleman. That night 
 the " happy couple " luxuriated in separate apartments. 
 The next day came a lawyer's letter, then a civil process, 
 and finally Mr. John Cleveland was marched off to Lever- 
 ett Street jail, where, after giving due notice to his creditor 
 and obtaining bail, he was allowed the benefit of the " limits," 
 with the privilege of " swearing out," at the expiration of 
 thirty days. 
 
 Jack engaged lodging at a little tavern, on the limits, 
 where he found Frank Aikin, who had rim through his ." pile,' 
 and a few kindred spirits of the fast young men school 
 
264 MARRIED FOR MONET. 
 
 enacting the part of " gentlemen in difficulties." Cigars, 
 champagne, and cards were ordered, and Jack became a 
 fast young man once more. Towards the small hours of 
 the morning, he forgot having married a widow, and think 
 ing himself a bachelor, he proposed the health of a certain 
 Miss Julia Vining, which was drank with three times three. 
 The next morning, he sat down to a capital breakfast, with 
 more fast young men, and for a whole week he enjoyed 
 himself en garcon, without once thinking of the forsaken 
 Dido in Beacon Street. 
 
 One day, however, when he had exhausted his cash and 
 credit, and a racking headache induced him to regret the 
 speed of his late life, a carriage rattled up to the door of the 
 tavern, his own door was shortly after thrown open, and a 
 lady flung herself into his arms. Mrs. Cleveland looked 
 really fascinating. 
 
 " Come home, my dear Jack," said she, bursting into 
 tears ; " I've been so lonely without you." 
 
 " Not so fast, Mrs. Cleveland," said the young gentleman, 
 as he perceived his power. " I'm very happy where I am. 
 I can't go back except on certain conditions." 
 
 " Name them, dearest." 
 
 " I'm to smoke as many cigars as I please." 
 
 " Granted." 
 
 " Not to carry any more bandboxes or tomcats." 
 
 " Granted." 
 
 " To give a dinner party to the ' boys ' once in a while." 
 
 " Granted granted. And I've paid your note, and 
 opened a cash account for you at the bank." 
 
 " You are an angel," said .Cleveland ; " and now it's all 
 over - that note was given Madame St. Germain for tuition 
 of a young girl, Miss Julia Vining, whom I educated with 
 the romantic notion of making her my wife, when she should 
 
HARRIED FOR MONET. 265 
 
 arrive at & suitable age, at which period she ran off with a 
 one-eyed French fiddler, and is now taking in sewing at 191st 
 Street, New York." 
 
 The happy pair went home in their carriage, and we 
 never heard of any differences between them. Mrs. Cleve 
 land wears very well, and Mr. Cleveland is now an alder 
 man, remarkable chiefly for the ponderosity of his person, 
 and the heaviness of his municipal harangues. " Sich la 
 life/' 
 
 23 
 
THE EMIGRANT SHIR 
 
 ON a summer's day, some years ago, business brought 
 me to one of the wharves of this city, at the moment when 
 a ship from Liverpool had just arrived, with some two hun 
 dred and fifty emigrants, men, women, and children, chiefly 
 Irish. Much as I had heard and read of the condition of 
 many of the poor passengers, I never fully realized their 
 distresses until I personally witnessed them. 
 
 Under the most favorable circumstances, the removal of 
 families froni the land of their birth is attended by many 
 painful incidents. About to embark upon a long and per 
 ilous voyage, to seek the untried hospitalities of a stranger 
 Boil, the old landmarks and associations which the heart 
 strings grasp with a cruel tenacity are viewed through the 
 mist of tears and agony. 
 
 The old church the weather-worn homestead the 
 ancient school house, the familiar play ground, and more 
 sadly dear than all, the green graveyard, offer a mute ap 
 peal " more eloquent than words." But when to these 
 afflictions of the heart are added the pangs of physical 
 suffering and privation; when emigrants, in embarking, 
 embark their all in the expenses of the voyage, and have 
 no hope, even for existence, but in a happy combination 
 of possible chances ; when near and dear ones must be 
 left behind, certainly to suffer, and probably to die, the 
 
 266 
 
THE EMIGRANT SHIP. 2G7 
 
 pangs of separation embrace all that can be conceived of 
 agony and distress. 
 
 The emigrant ship whose arrival we witnessed had been 
 seventy odd days from port to port. Her passengers were 
 of the poorest class. Their means had been nearly ex 
 hausted in going from Dublin to Liverpool, and in endeav 
 ors to obtain work in the latter city, previous to bidding a 
 reluctant but eternal farewell to the old country. They 
 came on board worn out wan the very life of many 
 dependent on a speedy passage over the Atlantic. In this 
 they were disappointed. The ship had encountered a suc 
 cession of terrific gales ; it had leaked badly, and they had 
 been confined, a great part of the voyage, to their narrow 
 quarters between decks, herded together in a noisome and 
 pestilential atmosphere, littered with damp straw, and full 
 of filth. 
 
 What marvel that disease and death invaded their ranks ? 
 One after another, many died and were launched into the 
 deep sea. The ship entered Fayal to refit, and there that 
 clime of endless summer proved to the emigrants more 
 fatal than the blast of the upas-poisoned valley of Java. 
 The delicious oranges, and the mild Pico wine, used liber 
 ally by the passengers, sowed the seeds of death yet more 
 freely among their ranks. On the passage from Fayal, the 
 mortality was dreadful, but at length, decimated and dis 
 eased, the band of emigrants arrived at Boston. 
 
 It was a summer's day but no cheering ray of light fell 
 upon the spires of the city. The sky was dark and gloomy ; 
 the bay spread out before the eye like a huge sheet of lead, 
 and the clouds swept low and heavily over the hills and 
 house tops. 
 
 After the vessel was moored, all the passengers who 
 
268 THE EMIGRANT SHIP. 
 
 were capable of moving, or of being moved, came up or 
 were brought up on deck. We scanned their wan and 
 haggard features with curiosity and pity. 
 
 Here was the wreck of an athletic man. His eyes, 
 deep-sunken in their orbits, were nearly as glassy as those 
 of a corpse ; his poor attire hung loosely on his square 
 shoulders. His matted beard rendered his sickly, greenish 
 countenance yet more wan and livid. He crawled about 
 the deck alone his wife and five children, they for whom 
 he had lived and struggled, for whose sake he was mak 
 ing a last desperate exertion, had all been taken from him 
 on the voyage. We addressed him some questions touch 
 ing his family. 
 
 " They are all gone," said he, " the wife and the childer. 
 The last one the babby died this mornin' she lies 
 below. They're best off where they are." 
 
 In another place sat a shivering, ragged man, the pic 
 ture of despair. A few of his countrymen, who had 
 gathered round him, offered him some food. He might 
 have taken it eagerly some days before. Now he gazed 
 on vacancy, without noticing their efforts to induce him to 
 take some nourishment. Still they persevered, and one 
 held a cooling glass of lemonade to his parched lips. 
 
 Seated on the after hatchway was a little boy who had 
 that morning lost both his parents. He shed no tear. Fa 
 miliarity with misery had deprived him of that sad con 
 solation. 
 
 We passed on to a group of Irishmen gathered round an 
 old gray-haired man lying at length upon the forward deck. 
 One of them was kneeling beside him. 
 
 " Father, father ! " said he, earnestly, " rouse up, for the 
 love of Heaven. See here I've brought ye some por 
 ridge tak a sup ov it it will give ye heart and life." 
 
THE EMIGRANT SHIP. 269 
 
 " Sorrow a bit of life's left in the old man any how. Lave 
 him alone, Jamie." 
 
 " Lift him ashore," said the mate " he wants air." 
 
 The dying man was carefully lifted on the wharf, and 
 laid down upon a plank. His features changed rapidly 
 during the transit. His head now fell back the pallid 
 hue of death invaded his lips his lower jaw relaxed 
 the staring eyeballs had no speculation in them a 
 slight shudder convulsed his frame. The son kneeled be 
 side him ; closed his eyes it was all over. And there, 
 in the open air, with no covering to shield his reverend 
 locks from the falling rain, passed away the soul of the old 
 man from its earthly tabernacle. 
 
 The hospital cart arrived. Busy agents lifted into it, 
 with professional sangfroid, crippled age and tottering child 
 hood. But all the spectators of this harrowing scene tes 
 tified, by their expressions, sympathy and sorrow, one low 
 browed ruffian alone excepted. 
 
 " Serves 'em right d n 'em ! " said he, savagely. 
 " Why don't they stay at home in their own country, and 
 not come here to take the bread out of honest people's 
 mouths ? " 
 
 Honest, quotha? If ever "flat burglary" and "treason 
 dire " were written on a man's face, it stood out in staring 
 capitals upon that Cain-like brow. 
 
 But there were lights as well as shadows to the picture. 
 Out of that grim den of death, out of that floating lazar 
 house, there came a few blooming maidens and stalwart 
 youths, like fair flowers springing from the rankness of a 
 eharnel. Their sorrows were but for the misfortunes of 
 others ; and even these were a while forgotten in the joy 
 of meeting near and dear relatives, and old friends upoif 
 23* 
 
270 THE EMIGRANT SHIP. 
 
 the shore of the promised land. They went their way re- 
 ioicing, and with them passed the solitary ray of sunshine 
 that streamed athwart the dark horrors of the emigrant 
 ship, like the wandering pencil of light that sometime! 
 visits the condemned cell of a prison. 
 
THE LAST OF THE STAGE COACHES. 
 
 A FRAGMENT OF A CLUB-ROOM CONVERSATION. 
 
 " DID you ever," said the one-eyed gentleman, fixing hia 
 single sound optic upon us with an intensity which made it 
 glow like one of the coals in the grate before us, " did you 
 ever hear how I met with this misfortune ? " 
 
 " What misfortune, sir ? " 
 
 " The misfortune which made a Cyclops of me the loss 
 of my left eye." 
 
 " Never, sir. Pray how was it ? " 
 
 " Put out by the cinder of a locomotive," growled the 
 one-eyed gentleman, seizing the poker and stirring up the 
 fire viciously. " Bad things these railroads, sir," he added, 
 when he had demolished a huge fragment of sea coal. 
 " Only last week little boy playing on bank in his father's 
 garden little dog ran on the track boy went down to 
 call him off express train came along forty-five miles 
 an hour and no stoppages ran over boy and dog agon 
 ized parents sought for the remains nothing found except 
 one shoe, the buckle of his hatband, and brass collar of 
 the dog." 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " 
 
 " No, sir ; not extraordinary," said the one-eyed gentle 
 man. " I maintain it's a common occurrence. Sir, I keep 
 a railroad journal at home, as large as a family Bible. It 
 
 271 
 
272 THE LAST OP THE STAGE COACHES- 
 
 IS filled with brief accounts brief, mind you of railroad 
 accidents. Next year I shall have to buy another book." 
 
 " Then you are a decided enemy of railroads ? " 
 
 " Decided ! " said the one-eyed gentleman. " Their preva 
 lence and extent is a proof that the age is lapsing into bar 
 barism. Ah J you remember the stage coaches ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Well, sir," said the one-eyed gentleman, warmly, " travel 
 ling was travelling in those days ; sir, it was a pleasure. 
 The coaches were fast enough for any reasonable man ; ten 
 miles an hour, including stoppages. Ah ! " he added, smack 
 ing his lips, " what a fine thing it was to start on a journey 
 of a glorious October morning, when every thing looked 
 bright and smiling ! You mounted to the box or the roof, 
 well wrapped up in your greatcoat and shawl, with your 
 trunk safely strapped upon the rack behind. The driver 
 was a man of substance solid, of a gravity tempered with 
 humor, a giant in a brown box-coat, with gray hat and 
 mittens. How he handled the ribbons and took his cattle 
 through Elm Street ! How the long bridges rumbled and 
 thundered as we bowled along away, away into the country ! 
 The country ! it was the country then ; inhabited by country 
 people, not peopled with a mixed society of farmers and 
 cits, six o' one and half a dozen of t'other. How nicely we 
 glided along ! There were birds, in those days, singing by 
 the roadside ; now the confounded locomotives have scared 
 them all off. By and by we came to a tavern. Out rushed 
 a troop of hostlers and keepers skilled in horse flesh. The 
 cattle were just allowed to wet their lips, water was dashed 
 on their legs and feet, and then, after the parcels and papers 
 had been tossed off, away we went again. Five miles 
 farther on, we pulled up to change. The fresh team was 
 led out, bright, shining, and glittering, in tip-top condition 
 
THE LAST OF THE STAGE COACHES.' 273 
 
 The driver descended to stretch his legs and personally 
 superintend the putting to of the fresh horses. When he 
 mounted the box again, his experienced eye glanced rapidly 
 at the team, and then, with an all right let 'em go ! ' we 
 were on the road once more." 
 
 The one-eyed gentleman paused, after this flow of elo 
 quence, and gazed pensively into the midst of the glowing 
 coals: After a few moments' silence, he resumed : 
 
 " Rather a singular occurrence happened to me last year 
 on the 14th of October, about half past twelve, P.M. I 
 am thus particular about dates, because this event is one 
 that forms an era in my life. I had been driving across the 
 country in my gig, to visit a friend who had recently moved 
 upon a farm. The localities were new to me, and the roads 
 blind. Guideboards were few, and human beings fewer. 
 In short, I got astray, and hadn't the remotest conception 
 of what part of the country I was in. It was a cold, cloudy- 
 day, with a sort of drizzling Scotch mist that wet one to the 
 bone. I plodded along in hopes of soon reaching some 
 tavern, where I could bait my horse and get some dinner 
 for myself. All at once, at a turn of the road, just after 
 having crossed the Concord River, I perceived a stage coach 
 coming towards me. I had heard no noise of wheels or 
 horses' feet ; but there it was. The road was narrow, and 
 the coachman pulled up to let me work my way past. The 
 vehicle was a queer old affair, that looked as if it had been 
 dug out of some antediluvian stable yard. The curtains 
 were brown with age and dust, and riddled with holes ; the 
 body was bare and worm-eaten, and the springs perfectly 
 green with mould. The horses were thin and lank, and the 
 harness in as sorry a condition as the coach. The driver's 
 clothes, which were very old fashioned, hung about him in 
 loose folds, and he gazed upon me with a strange, stoiiy 
 
274 THE LAST OF THE STAGE COACHES. 
 
 stare that was absolutely appalling ; yet his lips unclosed a3 
 I worked past him, and he exclaimed in a harsh, croaking 
 voice, * One eye ! ' Thereupon two or three queer people 
 poked their heads out of the coach window. There was one 
 old woman with false teeth, in an unpleasant state of decay, 
 and a voice like a parrot. ' One eye ! ' she shrieked, as she 
 gazed on me with an eye as stony as the coachman. A 
 pale, simpering miss smirked in my face, and cried, * One 
 eye ! ' and a military gentleman, with a ghastly frown, 
 hissed forth the same words. I should have scrutinized the 
 qeeer coach and the queer people closer, had not my horse 
 my good, old, quiet, steady horse seized the bit in his 
 mouth and started off at a dead run. I tried to saw him 
 up, but it was no use ; he ran for a couple of miles, and 
 did not slacken till he had brought me to the door of an old, 
 decayed tavern, where I resigned him to the charge of a 
 lame hostler, and made my way into the house in search 
 of the landlord. I found him at last a poor, poverty- 
 pinched man, who had been ruined by the railroad. He 
 complained bitterly of the hard times. l But,' said I, * you 
 
 must have some custom ; the stage coaches ' ' Bless 
 
 your soul,' replied he, ' there hasn't been a coach on this road 
 for fifteen years.' * What do you mean ? ' said I ; ' I met a 
 coach and passengers two miles back, near the river.' TKe 
 landlord turned pale. ' What day is this ? ' he asked. * The 
 14th of October.' ' The 14th of October ! ' cried the land 
 lord ; ' I remember that date well. That day, fifteen years 
 since, was the last trip of the old mail coach. It left 
 here, with Bill Snaffle, -the driver, and three insides, a 
 military man, an old woman, and a young lady. They were 
 never heard of after they left here. Their trail was fol 
 lowed as far as the bridge. It is supposed that the horses 
 got frightened at something, and backed off into the Concord 
 
THE LAST OF THE STAGE COACHES. 275 
 
 River. But I have heard/ added the landlord, in a hollow 
 whisper, ' that on this anniversary the ghost of that coach 
 and company may be seen upon the turnpike. More, I 
 will tell you, in confidence, that I have seen them myself.' 
 After this I was convinced that I had been favored if 
 favor it may be called with a spiritual visitation." 
 
 The ona-eyed gentleman looked me full in the face, as if 
 to say, " What do you think of it ? " It was useless to argue 
 with him ; so I only shook my head. He nodded his in a 
 very mysterious manner, and fell to poking the fire with 
 redoubled activity ; and I bade him good night, and left him 
 to pursue his occupation. 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 A STORY OF OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE QUEEN OF THE MAY. 
 
 IN a remote region in the northern part of England, the 
 people still cherish an attachment to old usages and sports, 
 and hold the observance of Christmas, May-day, and other 
 time-honored festivals, a sacred obligation. One village, in 
 particular, is famous for its May-day sports, which, as the 
 curate is a little withered antiquary, are conducted with 
 great ceremony and fidelity to old authorities. The May 
 pole is brought home, garlanded, and decked with ribbons, 
 to the sound of pipe and tabor, surrounded by a laughing 
 throng of sturdy yeomen and buxom maidens. It is erect 
 ed on the great green, in the centre of the village, to the 
 universal delight of old and young, and the dancing com 
 mences round it with high glee. The scene presented is 
 like that described by Goldsmith, 
 
 " Where all the village train, from labor free., 
 Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ; 
 While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
 The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
 
 276 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 277 
 
 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round." 
 
 It was a delightful spring, that of 17 , and a softer sky 
 Dever before smiled upon the village green of Redwood, 
 upon the 1st of May ; and among the merry damsels 
 dancing round the May-pole, no heart was happier, and no 
 step was lighter, than that of Margaret Ellis, who, for the 
 first time, joined in the sports of the day. She was a child 
 of May, and this was the sixteenth anniversary of her 
 birthday. A gay brunette, her sparkling eyes had all the 
 fire and the mirth of the sunny and passionate south, while 
 no lighter or more delicate foot than hers could have been 
 found upon the merry green. A rich bloom mantled on her 
 cheek, her lips were fresh and red, and her regular teeth, 
 displayed as she panted in the dance, were white as unsul 
 lied snow. A tight little bodice, and a milk-white frock, 
 set off the charms of her person in the best manner. Then 
 there was an air of gayety and innocence about her which 
 delighted every good-natured observer ; and all the villa 
 gers allowed that Margaret Ellis deserved the tiara 
 of flowers that crowned her Queen of the May. She 
 blushed at the tokens of good will and approbation, as she 
 placed her hand in that of a young and rustic stranger, 
 who led her off triumphantly at the head of the dancers. 
 The youth was fair-haired, ruddy, athletic, and active ; and 
 those who saw them in the dance could not help acknowl 
 edging that they were a lovely pair. 
 
 There was one who regarded them with eyes of jealous 
 displeasure. This was a man of forty, of a handsome face 
 and figure, but swarthy, dark-haired, and melancholy. He 
 bent over the seat upon which old Farmer Ellis and his 
 dame were seated, and whispered, " Do you know the 
 young man who is dancing with your daughter ? " 
 24 s 
 
278 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 " Ah ! he be a right good young mon, I warrant me," 
 said the dame. " He do come fra the next county. Wil 
 liam Evans, he calls himself." 
 
 " lie calls himself ! umph ! " muttered the person who 
 had first spoken. " But what do others call him ? Who 
 knows any thing about him ? Who can vouch for his char 
 acter ? I would not suffer a daughter of mine to be gad 
 ding about, and dancing with a stranger." 
 
 " Whoy, for the matter o' that," said Farmer Ellis, " you 
 were nought but a stranger yourself, when you first did 
 come to see us, Maister Pembroke. We didn't know you 
 were the sexton of St. Hubert's. And yet you turned out 
 a right good friend to me, mon ; for when ye first knew me, 
 things were deadly cross wi* me. What wi' the rot among 
 my sheep, and the murrain among my cattle, I were all but 
 ruined. Short crops and a hard landlord are bitter bad 
 things. Bat you were the salvation of me, and I'll work 
 my fingers to the bone, but what you shall have your own 
 again, John Pembroke." 
 
 "There is one way in which you can liquidate your 
 debt.'-' 
 
 " Name it, Maister Pembroke," said the farmer, eagerly. 
 
 "No matter," muttered the sexton, and a hollow sigh 
 escaped his lips. " I had an idea, but it is gone. Touch 
 ing the stranger, in whom you both repose such confidence. 
 In what manner does he earn his daily bread ? " 
 
 " Whoy," said the farmer, " in the way that Adam did, 
 mon. He do say he is a gardener." 
 
 " A likely tale ! " ejaculated the sexton. " Look at his 
 hands. Why, his fingers are delicate and white. Your 
 gardener has horny fingers, and a palm of iron." 
 
 " Dang it ! so they be ! " cried Ellis. " Well, I neve* 
 noticed that afore. Whoy, dame, he may be an impostor 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT S. 279 
 
 And though he be so cruel koind, and deadly fond of the 
 girl, now, he may forsake may " 
 
 ' Look at them, now," said the sexton of St. Hubert's. 
 " See how he grasps her hand ; and how, as he whispers his 
 soft, insinuating flattery in her ear, she blushes and smiles 
 upon him. Damnation ! " 
 
 " Whoy, John ! " exclaimed Dame Ellis ; " what would 
 the rector say to hear thee? Thou art surely distraught." 
 
 And now, as Margaret, flushed and panting with exer 
 cise, was suffering her partner to lead her towards her seat, 
 her father beckoned her to approach. 
 
 " Come hither, girl," said he. The smiling maiden 
 obeyed. " Margaret," said the old man, " thou knowest I 
 love thee. I ha' always been cruel koind to thee, and so 
 has thy mother, girl. If any harm was to happen to thee, 
 I should take it desperately to heart. I should, indeed. 
 It would kill thy father, Margaret. Now, William iilvans 
 may be a good young man, and he may not ; but ^ve must 
 beware of strangers. Wait till we have tried him a bit 
 Many a handsome nag turns out a vicious one. So it be 
 my pleasure, and the dame's, that thou dost not daace any 
 more to-day wi' William Evans ; and even if he speaks to 
 thee, be a little offish loike to him." 
 
 The poor girl sighed. " I hope, sir," said she, \ lancing 
 at the sexton, " that no person possessed of an unhaj py and 
 suspicious temper has been prejudicing you against poor 
 William. I hope Mr. Pembroke " 
 
 " Hush, girl hush ! " cried Ellis. " Doant theo say a 
 word against that man. But for him we mought ail ha* 
 been beggars. Do as I bid thee, girl, and doan't thee ask 
 no questions ; for you know I've got no head to argmy." 
 
 Margaret slowly sank into a seat. The sexton leaned 
 over her, and addressed to her some commonplace remarks, 
 
280 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 to all of which she returned answer in monosyllables. When 
 the music recommenced a lively air, William advanced, and 
 solicited her hand for the next dance. Poor Margaret 
 bent her eyes upon the ground, and falteringly refused. 
 Thinking he could not have heard her rightly, Evans again 
 asked the question, and received, a second time, the same 
 answer. For a moment his countenance expressed aston 
 ishment ; the next there was a look of grief, and then his 
 lip curled, and drawing himself up proudly, he stalked away. 
 He was followed by the sexton of St. Hubert's, who over 
 took him, and laid his hand upon his shoulder. William 
 turned fiercely, and endeavored to shake off the grasp. 
 
 " Young man," said the sexton, " you are discovered ! " 
 
 " Discovered ! " exclaimed William. " What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " You understand me," said the sexton ; " your manners, 
 your language, your figure, contradict the story you have 
 fabricated. Margaret shall never be your victim. With 
 her your boasted arts are valueless ! " 
 
 " If you were a gentleman " said William. 
 
 Ha, ha ! " laughed the sexton of St. Hubert's. " Is this 
 the resentment of a rustic ? Go, young man ; you have 
 exposed yourself." 
 
 " Remove your hand ! " said the young man ; " and think 
 it unusual forbearance on my part, that I do not chastise 
 you as you deserve. We shall meet again, and with a stern 
 er greeting." So they parted. 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 281 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE GYPSY CAMP. 
 
 THE clear, unshadowed sun, as it declined towards the 
 western verge of the horizon, shone brightly upon the gypsy 
 encampment, a few miles from Redwood. The wandering 
 tribe had displayed their proverbial taste, in their selection 
 of a spot wherein to pitch their tents. A green and glossy 
 pasture was partly surrounded by a luxuriant forest, of 
 ancient oaks, which supplied the crew with firewood ; while 
 a beautiful and clear stream, the pride and boast of the 
 county, curved into the waving grass land, and kept it ever 
 fresh and verdant. Here and there its silvery bosom reflect 
 ed a small tent, or the figure of an idler, bending over the 
 bank, with fishing rod in hand, a perfect picture of patience 
 and philosophy. Half a dozen tents served to accommo 
 date the gregarious fraternity ; and though the sail cloths 
 which composed them were worn and weather-beaten, yet 
 their brown hues harmonized well with the rich tints of the 
 landscape, and showed distinct enough against the dark 
 background of the forest. As the shades of the evening 
 darkened the ancestral trees, a line of fire was lit up, the 
 flames of which glared ruddily against the huge trunks of 
 the woodland, and played and flickered in the rippling 
 stream. Huge kettles, suspended on forked sticks, were 
 beginning to send up a savory steam ; and several swar 
 thy beings, lounging round the fires, occasionally fed them, 
 or basking in the blaze, watched the bubbling of the cal 
 drons with intense anxiety. Even the king of the gypsies 
 observed the preparations for supper with an eager air 
 which ill assorted with his lofty forehead and reverend white 
 24* 
 
282 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 beard. Every moment some stroller would come in with 
 a pilfered fowl, or a basket of eggs ; and each addition to 
 the feast was hailed with shouts of applause by the swarthy 
 crew. 
 
 Somewhat remote from this scene of bustle and noise, at 
 the door of a small tent, sat two female gypsies. One of 
 these was the queen, an aged crone, who, though bent with 
 age and care, and wrinkled by time and the indulgence 
 of vehement passions, yet prided herself upon the unfrosted 
 darkness of her raven tresses, which fell over her shoul 
 ders in profusion. A turban of rich crimson cloth crowned 
 her head, and a shawl of the same color and material was 
 wrapped around her shoulders. Her skinny hands were 
 supported by a silver-headed staff, which was covered with 
 quaint carvings. Her gown w r as of dark serge, and her 
 shoes were pointed, and turned up in the Oriental fashion, 
 and garnished with broad silver buckles. She sat apart, 
 and the rising moon shone down upon her dusky figure, and 
 threw her wild features into bold relief. At her feet sat a 
 beautiful girl, with dark Grecian features, and a full, vo 
 luptuous form. She, too, had long, flowing, raven tresses, 
 into which were twisted strings of pearl. From a necklace 
 of topaz hung a little silver crucifix, resting upon a full and 
 heaving bust, to which was fitted a close jacket, made of 
 deep-blue cloth, and fastened together with loops and silver 
 buttons. Her soft and round arms were naked, save at the 
 shoulders, and her wrists were encircled with tarnished 
 gold bracelets. Her white petticoat was short enough to 
 display a well-turned ankle, and a small foot, encased in 
 neat black slippers. Her features, dark and sun-browned, 
 showed to more advantage in the pale moonlight than they 
 would have done in the broad blaze of day. The gypsy gir] 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 283 
 
 sat at the feet of the queen, and looking up in her face, 
 listened attentively to her discourse. 
 
 " Myra," said the queen of the gypsies, " do you love him 
 yet ? " 
 
 " Love him ! " repeated the girl. " Yes, mother pas 
 sionately. To obtain his hand his heart, I would peril 
 every thing ! " 
 
 " Strange and mysterious passion ! " said the crone, 
 " which defies reason and law. Many years agone I loved 
 with the same intense devotion. The same fiery blood 
 courses in your veins ; the same contempt of obstacles. 
 Yet the man I loved was nobler and prouder than the sex 
 ton of St. Hubert's. We lived among the Gitanos of 
 Spain, when we were wedded. Five sons I bore to the 
 partner of my cares. Where are they ? One followed his 
 father to the gibbet; a second hurled defiance at his 
 enemies, as he perished in the flames of an auto da fe ; 
 the third and fourth died in the galleys ; the fifth the 
 fifth, Myra my best beloved, my brave, my beautiful, 
 received his death wound in defending me from outrage, 
 You are his child! Judge, then, how I love you, my daugh 
 ter. You love the sexton of St. Hubert's he shall marry 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, mother ! " said the gypsy girl, " I fear me he is lost 
 He is the accepted lover of Margaret Ellis. She did love 
 a young stranger ; but the sexton of St. Hubert's has Farm 
 er PLllis in his debt, and threatened to throw him in jail, 
 if the latter did not grant him the hand of his daughter. 
 He has done so, and the wedding day is fixed. Alas 
 before he saw his May-day queen, he loved me, and 
 promised to marry me. Often beneath that very moon, 
 mother, has he sat and told me his love. When I smiled 
 at his protestations, he would speak of his wealth, and teU 
 
284 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 me of hidden stores of gold, for a thrifty and a rich man is 
 the sexton of St. Hubert's. I do not love him less because 
 he does not frown upon our wandering tribe, but has lax 
 principles that suit the fiery passions of our race. I know 
 not in what consists the art by which he won me ; it is 
 enough for me to know that I am devoted to him. Alas ! 
 that knowledge is too much, since he has owned the fasci 
 nation of the Queen of the May." 
 
 " Enough said, daughter ! " cried the crone. " Before the 
 altar he shall marry you. He shall love you better than 
 he loves the May queen. What are her attractions when 
 compared to yours ? Praise from the old is little to the 
 young ; yet let me say that I have wandered east and west, 
 north and south ; have seen the Georgian and Sicilian maids, 
 have seen the dark-haired girls of Naples, and the donnas 
 of Madrid ; yet never did these aged eyes rest on a finer 
 form or face than yours, my daughter." 
 
 The gypsy girl smiled. 
 
 " Ay," said the old woman, " now you look lovelier than 
 ever. That smile is like a sunbeam to my heart ; it thaws 
 the frost of age. Believe me, Myra, the sexton of St. Hu 
 bert's shall adore you." 
 
 " Then you must have love charms," said the gypsy girl, 
 blushing. 
 
 " Love charms I have," said the old woman, " and those 
 of wondrous potency. We are a favored race, Myra. De 
 scended from the old Egyptians, we inherit their mysterious 
 learning. To a few among us, the queens and magi of our 
 tribes, there has come down a knowledge of charms and 
 medicine, and some of the secrets of astrology. Go, 
 Myra ; leave me. I will provide for your peace. Yes, 
 yes, I have love charms. I have them ! " 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 285 
 
 The gypsy girl smiled, rose, kissed the hand of her grand 
 mother, and then bounded away like a fawn. 
 
 " Poor child ! " muttered the old woman, when alone ; 
 " she must not die of a broken heart. Love charms, did she 
 say ! Yes I have them for fools ; but the love charm I 
 shall use to give her joy is poison. The betrothed bride 
 of the sexton of St. Hubert's lies ill of an unknown mala 
 dy. The physicians cannot do her good, for she is sick of 
 a wounded heart. To-night the sexton of St. Hubert's, 
 who has faith in my skill, comes to seek a remedy. He 
 shall have one. Does he think to spurn the poor gypsy 
 girl ? He is mistaken. He plighted his troth to her in 
 the silence of the forest ; they broke a piece of gold across 
 a running brook ; they swore truth and fidelity ! One has 
 broken the oath, but it shall be sworn anew. None but 
 Myra shall wed the sexton of St. Hubert's ! " 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 IT was a fierce and stormy night. The wind howled 
 around the houses of Redwood, and wherever a shutter had 
 lost its fastening, it flapped to and fro with a frequent and 
 alarming sound. The rain, too, descended in torrents, and 
 flooded the streets of the village, while ever and anon 
 heavy peals of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning in 
 creased the terror of the night. In the house of Farmer 
 Ellis a few persons were assembled to witness the bridal 
 of the sexton of St. Hubert's. The bridegroom was as one 
 excited by wine, for there was a wild radiance in his eyes 
 
286 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 and an unwonted smile upon his lips, and he occasional!^ 
 gave utterance to some jest, and when it failed of producing 
 the expected mirth, his own laugh sounded hollow and 
 strange. The bride, too, so pearly pale, in her white dress, 
 with white roses in her hair, seemed like the bride of Cor 
 inth in the German tale. A few of the guests, huddled 
 anxiously together, whispered among themselves, " It is a 
 churchyard bridal." 
 
 Still the cake and wine went round, and the strange 
 laugh of the bridegroom was more frequent. The night 
 wore on, and the arrival of the clergyman was prolonged 
 far beyond the expected time. At length he came, and the 
 ceremony was about to take place, when the bride suddenly 
 gank in the arms of her companions. They raised her, and 
 applied the usual remedies resorted to in cases of fainting, 
 but the vital spark itself had fled. 
 
 In the depth of a stormy night, the sexton of St. Hu 
 bert's sought the queen of the gypsies. He was mounted 
 on an active horse, and accompanied by the sheriff of the 
 county and a few resolute men, well mounted and armed 
 to the teeth. As he approached the river which bounded 
 the gypsy camp upon one side, the sexton looked in vain for 
 a guiding light no fires blazed upon the green, no hidden 
 glare was reflected in -the mirror of the stream. Still he 
 spurred on his horse, and followed hard by his companions, 
 gallantly forded the stream and crossed the open meadows. 
 The tents had all been struck, and no sound was heard in 
 that deserted place, except the rushing of the boisterous 
 wind and the tinkling of the raindrops as they fell upon 
 the river. The. parties reined up their horses, and the 
 sexton and the sheriff held a brief conference together. 
 While they were yet conversing, a broad and brilliant blaze 
 ehot up from the centre of the forest, illuminating a wide 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 287 
 
 and well-trodden path which led directly to the light* 
 The first flash of radiance dazzled the eyes of the horse 
 men, but when they became accustomed to the glare, they 
 beheld distinctly several wild forms lounging around the 
 fire, evidently unconscious of the approach of danger. 
 
 " Now is our time, my lads," said the sheriff, in a low 
 tone. " Forward, and we shall have them all." 
 
 Every rowel was instantly employed, and the party 
 pushed forward at a gallop. Bowing their heads to avoid 
 the swaying branches, they bent over their horses' necks in 
 the intense ardor of pursuit. The sheriff and the sexton 
 rode side by side, and had nearly attained their^ object, 
 when their horses fell suddenly, and threw them to the 
 ground with violence. In fine, the whole party had stum 
 bled upon pitfalls dug for them, and not a horseman of the 
 troop escaped an overthrow. While they were rolling on 
 the ground, entangled in the stirrups, and receiving severe 
 injuries from the struggling horses, a shrill cry arose from 
 the depth of the woods, and a dozen stout ruffians set upon 
 them, seized, and pinioned them. The sexton and the 
 sheriff were conducted by two of the gang to the presence 
 of the gypsy queen, who sat upon a rude form raised upon 
 the trunk of a huge oak, and sheltered by an ample awn 
 ing of oiled cloth. The sheriff's followers were borne 
 away in another direction. The wild woman and her 
 wilder attendants were perfectly distinct in the ruddy fire 
 light, though the whole scene had, to the eyes of the vic 
 tims, the appearance of a vision of night. 
 
 " Well, sirs," said the queen, " you came to see us, and 
 you have found us. Have you not some message for us ? 
 You myrmidon of the law, have you no greeving for the 
 queen of the gypsies ? " 
 
 The sheriff looked at the queen and then at her attend- 
 
288 THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 ants. They were fierce-looking, unshorn fellows, with 
 butchers' knives stuck in their rope girdles, and seemed 
 but to await a nod from her tawny majesty to employ their 
 formidable weapons. 
 
 " Have you nothing for us ? " asked the dark lady. 
 
 " Nothing," said the sheriff, faintly. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " laughed the wrinkled crone. " The man of 
 law is forgetful. You, Dommerar, search him, and see if 
 he speaks the truth." 
 
 A sandy-haired little fellow advanced at the summons, 
 and rifled the pockets of the sheriff with a dexterity which 
 proved him an adept in the business. A teacher of music 
 would have envied his fingering. Having caused the 
 pockets of the sheriff to disgorge, he thus, in the canting 
 language, enumerated their contents : 
 
 " The moabite's ribbin runs thin, (the sheriff's cash runs 
 low.) He has no mint, (gold,) and only a mopus or two." 
 
 " Fool ! " said the queen, " has he no paper ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, missus, here's his fiddle" (writ,) was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Give it me," cried the queen. " Here, you patrico, 
 our eyes are bad. Read this scrawl, and acquaint us with 
 the contents." 
 
 The patrico, or hedge priest, a fellow in a rusty, black 
 suit, with a beard of three weeks' growth, bleared eyes, 
 and a red, Bardolph nose, took the writ, which he had more 
 difficulty in reading than Tony Lumpkin, when he received 
 the letter of Hastings. At first, he held it upside down, 
 then reversed it, looking at it at arm's length, and then 
 gave it a closer scrutiny. He finally gave it as his opinion, 
 that it empowered the queer-cuffin (so he termed the 
 sheriff) to seize upon the so called queen of the gypsies, 
 accused <rf the crime of murder, and also to apprehend her 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 289 
 
 followers. When he had concluded, the old crone snatched 
 the writ from his hand, and, tearing it to pieces, flung the 
 fragments into the face of the sheriff. 
 
 " Take him away," said she, " and leave us alone with 
 the sexton of St. Hubert's. Guard him well, for we wish 
 to show him how we administer justice among us. We 
 will be judge and jury, and our upright man shall be the 
 executioner." 
 
 She waved her tawny hand with the air of a princess 
 dismissing her courtiers, and her mandate was obeyed. 
 She was left alone with the sexton of St. Hubert's. Look 
 ing him steadily in the face, she said, 
 
 " John Pembroke, I give you joy of your marriage." 
 
 " Wretched woman ! " said the sexton, " you poisoned 
 her. By your hand she. died." 
 
 " You are mistaken," answered the old woman, with a 
 bitter smile. " She is not dead, but sleepeth. You see the 
 devil can quote Scripture. It was my first intention to 
 have poisoned her ; but my second thoughts were better. 
 So, instead of the medicine you sought, I gave you a pow 
 erful narcotic, which has thrown her into a deep steep. 
 She lies, at this moment, you know, in the chapel of St. 
 Hubert's. There are flowers on her coffin, and there is a 
 shroud around her. If I am not very much mistaken, 
 about this hour she awakes." 
 
 " And perishes ! Fiend in human shape, how you have 
 deceived me ! At this hour, remote from help, my Mar 
 garet is dying." 
 
 " She is not your Margaret, neither is she dying," said 
 
 the crone. " Listen to me. I sent a trusty messenger to 
 
 him that Margaret loves to him who loves her fondly and 
 
 faithfully and if all things have gone as well as I antici- 
 
 25 
 
290 THE SEXTON OP ST. HUBERT'S. 
 
 pate, by this time she is in his arms. The draught she 
 drank is harmless." 
 
 " Cursed deceiver ! " cried the sexton, struggling fran 
 tically to free himself from the ligatures which bound him. 
 " You have done an accursed deed. You have deprived 
 me of my betrothed bride." 
 
 " Your betrothed bride !" said the queen of the gypsies. 
 " Behold her ! " She waved her hand, and Myra stood 
 before the sexton of St. Hubert's. " There she stands," 
 said the gypsy. " Have you forgotten that your troth is 
 plighted to her ? The bride and the priest are ready. 
 Man of guilt and passion, wed her you may, wed her you 
 must ! " 
 
 " Never ! " cried the sexton. " When I sought your 
 lawless crew to indulge my love of revelling and pleasure, 
 the person of Myra lighted a fire in my breast. But it 
 was an unholy flame. I will never marry her. Let her 
 live live to be branded with infamy and disgrace ! " 
 
 " Ha ! " cried the crone, rising from her seat. " Is it so ? 
 Speak, Myra ! child of my heart, is it so ? " 
 
 The gypsy girl clasped her hands together, and hung her 
 head in shame. Her cheeks were suffused with crimson ; 
 then they became deadly pale, and she sank lifeless on the 
 ground. 
 
 " You have killed her ! " shrieked the gypsy queen, 
 " and dearly shall you rue it." 
 
 She placed a whistle to her lips, and blew a shrill blast. 
 But she received a far different answer than she had anti 
 cipated ; for one of the sheriff's men had succeeded in 
 escaping from the hands of the gypsy crew, and galloped 
 to the neighboring town, where a troop of horse was quar 
 tered. The commanding officer instantly repaired to the 
 gypsy camp, where he arrived in time to apprehend the 
 
THE SEXTON OF ST. HUBERT'S. 291 
 
 crew before they had committed any act of violence. The 
 sexton of St. Hubert's did not long survive this night, and 
 Myra became a maniac. The fate of the lovers we shall 
 next describe. 
 
 When the lover of Margaret received the message of 
 the queen of the gypsies, he repaired to the spot where 
 his mistress lay, to all appearance, in the arms of death. 
 But life had not departed ; and even as he hung gazing 
 over her, a faint color mounted to her cheek, and her bosom 
 began to heave beneath her white garment. He raised her 
 in his arms, bore her to the air, and she revived. When 
 her senses were fully restored, she consented to guard 
 against another separation by marrying her lover and 
 savior. William had provided a humble post-chaise to con 
 vey his bride far from the scene of her past perils and temp 
 tations. They journeyed by slow stages to the north, and 
 at the close of a few days entered a romantic village. The 
 lover bridegroom pointed-out a gray and noble old pile, the 
 turrets of which rose lofty above the waving trees of an 
 ancient park. He asked if she should like to visit it. She 
 replied in the affirmative, and they drove, unchallenged, 
 through the gateway and along a noble avenue shaded by 
 huge oaks. When they reached the portals of the build 
 ing, the post-boy stopped the horses, dismounted, tlitew 
 open the door of the chaise, and let down the steps. Wil 
 liam lifted his companion from her seat in his arms. 
 
 " Margaret," said he, " look up. This is Woodley Castle, 
 and you are Lady Armitage." 
 
JACK WITHERS. 
 
 EVERY body liked Jack "Withers. He was a handsome, 
 active young fellow of five-and-twenty, of a good family, an 
 orphan, who came into possession of thirty thousand dollars 
 when he came of age. In this age of California gold, when 
 fortunes are made by shovelling dust, and the wonders of 
 Aladdin's treasure house are realized by men of no capi 
 tal but pickaxes and muscles, thirty thousand dollars does 
 not seem a prodigious sum. Yet our great-grandfathers 
 retired from business on that amount, and were thought, at 
 least, comfortably well off; and even nowadays, thirty 
 thousand dollars, judiciously managed, will keep a man out 
 of the poorhouse, and give him a clean shirt and a leg of 
 mutton for his lifetime. But poor Jack was not a judicious 
 manager, and a tandem team and champagne suppers, with 
 a shooting-box and turf speculations, soon made ducks and 
 drakes of a little fortune. Thus at twenty-five, our friend 
 Jack was minus ; or, in the elegant phraseology of the day, 
 " a gentleman at large with pockets to let." 
 
 When a man's riches have taken wings and vamosed, 
 when all his old uncles are used up, and he has no pros 
 pective legacy to fall back upon, he is generally cut by the 
 acquaintances of his prosperous days. The memory of 
 "what he used to was" is seldom cherished, and the un 
 happy victim of prodigality discovers to his sorrow, that 
 
 292 
 
JACK WITHERS. 293 
 
 " 'Tis a rery good world that we live in, 
 To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 
 But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 
 'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known." 
 
 Jack, however, was not destined to drink the cup of this 
 bitter experience. He was just as popular and just as much 
 courted without a penny in his pocket, as he was when he 
 possessed the means to be extravagant, when, he 
 
 " Spread to the liberal air his silken sails, 
 
 And lavished guineas like a Prince of Wales." 
 
 The secret of his prodigious popularity was his obliging 
 disposition. His time and talents and he had plenty of the 
 former, and no lack of the latter were always at the ser 
 vice of his friends ; and though the idlest dog in the world 
 when his own affairs were in question, in the cause of his 
 friends he was the busiest man alive. Thus he fairly won 
 his dinners, his rides, his drives, and his opera tickets 
 they were trifling commissions on his benevolent trans 
 actions. 
 
 "Jack," one fellow would say, "my horse is too con 
 foundedly high strung, and only half broke. He threw me 
 yesterday." 
 
 "I'll ride him for you, Bill," would be the ready reply ; 
 " give me your spurs, and I'll give him a lesson." 
 
 And away he would go, without a thought of his neck, to 
 mount a restive rascal that had half killed the rough rider 
 of a cavalry regiment. 
 
 " Jack," another would say, " I've got an awkward affair 
 
 on hand with Lieutenant ; he fancies I've insulted 
 
 him, and has thrown out dark hints about coffee and pistols." 
 
 " Make yourself perfectly easy, my boy ; I'll bring him 
 to reason or fight him myself." 
 
 25* T 
 
294 JACK WITHERS. 
 
 So Jack had his hands full of business. Well, one dreary, 
 desolate afternoon in March, when the barbs of all the vanes 
 in the city were looking pertinaciously eastward, and people 
 were shivering over anthracite grates, Jack Withers " might 
 have been seen," as James would say, seated in the little 
 back parlor of the coffee room in School Street, sipping 
 Mocha with his particular friend Bill Bliffins, who had an 
 especial claim upon his kindness, from the fact that he had 
 already extricated Bill from scrapes innumerable. 
 
 Mocha is a great prompter of social and kindly feelings, 
 and prompts, in tete-d-tetes, to that unreserved confidence 
 on one part, and that obliging interest on the other, which 
 unite two congenial and kindred spirits in adamantine bonds. 
 
 " Jack," said Bill, 'smiting the marble table emphatically, 
 " you are my best friend." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! you flatter me," said Jack, blushing like a 
 peony ; " I've never done any thing for you." 
 
 " Yes, you have, and you know it," persisted Bliffms. 
 " Didn't you fight Lieutenant Jenkins, of the Salamander, 
 when I ought to have fought him myself? Haven't you 
 endorsed my notes when nobody else would back my 
 paper? " 
 
 " I'll do it again, my boy," said Jack, with a gush of en 
 thusiastic feeling. 
 
 " Ahem ! your name on short or long paper isn't exactly 
 ivhut it used to be," said Bill, rather unfeelingly, perhaps. 
 
 " True, true," returned Jack, in a more subdued tone ; 
 ft I haven't got many friends left in the synagogues." 
 
 " But what you have done, Jack," continued Bliffins, with 
 rnthusiasm, " emboldens me to trespass yet further on your 
 patience.'' 
 
 " With all my heart," said Jack ; and there was no reser- 
 
JACK WITHERS. 295 
 
 vation implied in the hearty tone in which the words were 
 uttered. 
 
 " Then listen to my story, as the postilion of Longju- 
 meau sings. Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you 
 may hear." 
 
 " I'll be mute as the codfish in the House of Represent 
 atives." 
 
 " Well, then," said Bill, in a solemn tone, " I'm dead 
 broke." 
 
 "Dead broke?" 
 
 " Yes ; I'm running on my last hundred." 
 
 Impossible ! " 
 
 " True, though, for all that. Yet my circumstances are 
 not so desperate, either. There's a vacant clerkship in 
 the secretary of state's office ; and the governor has been 
 sounded, and I think he might be disposed to give it to me." 
 
 " Go to him at once, then, my dear boy. If he wants any 
 reference, send him to me. I'll endorse your character, as 
 I used to your paper when my name was worth something 
 on 'change. Go to him at once." 
 
 " It's easy to say it, Jack ; but the fact is, that I have 
 such a confounded hesitating address that I fear I should 
 make an unfavorable impression, and ruin my cause ; 
 whereas, if a plausible, voluble fellow like yourself could 
 get his ear and plead for me, my appointment would be 
 certain. Now will you " 
 
 " Call on the governor ? With all my heart consider 
 the thing settled." 
 
 " That's not all ; you must be my advocate in another 
 quarter. I'm over head and ears in love with Juliet Trevor 
 Trapp & Trevor W. I. Goods, wholesale. You 
 the firm?" 
 
 Like a book." 
 
296 JACK WITHERS. 
 
 " I want you to see the girl and the old people ; 1 
 haven't confidence to propose in person. You can do it 
 forme?" 
 
 " With all my heart. I give you joy of the clerkship 
 and the girl they're yours." 
 
 " I'm eternally obliged, Jack." 
 
 " Not the least, my boy always ready to serve my 
 friends. By the way, have you got any money about your 
 clothes ? I invited you to take coffee, but I forgot my 
 purse in my other trousers no change, you know." 
 
 " There, get this V changed," said Bliffins, handing him 
 a bank note. 
 
 Jack took the note and walked up to the counter. 
 
 " Coffee and pie for two, my dear " said he to the at 
 tendant. " It's all right you know me pay next time 
 Withers and friend. Come, Bill, I've fixed it." 
 
 " But the change ! " said Bill. 
 
 " Never mind the change morrow do as well. By, by, 
 au revoir" 
 
 " Remember the governor ! " 
 
 " All right, my boy." 
 
 "And Juliet!" 
 
 " Make yourself easy." 
 
 So they parted. The next day, Jack sent in his card to 
 "the governor at the Adams House, and followed the paste 
 board before the message could be returned. The govern 
 or received his visitor with his usual urbanity. 
 
 " Good quarters, governor ! " said Jack, looking round 
 him as he dropped into a rocking chair, and tapped his 
 boot with his walking stick. " Chief magistrate of the 
 commonwealth well lodged people pay all right." 
 
 The governor was much amused at the coolness of hia 
 
JACK WITHERS. 297 
 
 guest, and waited patiently to learn his Business. He was 
 not kept long in suspense. 
 
 " Governor," said Jack, " I come to solicit your favor 
 not on my behalf, but in the cause of friendship sacred 
 friendship holy bond of two congenial hearts, &c. but 
 you know all that. My friend, sir, William Bliffins un 
 fortunate young man reduced in circumstances good 
 family good blood grandfather in the revolution 
 soil of Bunker Hill irrigated with the blood of Bliffins 
 but you know all that run through his fortune on the 
 town not a penny hard case." 
 
 u Do you solicit charity, sir, for your friend ? " 
 " Not exactly official favor vacant clerkship sec 
 retary's office make him comfortable but you know 
 all that." 
 
 " Really, sir, you run on at such a rate " 
 
 " Way I've got few leading points all you want 
 time precious money (old saw) Bliffins clerkship 
 
 don't you take ? " 
 
 " I think I recollect the name, now. But I must inquire 
 into the character of the applicant. How did he lose his 
 fortune?" 
 
 "Unbounded benevolence heart like an ox bigger 
 
 endorsing notes for friends founding hospitals for in 
 digent Africans temperance movement philanthropy 
 expensive but you know all that." 
 
 " The office in question requires a good penman. Can 
 your friend write well ? " 
 
 " Splendid hand copperplate currente calamo 
 shine in your eyes." 
 
 " Have you a specimen of his penmanship ? " 
 
 " Cords at home some in pocket. Here you have it ! 
 no, that's my washerwoman's bilL Ah, here it is ! " and 
 
298 JACK WITHERS. 
 
 Jack pulled out a crumpled note, and placed it before tha 
 governor. 
 
 The governor scanned the document curiously, and with 
 great difficulty deciphered the following words, which he 
 read silently : 
 
 " Dear Jack, Fashion has been beaten, and I lost on 
 the mare. I shall back Tom Hyer to the extent of my 
 pile. He is training finely. Bricks has a couple of Santa 
 Anna's game cocks for me, on board the Karitan, at Lewis's 
 wharf. Can you run down and get 'em from the steward ? 
 Yrs, &c." 
 
 The governor smiled as he handed back the note, but 
 made no remark. 
 
 " Where can I communicate with you, sir? " he asked. 
 
 " Dog and Thistle, Blackstone Street. I'll write my ad 
 dress." 
 
 So Jack wrote his address card, (by the way, he wrote a 
 splendid hand,) and took his leave of the governor. 
 
 From the Adams House he posted to Louisburg Square, 
 where the Trevors were living in great style. Slightly ac 
 quainted with Miss Trevor, he found no difficulty in being 
 admitted to her presence. After rattling over a few com 
 monplace topics, he came to the object of his mission. 
 
 " Have you seen Bliffins lately ? " 
 
 " Not very," replied the fair one, languidly. 
 
 " Dying, ma'am, dying." 
 
 " Is it possible ? What's the matter, sir ? " 
 
 " Love desperation patience on a monument couldn't 
 sit there forever heart ache only ons thing to save 
 him." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what is that ? " 
 
 " He loves you, madam, passionately, devotedly, enor 
 mously Petrarch, Abelard, lukewarm lovers in compari- 
 
JACK WITHERS. 299 
 
 son. Throws himself at your feet save him ! marry 
 him quick ! or you'll lose him ! say yes." 
 
 " Sir, my father will communicate with you," said the 
 lady, rising to terminate the interview. 
 
 "Dog and Thistle, Blackstone Street," said Jack, and 
 bowed himself away. 
 
 The next day Jack and Bill were again seated together 
 in a small room at the Dog and Thistle, waiting the result of 
 the obliging operations of the former. In a few moments 
 a waiter brought in a note, superscribed John Withers, 
 Esq. Jack tore it open, and read as follows : 
 
 " Sir, In answer to your application yesterday, I am 
 sorry to return you an unfavorable reply ; but the chirog- 
 raphy of the person you recommended, to say nothing of 
 other considerations, unfits him for the vacancy in question. 
 Having made inquiries with regard to yourself, and find 
 ing that you are in circumstances which might render em 
 ployment acceptable, while your conduct proves that you 
 have sincerely repented of the follies of your early years, 
 I have concluded to request your acceptance of the office 
 yourself. If you accept the offer, please report yourself 
 to-morrow. 
 
 " Yours, respectfully, 
 
 " Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts." 
 
 " You're an impostor ! " shouted Bliffins. " Is this your 
 friendship ? " 
 
 " I can't help it," said Jack, ruefully. " I'm innocent 
 I did the best I could for you." 
 
 " How did he know any thing about my penmanship ? '' 
 
300 JACK WITHERS. 
 
 " I showed him this note," said the unhappy Jack, pro 
 ducing the document. 
 
 "That note.? You've ruined me! Do you know what 
 it was about ? " 
 
 " I'd forgotten." 
 
 "Why, it was all about horseracing, pugilism, and coc 
 fighting, you jackass ! " 
 
 " Letter for Mr. Bliffins ! " said the waiter, entering with 
 another epistle. Bliffins read it aloud. 
 
 " Mr. William Bliffins. 
 
 " Sir : In answer to application of your friend, yester 
 day, for daughter's hand, have to reply for daughter, and 
 say that the honor is respectfully declined. Had you ob 
 tained the office you applied for, might have treated with 
 you. Daughter requests me to say that she could not 
 have done so in any case. 
 
 " Your ob't servant, 
 
 J. TREVOR." 
 
 " P. S. Please hand the enclosed to Mr. Withers." 
 
 The " enclosed " was an invitation to a grand ball given 
 by the Trevors on the ensuing night. 
 
 After overwhelming his friend with anathemas, Bliffins 
 rushed wildly from the Dog and Thistle, and enlisted in the 
 second dragoons. 
 
 Jack Withers, who had never before looked out for num 
 ber one, now became so " obliging " as to take care of that 
 neglected personage. He became a praiseworthy clerk, and 
 a steady man of business. He went to the ball and polked 
 himself into the good graces of Miss Juliet Trevor. The 
 old gentleman and lady smiled upon their loves, and in due 
 
JACK WITHERS. 801 
 
 time he was united to the object of his affections, securing 
 thereby a handsome and amiable wife, and an independent 
 fortune, which she insisted on settling upon her husband 
 on the wedding day. There is no fear of Jack's relapsing 
 into his old habits of extravagance ; and while he is still as 
 popular as ever, he never neglects his own affairs for those 
 of other people. 
 
 26 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER, 
 
 THE sun was sinking in the west, and gilding with its 
 slant beams a pastoral landscape, as a young soldier, weary 
 and footsore, slowly toiled along a lonely road that ran par 
 allel with the course of the bright and winding Seine. A 
 dusty foraging cap rested on his dark locks, and his youth 
 ful form bent beneath the weight of a well-filled knapsack. 
 Pierre Lacour had served with honor in that glorious little 
 band of heroes, which, under the leadership of the youth 
 ful Bonaparte, had crossed the snow-clad Alps, and fallen 
 like an avalanche upon the plains of Lombardy, sweeping 
 before it the veteran troops of Austria, and astonishing all 
 Europe by unparalleled audacity and unexampled succes., 
 Pierre had marched farther on that day than he had ever 
 done while following the colors of his regiment but he 
 was on his way home, and he longed to see his mother, his 
 fair young sister Maria, and a lovely maiden, named Es- 
 telle, dearer to his heart than all beside. They had news 
 of his coming, at least, Maria and his mother had, and 
 he had sent them in advance, by a sure hand, a large 
 amount of money, his share of the spoils of battle honorably 
 won enough, in short, to give a dowry to his sister, and 
 enable him to demand the reward of all his toils and dangers 
 . the hand of his betrothed. 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 303 
 
 His heart beat quick as he climbed the last vine-clad hill 
 which separated him from his native valley. A few steps 
 more would bring him to the summit, whence his eye would 
 rest on the neat whitewashed cottage, with its surrounding 
 palings, and trim garden ; and there, perhaps, at the rustic 
 gate, he should see the well-known figures of his mother 
 and sister. Far as he had travelled, he sprang up the as 
 cent with a buoyant step, and soon gained the eminence. 
 The cottage lay full in view, but though it was the usual 
 hcur for preparing the evening meal, no blue smoke wreath 
 curled upward from the chimney. A vague presentiment 
 of evil weighed upon his heart. Hastening to dispel the 
 dark and chilling fears that came thick upon him, he hurried 
 down the slope, and soon passed through the garden and 
 stood within the cottage. He called aloud no voice 
 responded to his cry. He rushed into the little room, 
 which served at once for kitchen and parlor. It was empty 
 no fire burned upon the hearth. The humble furniture 
 was in strange disarray. The casement, which looked out 
 upon the garden was shattered. The walls and floor were 
 charred and blackened with smoke, as if the house had 
 taken fire and been saved with difficulty. Pierre sprang 
 up stairs. In neither of the chambers could he find the 
 loved ones whom he sought only the same scene of con 
 fusion and desolation." Turning in dismay from the spec 
 tacle, he rushed out of the cottage to make his way to the 
 nearest neighbors, and inquire into this appalling mystery. 
 As he hurried along his brain whirling, his footsteps un 
 certain and unsteady he stumbled against an aged man 
 of venerable appearance, who was coming in the opposite 
 direction. The young soldier halted, and touching his cap, 
 begged pardon for his involuntary rudeness. 
 
SO* THE SILVER HAMMER. 
 
 " My poor Pierre," said the old man, " I know too well 
 ^the cause of your forge tfuln ess." 
 
 The soldier looked up and recognized the familiar and 
 benevolent features of the good priest ol the village, his old 
 tutor and pastor. 
 
 " Father," he said, pointing to the cottage, " you have 
 been there you know all tell me where are they ? " 
 
 The old man's eyes filled with tears, as he shook his 
 'acad, and laid his hand kindly on the young man's shoulder. 
 
 " Pierre," said he, " you have read ' whom the Lord lov- 
 eth he chasteneth ? ' " 
 
 The soldier bowed his head. 
 
 " Pierre," exclaimed the good priest, " let us sit down on 
 this bank. You are a good and brave boy. You can face 
 danger, and I have sought to furnish you weapons to wage 
 war against sorrow and trial." 
 
 " You have been a father to me, sir," replied the young 
 soldier, complying with the invitation of his pastor, and tak 
 ing a seat beside him. " I will endeavor to listen calmly 
 to all you have to communicate. Where are my mother 
 and sister ? " 
 
 " Pierre," said the old man, " arm yourself with all your 
 fortitude. You will never see your mother more till you 
 meet her in that happier world, where the wicked cease 
 from troubling and the weary are at rest." 
 
 Pierre groaned deeply, and covering his face with his 
 hands, rocked his body to and fro as he burst into an agony 
 of tears. The priest sought not to interrupt him, but turned 
 away his own weeping countenance, for the anguish of the 
 youth was too painful to contemplate. 
 
 At last the poor soldier looked up and spoke again : 
 " What of my poor sister ? " 
 
 " I know nothing," replied the priest ; " she is gone 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 305 
 
 whither, none can tell. A great crime has been committed. 
 By whom, none knows, save God and the perpetrator 
 thereof. You sent home a large sum of money to your 
 mother. She was so overjoyed at your good fortune, thai 
 she made no secret of its reception, though I cautioned her 
 against speaking of it. A fortnight ago, the village was 
 alarmed by the cry of fire. Your cottage was seen to be in 
 flames. The neighbors hastened thither and extinguished 
 the blaze. In the smoke and confusion it was not perceived 
 at first that murder, as well as incendiarism, had done its 
 foul work." The priest paused, overcome with agitation. 
 
 " On ! on ! " shouted Pierre, " I can bear it all now ! " 
 
 " Your poor mother was the victim," continued the 
 priest ; " she lay on the hearthstone dead and bleeding. 
 Her bureau had been broken open and rifled of its con 
 tents." 
 
 " My sister ! my sister ! " cried the soldier. 
 
 " She was gone. The whole surrounding country was 
 searched, but nothing was discovered." 
 
 " Maria ! Maria ! could gold have tempted you ? No ! 
 no I dog that I am, to suspect you ! Misery has driven 
 me mad ! " cried the soldier, dashing his hand against his 
 forehead. 
 
 " The whole dreadful crime," said the old priest, " is 
 shrouded in a mystery as appalling as death itself. But 
 God does not permit such deeds to slumber undetected 
 or unavenged. Sooner or later they are brought to light." 
 
 " May I prove the instrument of detection ! " said the 
 soldier. " Some of the coins that I sent my poor murdered 
 mother were marked I could recognize them again. 
 Father, you shall take me to my mother's grave. One 
 prayer there one word with Estelle and then I will go 
 to Paris ; it is the resort of every criminal, and thence it 
 26* 
 
806 THE SILVER HAMMER. 
 
 Bends forth its crime-blackened ruffians to desecrate this fair 
 earth with horror. Come, father, come my mother's 
 grave lead me there at once ! " 
 
 Years passed away. Save by two or three persons, the 
 crime which had desecrated the hearthstone of a humble 
 village home was forgotten in those great historical events, 
 of which Europe and France were then the theatres. In 
 those days of bloodshed and battle, of victory and triumph, 
 Pierre Lacour, who had commenced his military career as 
 a brave young soldier, might have risen to the highest 
 honors, had he followed the victorious eagles of his em 
 peror. Why might not he rise as well as Murat, Ney, 
 Lannes, or a hundred others ? The epaulets of a colonel, 
 nay, the baton of a marshal of France, were prizes within 
 the reach of the lowliest, provided he had the head to plan 
 and the heart to execute daring and chivalric deeds. But 
 his heart no longer bounded like a war horse to the charge 
 of the trumpet and the roll of the drum. He lived for one 
 purpose to discover the assassin of his mother and the 
 sister, of whom nothing had been heard since the dread 
 ful night of murder and conflagration. To facilitate his 
 purposes, he had procured himself to be enrolled in the 
 unrivalled police force of Fouche. That wily minister had 
 no more able assistant under his command, and none in 
 that fraternity (of which many were miscreants, who had 
 purchased impunity for crime by selling the lives and lib 
 erties of former accomplices and comrades) who could 
 compare with him for purity of life and elevation of motive. 
 To punish evil for the sake of society, was the aim of the 
 young police officer. None EC ore untiring or intelligent 
 than hi in ferreting out the perpetrators of deeds of vio 
 lence. In the criminals whose arrest he effected, and 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 307 
 
 whose conviction he secured, he expected, constantly, to 
 find some cognizant of the offence which had thrown so 
 black a shadow over his life. He read with eager avidity 
 the dying confessions of the condemned. He caught eager 
 ly every syllable that fell from the lips of men, who, stand 
 ing on the brink of eternity, seemed to be impressed with 
 the necessity of revealing truth. But for yVars his expec 
 tations were baffled. V % 
 
 At last, all Paris was thrown into commotion by the 
 murder of a Colonel Belleville, an officer who had served 
 with distinction in the grand army, and who was found 
 dead, one morning, in a room at house number 9G Rue 
 La Harpe. The only mark of violence discovered by the 
 surgeons was a dark, purple spot, about the size of a live- 
 franc piece, on the left temple. The police were apprised 
 that, on the morning of the day before, a slight young 
 man, with fair hair and polished address, giving his 
 name as Adolph Belmont, had hired the room at number 
 96 Rue La Harpe, and paid a week's rent in advance. 
 It further appeared that, in the evening, just after the close 
 of the performances at the opera, this young man had come 
 home in company with an officer of the army. After the 
 lapse of about an hour, the young man, Belmont, left the 
 house, telling the porter he should return in a few minutes. 
 But he never reappeared. About ten o'clock in the morn 
 ing, the porter went up to his room, and found the door 
 locked. He knocked and called, without receiving any 
 answer. Looking through the keyhole, he saw the feet 
 and legs of a man, in military boots and pantaloons, lying 
 on the floor. Much alarmed and disturbed, he sought out 
 a commissary of police, and that functionary, breaking open 
 the door, discovered the body of Colonel Belleville. Thia 
 tragedy excited an unusual sensation. Even the emperox 
 
308 THE SILVER HAMMER. 
 
 heard of it, and, from his private purse provided a large 
 sum of money to be paid as a reward to the discoverer of 
 the perpetrator of this fearful crime. 
 
 Not many days after this occurrence, and while it yet 
 remained shrouded in mystery, another murder roused the 
 excitable population of Paris to a frenzy of anxiety and 
 horror. An &rmy commissary, named Captain Eugene 
 Descartes, was f found dead in his lodgings, in the Rue 
 Richelieu, with the same fatal purple mark on the left 
 temple. 
 
 Yet a third murder was perpetrated in the Boulevard 
 des Italiens. A banker, named Monval, was, in this in 
 stance, the victim. His left temple bore the fatal discolor 
 ation of the size of a five-franc piece ; but, although he 
 had a large sum of money on his person, and wore a costly 
 watch and many valuable trinkets, and though articles of 
 high price abounded in his sumptuously-furnished apart 
 ment, not an article, as his steward testified, was missing. 
 
 On the morning of the announcement of this last crime 
 in the Moniteur, the minister of police received a summons 
 from the emperor to attend him. He found him in his 
 private cabinet, pacing to and fro in high excitement. 
 His face was more colorless than ever, except that an 
 angry hectic spot burned upon each cheek. As the min 
 ister entered, the emperor turned upon him, and ex 
 claimed, 
 
 " Fouche, what is the meaning of all this ? Is this 
 Paris, and are we living in the nineteenth century ? It 
 appears that there is no security for life in our capital. 
 Mr. Fouche, if such crimes can be committed with im 
 punity, there is an end of all things ; and if you cannot 
 ferret out the perpetrators of such atrocities as these, it is 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 309 
 
 time for you to vacate your position. I must appoint a 
 new minister of police." 
 
 " Sire," replied the minister, " how much time will you 
 give me to discover the assassin ? " 
 
 " One week," replied the emperor. 
 
 " I thank your majesty," replied the minister, bowing. 
 " In one week, you shall have the assassin's head, or my 
 resignation." 
 
 " Good," said the emperor ; " and to stimulate the activ 
 ity of your people, I hereby authorize you to offer a 
 reward of twenty thousand francs, for the detection of the 
 assassin of the Rue La Harpe, the Rue Richelieu, and the 
 Boulevard, if it prove, as I imagine, that one individual 
 perpetrated these crimes, or five thousand francs each, if 
 there were three criminals. Good day, Mr. Fouche ; let 
 me have a report of your doings without delay." 
 
 The secret of Mr. Fouche's confident promise to detect 
 the assassin was the reliance he placed in the activity, 
 daring, and intelligence of Pierre Lacour. He sent for 
 him, and related his conversation with the emperor, en 
 larging on the munificent reward promised by Napoleon. 
 
 " I am poor," said Lacour, " but higher motives than 
 hopes of reward stimulate me to perform this duty. Yet, 
 should I be successful, a sum of money like this would 
 enable me to wed one, who, though I voluntarily offered to 
 release her from her engagment, has loved me as well in 
 my misfortunes as in happier times. In one week, there 
 fore, Mr. Fouche, I will enable you to redeem your pledge 
 to the emperor." 
 
 Four days passed away, and yet the minister of police 
 heard nothing from Lacour. But the young man had not 
 been inactive ; and once or twice he had obtained, what he 
 considered, traces of the person calling himself Belmont, 
 
 u 
 
810 THE SILVER HAMMER. 
 
 the supposed assassin of the Rue la Harpe, and, by pre 
 sumption, of the other murders ; but these traces led to nc 
 result. 
 
 "Whether in search of diversion, or that a vague hope 
 whispered to him that he might obtain some intelligence by 
 BO doing, Lacour, on the fifth night after his interview with 
 the minister, went to a masked ball at the grand opera 
 house, in the costume of an officer of the Fusilier Guard, 
 which chance led him to select. Weary of the noise and 
 confusion, sad and discouraged, he had withdrawn from the 
 crowded circle of dancers, when some one touched him on 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " Captain Lassalle," said a sweet musical voice, " you 
 are known, though the uniform you wear is not that of 
 your own corps." 
 
 Lacour turned with the intention of correcting the mis 
 take, when a secret impulse restrained the disavowal. The 
 person who addressed him was a slight young man, fash 
 ionably dressed, with no other disguise than a half-mask of 
 black velvet, which did not conceal his light hair. 
 
 " I perceive you know me," said Lacour, favoring the 
 mistake ; " though you have the advantage of me. I can 
 not possibly conjecture whom I am addressing." 
 
 The masked laughed lightly. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be of no use for me to unmask," was 
 the reply ; " but if I tell you I have something of import 
 ance to communicate to you something in reference to 
 your application to the emperor for preferment, you may be 
 disposed to listen to me." 
 
 " With all my heart," 
 
 " I see you are tired of this noisy scene," said the mask, 
 " and so in faith am I. Besides, this is no place to talk of 
 business. "What say you to a moonlight walk to my lodg 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 311 
 
 ings, in the Rue Montmartre ? There we can discuss our 
 affairs over a glass of champagne." 
 
 " I will willingly accompany you," said Lacour, " if you 
 will give me a few minutes to speak to a friend, with whom 
 I had a previous appointment." 
 
 " Make haste, then," said the mask ; " you will find me 
 here for fifteen minutes." 
 
 Lacour hastened to the nearest post, and made himself 
 known to the commandant. 
 
 " Quick !" said he, " I want a sergeant and a dozen gens 
 d'armes. In fifteen minutes I shall leave the opera house, 
 in company with a young man, for the Rue Montmartre. 
 Let the squad follow us without appearing to do so. Keep 
 in the shadow of the houses. We shall enter a house. As 
 soon as the door has closed, demand instant admittance of 
 the porter.' Let the sergeant follow hard upon my heels, 
 and wait outside the door of whatever room I enter. At a 
 call from me, let him be ready to burst in and secure the 
 person with whom I am in company." 
 
 As soon as he had given these directions, the police of 
 ficer hastened back to the opera house, where the mask was 
 still awaiting him. Arm in arm they left the hall, and 
 chatting familiarly, entered the Rue Montmartre, and soon 
 arrived at an old house of seven stories, to which they were 
 admitted by the porter. Lacour's heart beat as he accom 
 panied his guide, in the dark, up three pairs of stairs but 
 before he had reached the head of the third flight, he heard 
 the street door open and shut below, and knew that the 
 sergeant had obeyed his directions, and that help was at 
 hand in case his suspicions proved true. 
 
 The mask opened the door of a room, and ushered in hia 
 guest. It was a small, boudoir-like apartment, and ex- 
 quisitely furnished. Silken hangings fell over gold arrows, 
 
312 THE SILVER HAMMER. 
 
 from the ceiling to the floor. Tapestry carpets, soft aa 
 velvet, covered the floor. Rich ottomans, superb mirrors, 
 marble tables, and pictures, were crowded together. A 
 soft light was diffused through the apartment by an alabas 
 ter shade-lamp. An intoxicating perfume loaded the at 
 mosphere, and even oppressed the senses. Lacour, as he 
 sank upon the sofa, felt overcome by a strange languor. 
 The mask sat close beside him. 
 
 " Captain," said the mask, in a musical, insinuating voice, 
 " have you ever loved ? " 
 
 " Before I answer this question," replied Lacour, " I 
 must first know what prompts you thus to catechize me." 
 
 "Because," replied the unknown, "I have deceived you 
 - because I am a woman one who has long known and 
 loved you, till an uncontrollable desire to make this con 
 fession has compelled her to a step that you will blame, 
 and, perhaps, despise her for." 
 
 Lacour was puzzled, and remained silent for a few mo 
 ments. 
 
 " I see," said the mask, with a sigh, " you despise me for 
 my very boldness. Yet, I am a lady of rank and reputa 
 tion, and my affection for you is as pure as that of maiden 
 can be." 
 
 " Fair lady," said Lacour, " if such you be indeed, you 
 must permit me to request you to remove that envious 
 mask." 
 
 "It may not be," replied the stranger, with a laugh. 
 " Ask that, or presume to remove this shield, and I vanish 
 like a fairy or a phantom. But if you promise to be very 
 obedient, I may give you hopes of disclosing my face 
 perhaps my name at our next interview. But in reward 
 for your submission to my behest, I will allow you, like a 
 benignant sovereign, to do homage to my ungloved hand." 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 313 
 
 She withdrew her kid glove, and presented, playfully, a 
 hand so white, so delicately veined, and small, that Lacour 
 could no longer doubt that he was addressing a lady. He 
 raised the hand respectfully to his lips. But he felt now 
 that his suspicions were groundless, and that he did wrong 
 in deceiving a person, who, however romantic and unjusti 
 fiable her behavior might seem, was still one entitled to 
 respect and honor. But as he was framing an apology for 
 taking advantage of her mistaking him, the stranger sud 
 denly sprang upon him like a tigress. The delicate hand 
 he had just kissed now compressed his throat like an iron 
 vice ; the other suddenly brandished in the air a small 
 silver hammer, while a fierce voice hissed in his ear, " Las- 
 salle ! your hour has come ! Belleville, Descartes, and 
 Monval, have gone before you to answer for their crimes. 
 You are the fourth, and last. Die, villain ! " 
 
 But Lacour struggled free, and shouted for help. The 
 door fell with a crash ; the soldiers poured in, and the fe 
 male assassin was secured and disarmed. Eager to un 
 ravel the mystery, the police officer tore the mask from the 
 face of the unknown, and recognized in the wild and in 
 flamed features of the assassin of the Rue La Harpe, the 
 Rue Richelieu, and the Boulevard des Italiens, his sister, 
 Maria Lacour ! 
 
 But Maria Lacour died not on the scaffold. She was 
 saved from that doom by unquestionable proofs of insanity. 
 Her sad story was learned afterwards from various sources, 
 and corroborated, in the most important particulars, by 
 Captain Lassalle, who was arrested for a criminal offence 
 shortly after the above incident, and made a full confession 
 of his guilt. It appeared, then, that the house of the widow 
 Lacour, a short time before the opening of our story, had 
 27 
 
314 THE SILVER HAMMER. 
 
 been broken into by four villains, named Belleville, Des 
 cartes, Monval, and Lassalle. They were all men of bad 
 habits, and urgently necessitous, but yet of decent educa 
 tion and family. Hearing a noise in the kitchen, Maria 
 descended only in time to witness the death pangs of the 
 mother. The three first-named ruffians, demons who had 
 murdered to rob, wished to destroy this witness of their 
 guilt, but the fourth interceded, and her life was spared. 
 But the horror of the deed overthrew her reason. She 
 fled from the house that night a maniac ; whither she wan 
 dered, how she was cared for, for a long time was and 
 must ever remain a mystery. She finally, it seems, became 
 in a degree tranquillized, found her way to Paris, and there 
 she supported herself by her extraordinary skill as an 
 embroideress. 
 
 But it was conjectured that her memory of early events 
 had gone. The casual sight of one of the assassins, all of 
 whom had prospered and risen in the world, revived the 
 recollection of that one fearful night of horror, and with 
 it came to her disordered brain the thirst of vengeance. 
 It did not appear that for a moment she had dreamed of 
 appealing to the interposition of the law. To execute a 
 summary vengeance, personally, was her terrible resolve. 
 With a cunning that often supplies the loss of reason with 
 the insane, she contrived snares, into which three of the 
 assassins fell, and, with the singular implement her fancy 
 had suggested, was the means of their death. Chance led 
 to the failure of her plan for punishing the last of the 
 assassins, Lassalle, and to her discovery by her brother. 
 
 Immediately after her arrest and examination, on proof 
 of the condition of her mind, she was conveyed to a private 
 asylum, and carefully attended to. Fortunately, her mad 
 ness here assumed a happier phase. She took great pleas- 
 
THE SILVER HAMMER. 315 
 
 lire in seeing her brother, and appeared to have forgotten 
 that her mother was no more, asking him every day how 
 soon their mother would come and take her back to the 
 country. But the trials she had undergone had under 
 mined her health. She sank very rapidly, and soon 
 breathed her last. 
 
 Lacour only remained long enough in the service of the 
 police to effect the arrest, arid witness the condemnation of 
 Lassalle, the last of the four assassins, who escaped the 
 silver hammer of the maniac girl, to die by the hand of the 
 executioner. 
 
 The sorrows he had experienced would have blighted 
 the heart and sapped the life of Pierre Lacour, but for the 
 love of one who had proved true to him through all his 
 trials. Some months after the death of his sister, he mar 
 ried his faithful Estelle, and retired to a small and well- 
 stocked farm, for which he was indebted to the generosity 
 of the emperor ; and he lived long enough, if not to forget 
 his sorrows, at least to find consolation in the bosom of his 
 family. 
 
THE CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES. 
 
 IT was a cold winter evening. The chill blast caine 
 sweeping from the chain of hills that guard our city on the 
 north, laden with the cold breath of a thousand leagues of 
 ice and snow. There was a sharp, polar glitter in the 
 myriad stars that wheeled on their appointed course 
 through the dark blue heaven, in whose expanse no single 
 cloud was visible. Howling through the icy streets came 
 the strong, wild north wind, tearing in its fierce frenzy the 
 sailcloth awnings into tatters, swinging the public-house 
 signs, and shaking the window shutters, like a bold burglar 
 bent on the perpetration of crime. Then onward, onward 
 it sped over the dark steel-colored bay, and out to the wild, 
 wide, open sea, to do battle with the sails of the stanch 
 barks that were struggling towards a haven. 
 
 But within, the good people of Boston were stoutly 
 waging battle against the common enemy on this bitter 
 Christmas eve. In some of the old-fashioned houses at the 
 North End, inhabited by old-fashioned people, the ruddy 
 light that streamed through the parlor windows on the 
 street announced that huge fires of oak and hickory were 
 blazing on the ample hearths. But in far the greater num 
 ber of dwellings, the less genial, but more powerful anthra 
 cite was contending with the wintry elements. 
 
 In an upper room of an old, crazy, wooden house, a poo* 
 woman, thinly clad, sat sewing beside a rusty, sheet-iron 
 
 316 
 
THE CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES. 317 
 
 stove, poorly supplied with chips. She had been once 
 eminently handsome, and but for the wanness and hollow- 
 ness of her face, would have appeared so still. 
 
 Two little boys, of eight and nine years of age, were 
 warming themselves, or seeking to warm themselves, at the 
 stove, before retiring to their little bed in a small room 
 adjoining. 
 
 " Isn't this nice, mother ? " said the younger, a bright, 
 black-eyed boy. " Didn't I get a nice lot of chips to 
 day ? " 
 
 " Yes, dearest, you are always a good and industrious 
 boy," said the mother, snatching a moment from her work 
 to imprint "a kiss upon his forehead. 
 
 " Poor pa' will have a nice fire to warm him when he 
 comes home," said the elder boy. 
 
 At this allusion to the child's father, the mother burst 
 into tears. The countenances of both the children fell. 
 They knew too well the cause of their mother's bitter sor 
 row the same cause had blighted their own young hearts 
 and clouded their innocent lives their father was a drunk 
 ard! Hence it was that^ bright and intelligent as they 
 were, they could not go to school they were too ragged 
 for that and their time was required on the wharves to 
 pick up fuel and such scraps of provision as are scattered 
 from the sheaves of the prosperous and prodigal. For this 
 reason, too, the mother had carefully forborne to remind the 
 children that this was Christmas eve. But they knew it 
 too well, and they contrasted its gloominess and sorrow 
 with the well-remembered anniversaries when this was a 
 season of delight the eve of promised pleasures, of feasts, 
 of dances, and of presents. With this thought in their 
 hearts they silently kissed their mother, and retired to their 
 little bed, committing themselves to " Our Father who art 
 27* 
 
318 THE CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES. 
 
 in heaven," while the poor mother toiled on, listening with 
 dread for the returning footsteps of Ler husband. 
 
 The husband and father, whose return was thus dread 
 ed, had worked late at night in the shop of the carpen 
 ter who had given him temporary employment, and who 
 was to pay him this evening. Five or six dollars were 
 coming to him, more than he had earned honestly for 
 a long while, and his hand shook with eagerness as his 
 employer counted out his wages. As he put on his hat to 
 leave the shop, he observed his fellow-workmen, who were 
 all sober and steady men, eying him with sad, inquiring 
 looks ; he almost ran out of the shop. 
 
 " I know what they mean," he said to himself. " But 
 what is it to them how I spend my money the prying 
 busy-bodies ! I'm not a slave I have a right to do what 
 I please with my own. Whew ! how cutting the wind is ! 
 A glass or two of hot whiskey toddy will be just the thing ! " 
 
 Without one thought of his toiling wife and neglected 
 children, the poor, infatuated man hastened towards a gro 
 cery with the intention of slaking his morbid thirst. At 
 the moment his foot was on the threshold, out from the 
 belfry of Christ Church, ringing clear in the frosty air, 
 streamed a tide of sweet and solemn music. Simple, yet 
 touching, was the melody of those sacred bells, chiming 
 forth the advent of the blessed Christmas time. And as 
 the song of the bells fell upon his ear, it awakened in the 
 drunkard a thousand memories of happier, because better 
 days. The comfortable dwelling, the quiet, neat parlor, 
 with its Christmas dressings, the sweet face of his wife, the 
 merry laugh of his bright-eyed children all flashed back 
 vividly upon his mind. He recked not of the bitter blast 
 he forgot his late purpose he could wish those aweet 
 bells to play on forever. But they ceased. 
 
THE CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES. 319 
 
 " It was a voice from heaven ! " said the man, as the 
 tears rolled down his cheeks. " Surely God has blessed 
 those Christ Church chimes. I'll never more drink one 
 drop. This money shall go to my family, every cent of it. 
 It is not too late yet to buy provision for to-morrow, and 
 some comfortable things for the children." 
 
 It was late that night when the watching wife heard the 
 step of her husband on the staircase. It was as slow and 
 heavy as usual; but how relieved, how astonished, how 
 grateful she felt, when the door opened, and he came in, 
 happy, sober, bearing a huge basket filled with provisions, 
 and threw down a parcel containing stockings, comforters, 
 and mittens for the children, not forgetting some simple 
 Christmas wreaths, and some of those condiments which 
 children love. 
 
 The next day was a happy one indeed for the mother 
 and the little boys a merry Christmas that reminded 
 them of old times, and gave them assurance of a happy 
 future. May we not hope that the effect we have attrib 
 uted to the Christ Church chimes is not a solitary instance 
 of the power of music ? 
 
THE POLISH SLAVE. 
 
 GAYLY opened the bright summer morning on the gray 
 feudal turrets of Castle Tekeli, the residence of the old 
 Count Alexis Tekeli, that crowned a rocky eminence, and 
 was embosomed in the deep secular forests of Lithuania. 
 The court yard was a scene of joyous noise and gay con 
 fusion ; for the whole household was mustering for the 
 chase. Half a dozen horses, gaily caparisoned, were neigh 
 ing, snorting, and pawing the ground with hot impatience ; 
 a pack of stanch hounds, with difficulty restrained by the 
 huntsmen, mingled their voices with the neighing of the 
 steeds, while the slaves and relatives of the family were all 
 busy in preparation for the day's sport. 
 
 Count Alexis was the first in the saddle ; aged, but hale 
 and vigorous, he was alert and active as a youou; man of 
 five-and-twenty. 
 
 " Where are my daughters ? " he exclaimed, impatient 
 ly, as he drew on his buff gantlets. " The sun is mount 
 ing apace, and we should not lose the best portion of the 
 day." 
 
 As if in reply to his question, a tall, dark-haired girl, of 
 elegant figure and stately bearing, appeared by his side, and 
 with the assistance of a groom, mounted her prancing gray 
 palfrey. 
 
 " This is well, Anna," said the count. " But where ia 
 Sudocia? She must not keep us waiting." 
 
 320 
 
THE POLISH SLAVE. 321 
 
 "Eudocia declines to be of our party, father," replied the 
 girl. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the old man ; " she will never have your 
 color in her cheeks, if she persist in moping in her cham 
 ber, reading old legends and missals, and the rhymes of 
 worthless minnesingers. But let her go; I have one 
 daughter who can live with the hunt, and see the boar at 
 bay without flinching. Sound, bugle, and forward ! " 
 
 Amid the ringing of silver curb chains, the baying of 
 hounds, and the enlivening notes of the bugle, the caval 
 cade and the train of footmen swept out of the court yard, 
 and descending the winding path, plunged into the heart of 
 the primeval forest. The dogs and the beaters darted 
 into the thick copsewood, and soon the shouts of the hunts 
 men and the fierce bay of the dogs announced that a wild 
 boar had been found and started. On dashed the merry 
 company, Count Alexis leading on the spur. The lady 
 Anna soon found herself alone, but she pressed her palfrey 
 in the direction of the sounds of the chase as they receded 
 in the distance. Suddenly she found herself in a small 
 clearing, and drew her rein to rest her panting steed. She 
 had not remained long in her position, when she heard, op 
 posite to her, a crashing among the branches, and the next 
 moment a huge wild boar, maddened with pursuit, and 
 foaming with rage, broke into the opening and sprang di 
 rectly towards her. Her horse, terrified at the apparition, 
 reared so suddenly that he fell backwards, throwing his rider 
 heavily, and narrowly missing crushing her. Springing to 
 his feet, he dashed wildly away with flying mane and rein, 
 while the lady lay at the mercy of the infuriated animal, 
 faint and incapable of exertion. 
 
 At that critical moment, a young man, in the livery of 
 the count, dashed before the prostrate form of the lady, 
 
822 THE POLISH SLAVE. 
 
 atid dropping on one knee, levelled his short spear, and 
 sternly received the charge of the boar. Though the weap 
 on was well directed, it shivered in the grasp of the young 
 huntsman ; and though he drew his short sword with the 
 rapidity of thought, the boar was upon him. The struggle 
 was short and fierce, and the young huntsman succeeded in 
 slaying the monster, but not until he had received a severe 
 wound in the arm from the tusks of the boar. Heedless of 
 his sufferings, however, he ran to a neighboring rivulet, 
 and filling his cap with water, returned and sprinkled the 
 face of the fainting girl. In a few moments she re 
 vived. 
 
 Her first words, uttered with a trembling voice, were, 
 
 " Where where is the wild boar ? " 
 
 " There, lady," said the huntsman, pointing to the griz 
 zly monster. " His career is ended." 
 
 " And it is you who have saved my life," exclaimed An 
 na, with a grateful smile. 
 
 " I did my duty, lady," answered the huntsman. 
 
 " But who are you, sir ? Let me, at least, know your 
 name that I may remember you in my prayers/ 
 
 " My name is Michael Erlitz ; though your eyes, lady, 
 may never have dwelt on one so lowly as myself, I am 
 ever in your father's train when he goes to the chase. I 
 am Count Tekeli's start" he added, casting his eyes or the 
 ground. 
 
 " A slave ? and so brave so handsome ! " thought the 
 lady Anna ; but she gave no utterance to the thought. 
 
 At this moment the count rode up, followed by two or 
 three of his retainers, and throwing himself from his horse, 
 clasped his daughter in his arms. 
 
 " My child, my child ! " he exclaimed ; " thank jGod, you 
 are alive ! I saw your horse dash past me riderless, and 
 
THE POLISH SLAVE. 323 
 
 flew to your assistance. But there is blood upon youi 
 dress." 
 
 " It is my blood ! " said the slave, calmly. 
 
 " Yours, Michael ? " cried the count, looking round him. 
 " Now I see it all the dead boar, the broken spear, your 
 bleeding arm. You saved my daughter's life at the risk of 
 your own ! " 
 
 " The life of a slave belongs to his master and his master's 
 family," answered Michael, calmly. " Of what value is the 
 existence of a serf? He belongs not to himself. He is of 
 no more account than a horse or a hound." 
 
 " Say not so," said Count Alexis, warmly. " Michael, 
 you are a slave no longer. I will directly make out your 
 manumission papers. In the mean time you shall do no 
 menial service ; you shall sit at my board, if you will ; and 
 be my friend, if you will accept my friendship." 
 
 The eagle eye of the young huntsman kindled with rap 
 ture. He essayed to speak, but the words died upon his 
 tongue. Falling on his knees, he seized the count's hand, 
 and pressed it to his lips and heart. Tekeli raised him 
 from his humble posture. 
 
 " Michael," said he, " henceforth kneel only to your Maker. 
 And now to the castle ; your hurt needs care." 
 
 " Willingly," said the young man, " would I shed the best 
 blood in my body to obtain my freedom." 
 
 " Ho, there ! " said the count to his squire ; " dismount, 
 and let Michael have your horse ; and bring after us 
 Michael's dearly-earned hunting trophy. He has eclipsed 
 us all to-day." 
 
 Michael was soon in the saddle, riding next to the lady 
 Anna, who, from time to time, turned her countenance, 
 beaming with gratitude, upon him, and addressed him words 
 of encouragement and kindness ; for her proud and im 
 
324 THE POLISH SLAVE. 
 
 perious nature was entirely subdued and changed, for the 
 time, by the service he had rendered her. 
 
 When the cavalcade reached the castle, they found tho 
 lady Eudocia, the count's eldest daughter, waiting to receive 
 them. She heard the recital of the morning's adventure 
 with deep interest ; but a keen observer would have noticed 
 that she seemed less moved by the recollection of her sister's 
 danger, than by the present condition of the wounded hunts 
 man. It was to her care that he was committed, as she 
 was skilled in the healing art, having inherited the knowl 
 edge from her mother. She compelled Michael to give up 
 all active employment, and, in the course of a few weeks, 
 succeeded in effecting a complete restoration of the wounded 
 arm. 
 
 Count Tekeli treated the young man with the kindness 
 of a father, losing all his aristocratic prejudices in a gen 
 erous sense of gratitude. Splendidly attired, promised an 
 honorable career in arms, if he chose to adopt the military 
 profession, his whole future changed by a fortunate accident, 
 Michael was happy in the intimacy of the two sisters. He 
 now dared to aspire to the hand of her whom he had saved, 
 and whom he loved with all the intensity of a passionate 
 nature. Thus weeks and months rolled on like minutes, 
 and he only awaited the delivery of his manumission papers 
 to join the banner of his sovereign. 
 
 One day an eventful day, indeed, for him he re 
 ceived from Eudocia, the elder sister, a message, inviting 
 him to meet her in a summer house that stood in a small 
 garden connected with the castle. Punctual to the hour 
 named, he presented himself before her. 
 
 " Michael," said she, extending her hand to him, " I sent 
 for you to tell you a secret." 
 
 Her voice was so tremulous and broken, that the young 
 
THE POLfSH SLAVE. 325 
 
 man gazed earnestly into her face, and saw that she had 
 been weeping, and now with difficulty suppressed her tears. 
 
 " Nay," said she, smiling feebly ; " it will not be a secret 
 long, for I must tell it to my father as soon as he returns 
 from court with the royal endorsement to your manumission. 
 I am going to leave you all." 
 
 " To leave us, lady ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am going to take the veil." 
 
 " You, so beautiful, so young ! It cannot be." 
 
 " Alas ! youth, beauty, are insufficient to secure happiness. 
 The world may be a lonely place, even to the young and 
 beautiful ; the cloister is a still and sacred haven on the 
 road to a better world." 
 
 " And what has induced you to take this step ? I have 
 not noticed hitherto any trace of sorrow or weariness in 
 your countenance." 
 
 " You were studying a brighter page the fair face of 
 my sister. Start not, Michael ; I have divined your secret. 
 She loves you, Michael ; she loves you with her whole soul. 
 
 You will wed her and be happy ; while I " She turned 
 
 away her face to conceal her tears. 
 
 The young man heard only the blissful prediction that 
 concerned himself; he noted not the pangs of her who 
 uttered it. 
 
 ** Dearest lady ! " he exclaimed, " you have rendered me 
 the happiest of men ; " and dropping on his knees, he seized 
 her hand and covered it with kisses. 
 
 " Hark ! " said Eudocia, in alarm ; " footsteps ! We are 
 surprised ; I must not be seen here ! " and with these words 
 she fled. 
 
 Michael sprang to his feet. Before him stood the 
 younger daughter of Count Alexis, her eyes flashing fire, 
 28 v 
 
32G THE POLISH SLAVE. 
 
 her wi ole frame quivering with passion. He advanced and 
 took her hand, but she flung it from him fiercely. 
 
 " Slave ! " she exclaimed, " dare you pollute with your 
 vile touch the hand of a high-born dame the daughter of 
 your master ? " 
 
 " Anna, what means this passion ? " cried Michael, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Silence, slave ! " cried the imperious woman. " What 
 ho, there ! " she added, stamping her foot ; " who waits ? " 
 
 Half a dozen menials sprang to her call. 
 
 " Take me this slave to the court yard ! " she cried vehe 
 mently ; " he has been guilty of misbehavior. Let him taste 
 the knout ; and woe be to you if you spare him. Away 
 . with him ! Rid me of his hateful presence ! " 
 
 While Michael was subjected to this hateful punishment, 
 the vindictive girl, still burning with passion, sought her 
 sister. What passed between them may be conjectured 
 from what follows. 
 
 Michael, released from the hands of the menials, stood, 
 with swelling heart and burning brow, in one of the lofty 
 apartments of the castle. He had felt no pain from the 
 lash, but the ignominy of the punishment burned in his very 
 soul, consuming the image that had been in his inner heart 
 for years. The scales had fallen from his eyes, and he now 
 beheld the younger daughter of the count in all the defor 
 mity of her moral nature proud, imperious, passionate, 
 and cruel. 
 
 A door opened a female, with dishevelled hair, and a 
 countenance of agony, rushed forward and threw herself at 
 his feet, embracing his knees convulsively. It was Anna ! 
 
 " Michael ! " she cried, " forgive me, forgive me ! I 
 shall never forgive myself for the pain I inflicted upon 
 you." 
 
THE POLISH SLAVE. 327 
 
 l I have suffered no pain," replied Michael, coldly. " Or 
 if I did, it is the duty of a slave to suffer pain. You re 
 minded me this morning that I was still a slave." 
 
 " No, no ! It is / that am your slave ! " cried the lady. 
 "Your slave body and soul. Behold! I kiss your feet 
 in token of submission, my lord and master! Michael, 
 I love you I adore you ! I would follow you barefoot to 
 the end of the world. Let me kiss your burning wounds ; 
 and O, forgive forgive me ! " 
 
 Michael raised her to her feet, and gazed steadily in her 
 countenance. 
 
 " Lady," said he, " I loved you years ago, when, as a 
 boy, I was only permitted to gaze on you, as we gaze upon 
 the stars, that we may worship, but never possess. It was 
 this high adoration that refined and ennobled my nature ; 
 that, in the mire of thraldom, taught me to aspire taught 
 me that, though a slave, I was yet a man. Through your 
 silent influence, I was enabled to refine my manners, to 
 cultivate my mind, and to fit myself for the freedom which 
 bounteous Heaven had in store for me." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " replied Anna. " You have made yourself 
 all that can render a woman happy. There is not a noble 
 in the land who can boast of accomplishments like yours 
 and you are beautiful as a. virgin's dream of angels." 
 
 " These are flattering words, lady." 
 
 " They come from the heart, Michael." 
 
 " You have told me what I am, lady. Now hear what I 
 require in the woman I would wed. She must be beautiful, 
 for beauty should ever mate with beauty ; high born, for the 
 lowly of birth are aspiring, and never wed their equals 
 yet above all, gentle, womanly, kind, forgiving, affectionate* 
 No unsexed Semiramis or Zenobia for me." 
 
 " I will make myself all that you desire, Michael." 
 
328 THE POLISH SLAVE. 
 
 "We cannot change our natures," replied Michael, 
 coldly. 
 
 " But you will forgive me ? " 
 
 " I arn not now in a condition to answer you. Smarting 
 with indignation I can ill suppress, I cannot command 
 the calmness requisite to reply in fit terms to the generous 
 confidence of a high -born lady. Retire to your apartment, 
 lady, for your father is expected momently, and I must see 
 him first alone." 
 
 Anna kissed the hand of the slave, and retired slowly. 
 A few moments afterwards the gallop of a horse was heard 
 entering the court yard, and this sound was followed by the 
 appearance of Count Alexis, who threw himself into the 
 arms of Michael, and pressed him to his heart. 
 
 " J v > Jy> Michael ! " he exclaimed. " You are now 
 free as free as air ! Here are the documents ; my slave 
 no longer my friend always. And as soon as you choose 
 to join the service, you can lead a troop of the royal cav 
 aliers." 
 
 Michael poured out his thanks to his generous master. 
 
 " And now," said the count, " to touch upon a matter 
 nearer still to my heart. Since the adventure in the forest, 
 I have loved you as a son. To make you such in reality 
 would be to crown my old age with happiness. My daugh 
 ters are acknowledged to be beautiful, fitting mates for the 
 proudest of the land. I offer you the hand of her you can 
 love the best; make your election, and I doubt not her 
 heart will second my wishes and yours." 
 
 " My noble friend," said Michael, " I accept your offer 
 gratefully. You have made me the happiest of men. You 
 will pardon me, I know, when I confess that I have dared 
 to raise mj eyes to one of your daughters. Without your 
 
THE POLISH SLAVE. 32S 
 
 consent the secret should have been hidden forever in my 
 own heart, even had it consumed it." 
 
 Count Tekeli shook the hand of the young man warmly, 
 and then summoned his two daughters. They obeyed 
 promptly. Both were agitated, and bent their eyes upon 
 the floor. 
 
 " Count Tekeli," said Michael, speaking in a calm, clear 
 voice, " I have a word to say to this your younger daugh 
 ter, the lady Anna." 
 
 As her name was uttered, the young girl raised her eyes, 
 inquiringly, to the face of the speaker. 
 
 " Lady, but now," said Michael, " you solicited my for 
 giveness on your knees." 
 
 " What ! " cried the count, the blood mounting to his tem 
 ples ; " a daughter of mine solicit on her knees forgiveness 
 of one so late my more than vassal my slave ! What is 
 the meaning of this ? " 
 
 "It means," cried Michael, kindling as he spoke, "that 
 this morning, during your absence, count, nay, a half 
 hour before your return, this, your younger daughter, in a 
 moment of ill-founded jealousy and rage, usurping your vir 
 tual rights, rights you had yourself annulled, doomed 
 me to the knout ! yea, had me scourged by menials in 
 the court yard of your castle ! " 
 
 " How," cried the count, addressing his daughter, " dared 
 you commit this infamy on the person of my friend the 
 Bavior of your life ? " 
 
 " I did, I did ! " cried Anna, wringing her hands. 
 
 "And you asked me to forgive you," said Michael. 
 ' You offered me your hand, and begged me to accept it. 
 My answer is, Never, never, never ! The moment you laid 
 the bloody scourge upon my back, you lost your hold upon 
 my heart forever ! I were less than a man could I forgive 
 28* 
 
330 . THE POLISH SLAVE. 
 
 this outrage on my manhood. I savad your life you re 
 paid it with the lash. It is not the lash that wounds, it is 
 the shame. The one eats into the living flesh, the other 
 into the living heart. Were you ten times more lovely 
 than you are, you would ever be a monster in my eyes." 
 
 The tears that coursed freely down the cheeks of the 
 lady Anna ceased 'to fall as Michael ceased to speak. A 
 deep red flush mounted to her temples, and her eyes, so 
 lately humid, shot forth glances like those of an angry ti 
 gress. She turned to the count. 
 
 " Father," said she, " will you permit a base-born slave 
 to use such language to your daughter ? " 
 
 " Silence ! " said the old man. " His heart is nobler than 
 yours. More measured terms could not have passed his 
 lips. I should have despised him had he felt and said less. 
 Get thee to thy chamber, and in penitence and prayer re 
 lieve thy conscience of the sin thou hast committed." 
 
 The lady Anna retired from the apartment with a haughty 
 air and measured step. 
 
 " Lady," said Michael, approaching Eudocia, " between 
 your sister and myself there is a gulf impassable. If ever 
 I can forgive her, it must be when those sweet and tender 
 eyes, that speak a heart all steeped in gentleness and love, 
 have smiled upon my hopes, and made me at peace with all 
 the world. Dearest Eudocia, will you accept the devotion 
 of my heart and life?" 
 
 He took her hand ; it trembled in his grasp, but was not 
 withdrawn. She struggled for composure a moment, and 
 then, resting her head upon his shoulder, wept for joy. 
 
 The nuptials of Michael and Eudocia were soon cele 
 brated. A brilliant assemblage graced the old castle on 
 the occasion ; but long before the solemnization, the count's 
 younger daughter had fled to a convent to conceal her an 
 ger and despair. 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 THE " oldest inhabitant " perfectly remembers the Wid 
 ow Trotter, who used, many years ago, to inhabit a small 
 wooden house away down in Hanover Street, in somewhat 
 close proximity to Salutation Alley. Well, this widow was 
 blessed with a son, who, like Goldsmith, and many other 
 men distinguished in after life, was the dunce of his class. 
 Numerous were the floggings which his stupidity brought 
 upon him, and the road to knowledge was with him truly a 
 " wale of tears." 
 
 One day he came home, as usual, with red eyes and 
 hands. 
 
 " O, you blockhead ! " screamed his mother, she was a 
 bit of a virago, Mrs. Trotter was, " you've ben gettin' 
 another lickin', I know." 
 
 " 0, yes," replied young Mr. Trotter ; " that's one uv the 
 reg'lar exercises lickin' me. ' Arter I've licked Trotter,' 
 sez the master, Til hear the 'rithmetic class.' But, moth 
 er, to change the subject, as the criminal said, when he 
 found the judge was getting personal, is there enny arrand 
 I can do for you ? " 
 
 " Ye," grumbled the widow ; " only you're so eternal 
 slow about every thing you undertake go get a pitcher 
 of water, and be four years about it, will ye ? " 
 
 Bob Trotter took the pitcher, and wended his way in the 
 direction of the street pump ; but he hadn't got far when 
 
 331 
 
332 OBEYING OBDERS. 
 
 he encountered his friend, Joe Buffer, the mate ot a vesse^ 
 issuing from his house, dragging a heavy sea chest after 
 him. 
 
 " Come Bob," said Joe, " bear a hand, and help us down 
 to Long Wharf with this." 
 
 " Well, so I would," answered Bob, " only you see moth 
 er sent me arter a pitcher o' water." 
 
 " What do you care about your mother she don't care 
 for you ? Come along." 
 
 " Well," said Bob, " first let me hide the pitcher where 
 I can find it again." 
 
 With these words he stowed away his earthenware under 
 a flight of stone steps, and accompanied his friend aboard 
 his ship. The pilot was urging the captain to cast off, and 
 take advantage of the tide and wind, but the latter was 
 awaiting the arrival of a boy who had shipped the day be 
 fore, wishing no good to his eyes for the delay he had 
 occasioned. 
 
 At last he turned to Bob, and said, 
 
 "What do you say, youngster, to shipping with me? 
 I'll treat you well, and give you ten dollars a month." 
 
 " I should like to go," said Bob, hesitatingly. " But my 
 mother " 
 
 " Hang your mother ! " interrupted the captain. " She'll 
 be glad to get rid of you. Come will you go ? " 
 
 " I hain't got no clothes." 
 
 " Here's a chestfull. That other chap was just your size ; 
 they'll fit you to a T." 
 
 I'll go." 
 
 " Cast off that line there ! " shouted the captain ; and 
 the ship fell off with the tide, and was soon standing down 
 the bay with a fair wind, and every stitch of canvas set. 
 She was bound for the northwest coast, via Canton, and 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 333 
 
 back again, which was then called the " double voyage," 
 and usually occupied about four years. 
 
 In the mean while, the non-appearance of Bob seriously 
 alarmed his mother. A night passed, and the town crier 
 was called into requisition a week, when she gave him up, 
 had a note read for her in meeting, and went into mourn 
 ing. 
 
 Just four years after these occurrences the ship returned 
 to port, and Bob and his friend were paid off. The wages 
 of the widow's son amounted to just four hundred and 
 eighty dollars, and he found, on squaring his accounts with 
 the captain, that his advances had amounted to the odd tens, 
 and four hundred dollars clear were the fruits of his long 
 cruise. 
 
 As he walked in the direction of his mother's house, in 
 company with Joe, he scanned with a curious eye the 
 houses, the shops, and the people that he passed. Nothing 
 appeared changed ; the same signs indicated an unchanging 
 hospitality on the part of the same landlords, the same 
 lumpers were standing at the same corners it seemed as 
 if he had been gone only a day. With the old sights and 
 sounds, Bob's old feelings revived, and he almost dreaded 
 to see, debouching from some alley, a detachment of boys 
 sent by his ancient enemy, the schoolmaster, to know why 
 he had been playing truant, and to carry him back to re 
 ceive the customary walloping. 
 
 When he was quite near home, he said, 
 
 " Joe, I wonder if any body's found that old pitcher." 
 
 He stooped down, thrust his arm under the stone steps, 
 and withdrew the identical piece of earthenware he had 
 deposited there just four years ago. 
 
 Having rinsed and filled it at the pump, he walked intc 
 his mother's house, and found her seated in her accustomed 
 
S34 OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 arm chair. She looked at him for a minute, recognized him, 
 screamed, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, Bob ! where have you been ? What have you 
 been doing ? " 
 
 " Gettin' that pitcher o* water," answered Bob, setting it 
 upon the table. " I always obey orders you told me to 
 be four years about it, and I was." 
 
THE DEACON'S HORSE. 
 
 AJ you turn a corner of the road, passing the base of a 
 huge ilill of granite all overgrown with ivy and scrub oak, 
 the de; Aeon's house comes full in sight. It is a quaint old edi 
 fice of wood, whose architecture proclaims it as belonging to 
 the antt revolutionary period. Innocent of paint, its dingy 
 shingles And moss-grown roof assimilated with the gray tint 
 of the oivi? stone fences and the granite boulders that rise 
 from the surrounding pasture land. The upper story pro 
 jects ove* the lower one, and in the huge double door that 
 gives ent/ance to the hall there are traces of Indian bullets 
 and tonuhawks, reminiscences of that period when it was 
 used as A blockhouse and served as a fortalice to protect the 
 inhabitants of the surrounding district, who fled hither for 
 protection from the vengeful steel and lead of the aborigines. 
 On one side of the mansion is an extensive apple orchard of 
 great antiquity, through which runs a living stream, whose 
 babble in the summer solstice, mingled with the hum of in 
 sects, is the most refreshing sound to which the ear can 
 listen. On the other side is one of those old-fashioned 
 wells, whose " old oaken bucket " rises to the action of a 
 " sweep." Two immemorial elm trees, in a green old age, 
 shadow the trim shaven lawn in front. Opposite the house, 
 on the other side of the road, is a vast barn, whose open 
 doors, in the latter part of July, afford a glimpse of a com 
 pact mass of English hay, destined for the sustenance of 
 
 335 
 
336 THE DEACON'S HORSE. 
 
 the cattle in the dreary months of winter. We must not 
 forget the huge wood pile, suggestive of a cheerful fireside 
 in the long winter evenings. 
 
 But where is the deacon's horse ? Last year, and for 
 the past twenty years preceding T you could hardly pass of 
 a summer evening, without noticing an old gray quietly 
 feeding by the roadside, lazily brushing off, with his long 
 switch tail, the hungry flies that fastened on his flanks. 
 The landscape is nothing without the old horse. The dea 
 con reared him on the homestead. When a yearling he 
 used to come regularly to the back door and there receive 
 crusts of bread, crumbs of cake, and other delicacies, the 
 free gifts of the children to their pet. He was the most 
 wonderful colt that ever was as docile as the house dog. 
 When stray poultry trespassed on the grounds, he would 
 lay his little ears back, and putting his nose close to the 
 ground, curling up his lips and showing his white teeth, 
 drive the marauders from the premises with such a "scare," 
 that they would refrain from their incursions for a week to 
 come. But he was incapable of injuring a living thing. 
 
 When old enough for use, he submitted to the discipline 
 of bit and bridle without a single opposing effort. And 
 what a fine figure he made in harness ! How smartly he 
 trotted off to church carrying the whole family behind him 
 in a Dearborn wagon ! How proud was his carriage when 
 he bore the deacon on his back ! 
 
 The old man once made a long journey on horseback, to 
 visit a brother who lived in the northern part of New Eng 
 land. A great portion of the way there was only a bridle 
 path to follow through the woods, and this was frequently 
 obstructed by fallen trees. When the impediment was 
 merely a bare trunk, the gallant gray cleared it gayly at a 
 flying leap ; when the tree was encumbered with branches, 
 
THE DEACON'S HORSE. 337 
 
 he clambered over it like a wild cat. Once the deacon 
 was obliged to dismount, and crawl on his hands and knees 
 through the dense branches ; the sagacious horse imitated his 
 example, and worked his way through like a panther. 
 
 But age came upon the good gray. His sight began 
 to fail his knees to falter. His teeth were entirely worn 
 away. 
 
 After a bitter struggle the deacon concluded to replace 
 him by a younger horse. Life had become a burden to 
 the old family servant, of which it was a morcy to relieve 
 him. Yet, even then, the deacon was reluctant to give a 
 positive order for his execution. 
 
 One day he called his eldest son to him. 
 
 u Abijah," said he, " I'm going over to "W., to get that 
 colt I was speaking about. While I am gone I want you 
 to dispose of the poor old gray. I shouldn't like to sell him 
 to any body that would abuse him." 
 
 He could say no more but Abijah understood him. 
 When his father had gone, he went into the meadow, and 
 dug a deep pit, beside which he placed the sods at first re 
 moved by the spade. He then carefully loaded his rifle 
 and called to the old gray. The poor animal, who was ac 
 customed to obey the voice of every member of the family, 
 feebly neighed and tottered to the brink of the pit. The 
 young man threw a handkerchief over the horse's eyes, and 
 placing the muzzle of the rifle to his ear, fired. The 
 poor old horse fell, without a groan, into the grave which 
 had been prepared for him. With streaming eyes, Abijah 
 threw the earth over the remains of his playmate, and then 
 carefully replaced the sod. 
 
 When the deacon returned with his fine new horse, he 
 manifested no elation at his purchase, nor, though he per 
 ceived that the stall was empty, did he trust himself to 
 
538 THE DEACON'S HORSE. 
 
 make any inquiries respecting tfie old gray. Only the 
 family noticed, that in the course of the afternoon, in wan 
 dering through the meadow, he came upon the new-made 
 grave, and though the sods had been carefully replaced, 
 he evidently noticed traces of the spade, and suspected the 
 cause, for he tried the soil with his foot, and was also ob 
 served to pass the back of his hand across his eyes. But 
 he never alluded to his old servant. 
 
 If there be men who can smile at the grief of a family 
 for the loss of an animal who has been long endeared to 
 them by service and association, be assured that their hearts 
 are not in the right place ; and that they are individuals 
 who would exhibit a like callousness tD the loss of human 
 friends. 
 
THE CONTRABANDISTS 
 
 A TALE OF THE PACIFIC COAST. 
 
 NIGHT was setting in a clear, starlight night as a 
 small armed brig was working her way into a little bay 
 upon the western coast of Mexico. She was a trim-built 
 craft, and not too deeply laden to conceal the symmetry of 
 her dark and exquisitely-modelled hull. The cleanness of 
 her run, the elegance of her lines, the rake of her slender 
 masts, and the cut of her sails, showed her, at a glance, to 
 be a Baltimore-built clipper at the time of which we 
 speak some years ago the fastest thing upon the ocean. 
 She was working to windward against a light breeze, and 
 hence was unable to exhibit any thing of her qualities, 
 though a seaman's eye would have decided at a glance that 
 she could sail like a witch. The Zanthe, for that was the 
 name inscribed in gilt letters on her stern and sideboards, 
 might have been a dangerous customer in a brush, for her 
 armament consisted of ten brass eighteens, and her crew 
 of sixty picked seamen an abundance of men to work 
 the brig, and serve her batteries with satisfaction and credit. 
 
 Not to keep the reader any longer in suspense with re 
 gard to her character and purpose, we will inform him that 
 the Zanthe was a smuggler, and for some years had been 
 engaged in the illegal game of defrauding the revenue of 
 tl* Mexican republic. She was commanded by a Scotch- 
 
 339 
 
340 TIIK CONTRABANDISTA. 
 
 man named Morris, and her first mate was a Yankee, 
 answering to the hail of Pardon G. Simpkins, as gallant a 
 fellow and as good a seaman as ever trod a plank. It was 
 her custom to land contraband goods at different points 
 upon the coast where lighters were kept concealed, and 
 where the merchandise was taken charge of by the shore- 
 gang, a numerous and well-appointed body of picked men, 
 mounted and armed to the teeth, and provided with a large 
 number of mules for transporting the goods into the in 
 terior. The merchandise, lightered off from the brig, was 
 hidden in the chaparral, if it came on shore before the 
 mule trains were ready, and it was piled up with combus 
 tibles, in such a manner that, should the vigilantes surprise 
 them in sufficient numbers to effect a seizure, and over 
 come resistance, a match thrown among the booty secured 
 its destruction in a few moments. A smoke by day and a 
 fire by night, upon the shore, was the signal for the brig to 
 approach and come to anchor. 
 
 The Zanthe, as we before said, slowly worked her way 
 to her anchorage. One by one, her white sails, on which 
 the last flush of the sunset fires had just faded, were all 
 furled, and, her anchors dropped, she swung round with the 
 tide, and rode in safety. A Bengola light was displayed 
 for a moment from the foretop, and answered by another 
 from the shore. 
 
 " All right, cap'n," said the mate, walking aft to where 
 Morris was standing, near the wheel. " The critters have 
 seen us, and that are firework means that there aint no 
 vigilantes round abeout. I spose we shall hev the lighters 
 along side airly in the mornin'." 
 
 " Yes," said the captain. " I wonder whether Don Mar 
 tinez is with the shore gang." 
 
 "Not knowin', can't say," replied the mate. "Most 
 
THE CONTRABANDISTA. #41 
 
 likely he is, howsomdever 'cause our cargo is vallable, 
 and he'd be likely to look after it." 
 
 " You know, Pardon," said the captain, " this is to be 
 our last voyage." 
 
 " Edxactly," answered the mate. 
 
 " And I hope it will turn out well for the owners. For 
 my part, I'm tired of this life. Circumstances induced me 
 to adopt it ; but I can't say that in my conscience I have 
 ever approved it." 
 
 "Why, cap'n, you astonish me!" exclaimed the mate. 
 " You don't mean to say that you think it's any harm to 
 cheat the greasers." 
 
 " Yes I do," replied the captain, shaking his head. 
 " And I think the aggravation of the offence is, that I am 
 an adopted citizen of the republic of the stars and stripes. 
 I am engaged in defrauding the government of a sister 
 republic." 
 
 " A pretty sort er sister republic," replied the mate, dis 
 dainfully. " A poor, miserable set of thievin', throat- 
 cuttin', monte-playin', cattle-stealin', bean-eatin' griffins. 
 If our government had had any spunk, we'd have pitched 
 into 'em long ago. And it was only because they're weaker 
 than we be, that we haven't licked 'em into spun yarn." 
 
 "But suppose, Pardon, we should be (a chance that, 
 thank Heaven, has never yet occurred) overhauled by one 
 of their revenue cutters." 
 
 " The little Zanthe could walk away from her like a 
 racer from a plough horse." 
 
 " But, supposing we were surprised, .fcid lay where we 
 could'nt run." 
 
 " Cap'n," said Pardon, glancing along the grim batteries 
 of the Zanthe, " do you see them are lovely bull dogs ? 
 And them are sturdy Jacks what's a sittin' on the breeches 
 29* w 
 
342 THE CONTRABANDISTA. 
 
 of the guns? What on airth was they made for? A 
 couple of broadsides, starboard and larboard, would settle 
 the hash of the smartest revenue cutter that ever dipped 
 her fore foot in the water." 
 
 " And the after thought would never trouble you, Par 
 don?" 
 
 " Never ! 'shelp me, Bob," replied the mate, energet 
 ically. " Greasers isn't human bein's. Besides, it's all 
 fair play, life for life, and the gentleman with the single 
 fluke tail take the loser. Haint they set a price on oui 
 heads ? Eight thousand dollars on your'n, and five thou 
 sand on mine ? I never was worth five thousand down at 
 Portland ; but if they've marked me up too high, it's their 
 own look out. They'll never be called upon to pay it. 
 But this sellin' a fellur's head standin', like a lot of fire 
 wood, is excessively aggravating and gets a fellur's mad 
 up. But, hallo, cap'n, here comes a shore boat. I'll bet 
 it's Don Martinez." 
 
 A row boat, manned by eight Mexicans, with a muffled 
 figure in the stern sheets, now pulled out for the brig, and 
 soon lay alongside. On being challenged, a preconcerted 
 watchword was given in reply, and the oars being shipped, 
 a couple of boat hooks held the boat fast at the foot of the 
 starboard side-ladder. This done, the person in the stern 
 sheets arose and prepared to ascend the brig's side. 
 
 " Petticoats, by thunder ! " muttered the mate. " What 
 does this mean, cap'n ? " 
 
 Captain Morris was evidently surprised at the sex of his 
 visitor, but he assisted and welcomed her on board with the 
 frank courtesy of a seaman. The light of a battle lantern 
 that stood upon the harness cask, displayed the dark but 
 handsome features of a young Mexican senorita, whose 
 email and graceful hand, sparkling with rings, gathered her 
 
THE CONTRABAND ISTA. 843 
 
 Bilken rebosa around her symmetrical figure, in folds that 
 would have enchanted an artist. 
 
 " Senor captain," said she, " I bear you a message from 
 Martinez. He bade me tell you to land half your cargo 
 here to-morrow, as before agreed upon. The remainder 
 goes to Santa Rosara, fifty miles to the northward, where 
 he awaits you with a chosen band." 
 
 " Senorita," replied the captain, with hesitation, " it were 
 ungallant to express a doubt. But ours is a perilous busi 
 ness, and on the mere word of a stranger though that 
 stranger be an accomplished lady " 
 
 "O, I come furnished with credentials, senor," inter 
 rupted the lady, with a smile ; " there is a letter from Mar 
 tinez." 
 
 Captain Morris hastily perused the letter which the lady 
 handed him. Its contents vouched for her fidelity, and, in 
 timating that the lady was a dear friend of his, and likely 
 to be soon intimately connected with him, committed her to 
 the charge of the captain, and requested him to bring her 
 on to Santa Rosara on board the brig. 
 
 Morris immediately expressed his sense of the honor done 
 him, and escorted the senorita below, where he abandoned 
 his state room and cabin to her use. Pardon G. Simpkins 
 walked his watch in great ill humor, muttering to himself 
 incessantly. 
 
 " What in the blazes keeps these here women folks contin 
 ually emergin' from their aliment and mixin' into other 
 spheres? They're well enough ashore, but on soundin's 
 and blue water they beat old Nick. And aboard a contra- 
 landista, too! It's enough to make a Quaker kick his 
 grandmother. Howsomdever, Morris is just soft-headed 
 fool enough to like it, and think it all fine fun. I shouldn't 
 wonder if he was ass enough to get spliced one of these days. 
 
344 THE CONTRABANDIST A. 
 
 and take his wife to sea. I think I see a doggarytypc 
 of myself took as. mate of a vessel that sails with a cap'n's 
 wife aboard." 
 
 And, chuckling at this idea, he put an extra quid in his 
 mouth, and ruminated in a better frame of mind. 
 
 In the morning, Mr. Simpkins turned out betimes to pre 
 pare for the landing of a portion of the cargo ; and he was 
 busied in this duty, when an incident occurred that might 
 well have startled a less ready and self-possessed man than 
 the mate of the Zanthe. 
 
 Suddenly rounding the headland on the north, a cutter, 
 with the Mexican flag flying at her mizzen peak, and the 
 muzzles of her guns gleaming through the port holes, came 
 in view of the astonished mate. She stood into the bay, till 
 within rifle shot of the bow of the Zanthe, when she dropped 
 her sails and came to anchor. 
 
 As she accomplished this manoeuvre, the mate mustered 
 the crew, run out his guns, which were all shotted, and then 
 quietly roused the captain and brought him on deck. 
 
 " That looks a little wicked, cap'n," said the mate, point 
 ing at the revenue cutter. 
 
 The captain shook his head. 
 
 "Now, cap'n," said the mate, briskly, "just speak the 
 word, and I'll give him my starboard battery before the slow- 
 motioned critter fires a gun." 
 
 " No, no," said the captain ; " wait ! " 
 
 Mr. Simpkins looked fixedly at the captain, thrust his 
 hands deep into the pockets of his pea jacket, and sitting 
 down on the breech of a gun, whistled Yankee Doodle in 
 such slow time that it sounded like a dead march. 
 
 In another minute, a barge was lowered from the side of 
 the Mexican cutter, and manned with armed sailors, while 
 an officer in uniform took his seat in the stern sheets. 
 
THE CONTRABANDISTA. 345 
 
 The barge pulled alongside, Captain Morris neither 
 hailing nor offering to take any action in the premises. 
 Leaving only a boatkeeper in the barge, the Mexican officer, 
 followed by his crew, sprang up the ladder, and bounding 
 on deck, struck his drawn sword on the capstan, and an 
 nounced the Zanthe as his prize. 
 
 " To whom shall I have the honor of surrendering ? " 
 asked Captain Morris, touching his hat. 
 
 " My name," said the officer, glancing from a paper he 
 held in his hand, as he spoke, " is Captain Ramon Morena, 
 of the Vengador cutter. You, I presume, are Captain Mor 
 ris, of the Zanthe." 
 
 Morris bowed. 
 
 " And you are Pardon G. Simpkins, I suppose," said the 
 Mexican, addressing the mate. 
 
 "Pardon G. Simpkins five thousand dollars," replied 
 that gentleman. 
 
 u Captain Morena," said Morris, " before we proceed to 
 business, do me the favor to walk into my cabin. While 
 we are below," he added, " I trust your men will be ordered 
 not to maltreat my poor fellows." 
 
 The Mexican captain glanced, with some surprise, at the 
 formidable array of men upon the deck of the Zanthe, and 
 then, after a few words in Spanish to his boat's crew, fol 
 lowed the captain and mate into the cabin. 
 
 Captain Morena was a very fine looking man of thirty, 
 with magnificent hair and mustaches, and wore a very showy 
 uniform. He threw himself carelessly upon the transom, and 
 laid his sword upon the cabin table, while Morris and the 
 mate seated themselves on camp stools. 
 
 " Serior capitan," said Morris, " I trust, though it be early 
 in the day, that you have no objection to take a glass of 
 wine with me." 
 
84.6 THE CONTRABANDISTA. 
 
 The Mexican assented to the proposition, and the steward 
 produced a bottle, glasses, and cigars. 
 
 " Your health, capitan," said Morris, with a courteous 
 Binile ; " and may you ever be as successful as on the present 
 occasion." 
 
 "Muchas gracias senor," replied the Mexican; "you 
 bear the loss of your brig very good humoredly. What 
 may she be worth ? " 
 
 " She cost thirty thousand dollars in Baltimore," replied 
 Morris. 
 
 " You must regret to lose her." 
 
 " That admits no question, senor." 
 
 " But that is of minor importance, compared with your 
 other loss." 
 
 "What loss?" 
 
 " The loss of your life. I fear nothing can save you or 
 your friend here. Yet, perhaps, intercession may do some 
 thing. I suppose you would prefer being shot to hanging 
 from the yard-arm." 
 
 " Decidedly," answered Morris. 
 
 " Or working for life on the highway, with a ball and 
 chain, you would think preferable to both." 
 
 " Cap'n Morris," said the mate, speaking in English, " it 
 strikes me that our friend in the hairy face is a leetle grain 
 out in his reckoning ; 'pears to me, that instead of our bein' 
 in his power, he's in ourn. Just say the word, and I'll gin 
 the Vengador a broadside that'll sink her in the shiver of a 
 main topsail." 
 
 " You are right, Pardon," said the captain, smiling ; " the 
 gentleman has missed a figure, certainly. Captain Morena," 
 he added, speaking in Spanish, " you have made a small 
 mistake ; you are my prisoner, sir. Nay, start not ; you are 
 completely in my power. Dare but to breathe another word 
 
TEE CONTRA.BA.ND 1ST A. 347 
 
 of menace, or offer to resist me, and the Yengador shall 
 go to Davy Jones. Pass me that sword." 
 
 Morena, taken by surprise, obeyed. 
 
 " Gi' me his toastin' fork, cap'n," said the mate, " and I'll 
 lock it up in my state room ; " which was done almost as 
 soon as said. 
 
 "And now, Captain Morena," said Morris, "just walk 
 on deck and explain matters to your people, and then I'll 
 show you how fast a Yankee crew and Mexican lightermen 
 can unload a contrabandista." 
 
 They adjourned to the deck, and the Mexican captain 
 was compelled to remain an inactive witness, while boat load 
 after boat load of contraband goods was landed under his own 
 eyes, and the very guns of his cutter. When the work was 
 finished, Captain Morris approached Morena, and said, 
 
 " Captain, I have a word to say to you. I am going up 
 the coast fifty miles, to land the remainder of my cargo at 
 Santa Rosara. Give me your word that you will not fol 
 low and molest me, that you will not breathe a word of 
 what you have seen and heard, and I will restore your 
 sword and release you on parole." 
 
 The revenue captain gave the required pledge, and his 
 sword was restored ; after which his men were permitted 
 to man the barge. 
 
 "And now, captain, one bumper at parting," said the 
 hospitable Morris. " The steward has just opened a fresh 
 bottle, and besides I have a pleasant surprise for you." 
 
 As they entered the cabin, Morena started back and 
 uttered an exclamation as his eyes fell on the beautiful face 
 and graceful figure of the Mexican senorita, who had taken 
 her seat at the table. 
 
 " Maria ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes," replied the lady, with sparkling eyes and height- 
 
348 THE CONTRABANDISTA. 
 
 ened color. " I have escaped your power. The man who 
 basely sought to coerce my inclinations has been baffled, 
 and ere another sun has set, I shall be the bride of the 
 smuggler Martinez." 
 
 " Malediction ! " cried the Mexican. 
 
 " Come, come, cap'n," said the mate, " take a horn, and 
 settle your proud stomach." 
 
 " Never," said the Mexican. " A curse on all of ye ! " 
 and he sprang to the deck, threw himself into his barge, 
 and was soon aboard of the cutter. 
 
 As the clipper brig, with all her canvas set, and her lar 
 board tacks aboard, bowed gracefully to the freshening 
 oreeze, and bowled away under the stern of the Mexican 
 cutter, the mate said to the captain, 
 
 " Cap'n, I wish you'd just let me give that fellur a broad 
 side, if it was only just to clean the guns, afore I run 
 'em in." 
 
 "No, no," replied the captain, smiling, "honor bright, 
 my boy. We'll keep our word to him." 
 
 " That's more than he'll do to us," answered the mate, 
 " or I don't know the natur of a greaser. One broadside 
 from our starboard battery would settle him, and save all 
 future trouble, and make every thing pleasant and com 
 fortable on all sides." 
 
 But Captain Morris would not listen to reason, and so 
 the guns were secured, and the ports closed, and the little 
 Zanthe went bounding on her course to Santa Rosara. 
 
 She came to anchor in a deep bay which she entered at 
 nightfall, and almost immediately a shore boat, under the 
 command of Martinez, boarded the brig. The meeting 
 between the smuggler and his bride was so affectionate, as 
 to call a tear even into the eye of Mr. Pardon G. Simpkins. 
 The smuggler laughed loudly when he heard of the discom- 
 
THE CONTRABANDISTA. 349 
 
 fiture of Captain Morena, the discarded suitor of the senori- 
 ta Maria. 
 
 The next day all hands were employed in landing the 
 remainder of the cargo, and at night a very worthy and 
 accommodating priest ca-me off from the shore, and united 
 Martinez and Maria in the bonds of holy matrimony. The 
 nuptials were celebrated with great rejoicings and revelry, 
 and the fun was kept up till a late hour of the night, when 
 ihe happy couple retired to the cabin. 
 
 The first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to appear 
 in the east, when the ever vigilant ear of the mate, who 
 never took a wink of sleep while the brig was lying on 
 shore, detected the cautious plunge of oars, and soon he 
 Descried a barge pulling towards the brig. 
 
 "Catch a weazle asleep," said the Yankee to himself; 
 " these greasers don't know as much as a farrer hen." And 
 without arousing the captain, he quietly mustered the crew, 
 and with as little noise as possible, the guns were run out 
 upon the starboard side, which the boat was fast approach 
 ing. 
 
 A moment after he hailed. No answer was given, but 
 the light of the lanterns flashed on the arms of a large body 
 of men, and the mate recognized the figure of the captain 
 of the Vengador in the stern sheets. 
 
 " Sheer off," shouted the mate, " or by the shade of 
 Gin'ral Jackson, I'll blow you all to Davy Jones." 
 
 " Pull for your lives," shouted the voice of Morena ; and 
 the boat bounded towards the brig. 
 
 " Fire ! " cried the mate. 
 
 Crash went the guns ! The iron hurtled through the 
 air, and the splintering of wood, as the metal struck the 
 barge, was distinctly heard amid the groans and shrieks ol 
 
 the vigilantes. 
 
 30 
 
350 THE CONTRABANDISTA. 
 
 In one moment it was all over. Morris and Martinez 
 rushed to the deck. 
 
 " What's the matter. Pardon ? " asked the former. 
 
 " Nothin', cap'n cap'n, nothin'," answered the mate. 
 " Only there aint quite so many greasers in the world at 
 present, as there was five minutes since. Morena broke 
 his parole, and tried to board us by surprise, and I gin* him 
 my starboard battery that's all." 
 
 " Then I'm off for blue water ! " cried the captain. 
 
 " And I for the mountains ! " said Martinez. " Tho 
 mules are all packed and the horses saddled. The vigi 
 lantes must wear sharp spurs if they catch us." 
 
 It was a hurried parting that of the smuggler and his 
 bride with the captain and mate of the Zanthe. But they 
 got safely on shore, and the whole band effected their 
 escape. 
 
 The Zanthe spread her wings, and some days afterwards 
 was crossing the equator. She was never known again as 
 a free trader. The captain and mate had both " made their 
 piles," and after arriving at the Atlantic states retired from 
 sea. Pardon G. Simpkins took up his residence in Boston, 
 and during the late war with Mexico, was very prominent 
 in his denunciations of that republic, and very liberal in his 
 donations to the Massachusetts regiment, to the members ol 
 which his parting admonition was, to " give them greasers 
 Bts," 
 
THE STAGE-STRUCK GENTLEMAN. 
 
 FEW amateurs of the drama have passed through theif 
 town lives, without having been, at some one period of their 
 career, what is called stage struck, afflicted with a mania 
 cal desire to make a " first appearance," to be designated 
 in posters as a " YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF THIS CITY," in 
 connection with one Mr. Shakspeare, the " author of cer 
 tain plays." The stage-struck youth is easily recognized 
 by certain symptoms which manifest themselves at an early 
 stage of the disorder. He is apt to pass his hand fre 
 quently through his " horrent locks," to frown darkly with 
 out any possible reason, and to look daggers at his landlady 
 when invited to help himself to brown-bread toast. His 
 voice, in imitation of the " Boy," the " Great American 
 tragedian," alternates between the deep bass of a veteran 
 porker and the mellifluous tenor of a " pig's whisper." He 
 is apt to roll his eyes quickly from side to side, to gnsp and 
 heave his chest most unaccountably. He reads nothing of 
 the papers but the theatrical advertisements and critiques. 
 He has an acquaintance with two or three fourth-rate stock 
 actors and a scene shifter, and is consequently " up " in any 
 amount of professional information and slang, which he 
 retails to every one he meets, without regard to the taste 
 or time of his auditors. Have you seen the new drama of 
 the Parricidal Oysterman ? If you have, you must agree 
 with him it is the greatest affair old Pel. has ever broight 
 
 351 
 
352 THE STAGE-STRUCK GENTLEMAN. 
 
 out ; if you have not, you must submit to his contemptuous 
 pity for your ignorance. For a person who passes his 
 evenings in the society of books and friends, or in the 
 country, the stage-struck gentleman has the most profound 
 contempt. How one can live without nightly inhaling the 
 odor of gas and orange peel, is to him a mystery inexplica 
 ble. He is aided and abetted in his practices by the sym 
 pathy and example of other stage-struck youths, all "fore 
 doomed their fathers' soul to cross," all loathing their daily 
 avocations for the time being, all spending their earnings, 
 or borrowings, or stealings, on bits of pasteboard that admit 
 them to their nightly banquet. The stage struck always 
 copy the traits of the leading actor of the hour, whoever he 
 may be, and grunt and bluster in imitation of " Ned " 
 meaning Forrest or quack and stutter a la " Bill " that 
 is, Macready as the wind of popular favor veers and 
 changes. It is curious, at a representation of the " Gladia 
 tor," to winnow these young gentlemen from the mass by 
 the lens of an opera glass. There you may see the knit 
 brows, the high shirt collars, the folded arms, the pursed-up 
 iips, the hats drawn down over the eyes, that are the cer 
 tain indications of the stage-struck Forrestians. 
 
 If, after the performance, fate and a designing oysterman 
 place you in the next box to three or four of these genius 
 es, you will, unless very much of a philosopher, be dis 
 gusted, for the time being, with human nature. Their pal 
 try imitations, their miserable brayings, their misquotations 
 from Shakspeare, their mendacious accounts of interviews 
 with the " Boy," will be enough to drive you mad. Some 
 such thing as the following will occur : 
 
 Waiter. Here are your oysters, gentlemen ; (" a slight 
 shade of irony in the emphasis.") 
 
 Stage-struck Youth, No. 1, (in a deep guttural tone.) " Let 
 em come in we're armed ! " 
 
TIIE STAGE-STRUCK GENTLEMAN. 353 
 
 Staye-struck Youth, No. 2, (to waiter.) " Red ruffian, 
 retire ! " 
 
 Stage-struck Youth, No. 3, (to Stage-struck Youth, No. 4.) 
 " How are you now, Dick ? " 
 
 Stage-struck Youth, No. 4. " Richard's himself again ! " 
 
 O, Dii immortales ! can these things be ? In other words, 
 can such animals exist ? 
 
 . It has been calculated by a celebrated mathematician, 
 that out of every fourteen dozen of these stage-struck 
 young gentlemen, one actually makes a first appearance. 
 This event causes an enormous flutter in the circle of aspi 
 rants from which the promotion takes place. As the event 
 ful night approaches, the most active and enterprising among 
 them besiege the newspapers with elaborate puffs of their 
 confrere, a column long, and are astonished and enraged 
 that editors exclude them entirely, or exscissorize them to a 
 dozen lines. Of what importance is the foreign news, in 
 comparison with the first appearance of Bill Smithy in the 
 arduous character of Hamlet? Has Colonel Greene no* 
 sympathy with struggling genius ? Or is it the result of an 
 infernal plot of the actors to put down competition, and sus 
 tain a professional monopoly ? 
 
 The stage-struck young gentleman has passed through 
 the fiery ordeal of " rehearsals," has been duly pushed and 
 shaken into his " suit of sables," glittering with steel bugles, 
 his hands have been adorned with black kids, his plumed 
 hat rests upon his brow, his rapier dangles at his side. 
 The curtain goes up and he is pushed upon the stage. His 
 first appearance is the signal for a thundering round of 
 generous applause, in which his faithful fellow-Forrestians 
 are leading claquers. But the audience soon discover that 
 he is a " guy " escaped from the surveillance of an anxious 
 mother. The stage-struck young gentleman is "goosed." 
 30* 
 
854 THE STAGE-STRUCK GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Storms of hisses or bursts of ironical applause greet every 
 sentence that he utters, and the curtain finally falls on his 
 disgrace. This generally cures the disease of which we 
 have been speaking. A night of agony, a week of pain, 
 and the young gentleman, disenchanted and disenthralled, 
 looks back upon his temporary mania with feelings of 
 humiliation and surprise, cuts his aiders and abettors, and 
 betakes himself seriously to the rational business of life. 
 
 But there are some stage-struck gentlemen whom nothing 
 can convince of their total unfitness for the stage. You 
 may hiss them night after night, you may present them 
 with bouquets of carrots, and wreaths of cabbage leaves and 
 onions, and leather medals, and services of tin plate ; and if 
 you find them " insensible to kindness," you may try brick 
 bats but in vain. They will cling to the stage for life 
 living, or rather starving, as attaches to some theatre, 
 the signal for disturbance whenever they present them 
 selves ; detected by the lynx eyes of the public, whether 
 disguised as Roman citizens or Neapolitan brigands, anc 
 severely punished for incompetency by heaped-up insult 
 and abuse. These men live and die miserably ; yet, doubt 
 less, their lives are checkered with rays of hope ; they 
 regard themselves as martyrs, and die with the secret 
 consciousness that they have " acted well their parts." 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 
 
 A STORY OF VALENCIA. 
 
 IN a fine summer night in the latter half of the seven 
 teenth century, (the day and year are immaterial,) Clarence 
 Landon, a handsome and high-spirited young Englishman, 
 who had been passing some time in the south of Spain, was 
 standing on the banks of the Guadalquiver, in the environs 
 of the ancient city of Valencia, watching with anxious eyes 
 the fading sails of a small felucca, just visible in the golden 
 rays of the rising moon, as, catching a breath of the fresh 
 ening western breeze, they bore the light craft out upon 
 the blue bosom of the Mediterranean. Though the scene 
 was one of surpassing beauty, though the air was balmy, 
 and came to his brow laden with the fragrance of the 
 orange, the myrtle, and the rose, the expression of the 
 young man's face was melancholy in the extreme. 
 
 " Too late ! " he muttered to himself ; " too late ! It is 
 hard, after having ventured so much for them, that I should 
 have been baffled in my attempt to escape with them. 
 However, they are safe and happy. If this breeze holds, 
 they will soon pass Cape St. Martin. Dear Estella, how 
 I value this pledge of your friendship and gratitude." 
 
 355 
 
356 THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 And the young man, after raising to his lips a small 
 diamond star, attached to a golden chain, deposited the 
 trinket in his bosom, and then, with a parting glance at the 
 distant vessel, turned homewards in the direction of the city 
 gates. 
 
 Absorbed in his own reflections, he did not notice that 
 his footsteps were dogged by a tall figure, muffled in a 
 black cloak, which pursued him in the moonlight, like his 
 shadow, and left him only when he entered his posada. 
 
 Landon spent some time in his room in reading and arran 
 ging letters and papers ; and when the clock of a neighboring 
 cathedral sounded the hour of eleven, threw himself upon his 
 bed without undressing, and was soon asleep. From a dis 
 turbed and unrefreshing slumber, crowded with vexatious 
 visions, he was suddenly and rudely roused by a rough hand 
 laid upon his shoulder. He started upright in bed, and gazed 
 around him with astonishment. His chamber was filled 
 by half a dozen sinister-looking men, robed entirely in black, 
 in whom he recognized, not without a shudder, the dreaded 
 familiars of the Holy Office, the officials of the Inquisitorial 
 Tribune. His first impulse was to grope for his arms ; but 
 his sword and pistols had been removed. A rough voice 
 bade him arise and follow, and he had no choice but to 
 obey the mandate. Preceded and followed by the familiars, 
 who were all armed, as he judged by the clash of steel 
 that attended each footstep, though no weapons were appar 
 ent, he descended the staircase, came out upon the street, 
 and was conducted through many a winding lane and pas 
 sage to a low-browed arch, which opened into the basement 
 story of a huge embattled building, that rose like a fortress 
 before him. The conductor of the band halted here, and 
 knocking thrice upon an oaken door, studded with huge 
 iron nails, it was opened silently, and the party entered a 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 357 
 
 dtrk, subterranean passage of stone, lighted only by a smoky 
 cresset lamp swinging in a recess. 
 
 After passing through this corridor, Landon was conduct 
 ed into a huge vaulted hall, dimly illuminated by the branch 
 es of an iron chandelier, by whose light he discovered in 
 front of him a raised platform, on which were seated three 
 men, robed in black, while before them, at a table, sat two 
 others, similarly attired, with writing implements before 
 them. On the platform was planted a huge banner, the 
 blazon on the folds of which was a wooden cross, flanked 
 by a branch of olive and a naked sword, the motto being, 
 " Exurge, Domine, et judica causani tuam" Rise, Lord, 
 and judge thy cause. It wanted neither this formidable 
 standard, nor the implements of torture scattered around, to 
 convince the young Englishman that he stood in the halls 
 of the Inquisition. 
 
 After being permitted to stand some time before the 
 judges, that his mind night be impressed with the terrors of 
 the place, the principal Inquisitor addressed him, demand 
 ing his name." 
 
 " Clarence Landon," was the reply. 
 
 " Your birthplace ? " 
 
 w London, England." 
 
 " Your age ? " 
 
 " Twenty-five years." 
 
 " Occupation ? " 
 
 " I am a gentleman of fortune, with no pursuit but that 
 of knowledge and pleasure." 
 
 " You are accused," said the judge, " of having aided and 
 abetted a countryman of yours, named Walter Hamilton, 
 in seducing and carrying off Estella Martinez, a lady of a 
 noble house, and a sister of St. Ursula. How say you, guilty 
 or not guilty ? " 
 
 x 
 
858 THE DIAMOND STAR 
 
 u I am not guilty I am not capable of the infamy tvith 
 which you charge me." 
 
 " He refuses to confess," said the judge, turning to a 
 familiar, the sworn tormentor. " We must try the question. 
 Sanchez, is the rack prepared ? " 
 
 The man addressed was a brawny, muscular ruffian, 
 with a livid and forbidding countenance, whose dark eyes 
 sparkled with pleasure as he bowed assent to the interro 
 gation. 
 
 " Hold ! " cried Landon. " The truth can no longer 
 harm any but myself; and though you may inflict death 
 upon me, you shall not enjoy the fiendish satisfaction of 
 mutilating my limbs with your horrid enginery. I did aid 
 Hamilton, not indeed in ruining an injured maiden, but in 
 rescuing from the thraldom sha abhorred a lovely lady 
 whom Providence formed to make the happiness of an hon 
 orable man. By this time Estella is a happy bride." 
 
 " Her joys will be shortened," said the inquisitor, frown 
 ing. "They cannot long elude the power of Rodrigo 
 d' Almonte, at once judge of the Holy Office and governor of 
 Valencia." 
 
 " Moderate your transports, governor," replied the Eng 
 lishman, boldly ; " the fugitives are beyond youi reach. 
 This very night a swift-winged felucca bore them away 
 from these accursed shores, to a land of liberty and happi 
 ness." 
 
 The brow of Rodrigo grew black as night. 
 
 " Insolent ! " he answered ; " you have outraged and set at 
 naught the authority of church and state ; your life shall 
 pay the forfeit." 
 
 " Be it so," replied Landon, folding his arms ; " but let 
 me- tell you, that for every drop of blood shed, my country 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 359 
 
 will demand a life. The cross of St. George protects the 
 meanest subject of the English crown." 
 
 Rodrigo d' Almonte made no reply, but waving his hand, 
 Landon was removed from the tribunal and thrown into a 
 dungeon on the same floor with the hall of torture. 
 
 Towards the close of a sultry summer day, the narrow 
 streets of Valencia wore an aspect of unusual activity and 
 life, filled, as they were, with representatives of every class 
 of citizens. The tide of human beings seemed to be setting 
 in one direction, towards a plaza, or square, in the centre. 
 The Alameda was deserted by its fashionable promenaders ; 
 and young and old all, indeed, who were not bedridden 
 were at length congregated in the square. The attraction 
 was soon explained ; for in the centre of the plaza was seen 
 a lofty platform of wood, on which was erected a stout stake 
 or pillar, to which was affixed an iron chain and ring. 
 Around this were heaped, to the height of several feet, huge 
 fagots of dry wood, ready for the torch. A large body of 
 men-at-arms kept the crowd back from a large open space 
 around the platform. These preparations were made, so 
 the popular rumor ran, for the punishment of a young 
 Englishman, who had aided a Spanish nun in the violation 
 of her vows. 
 
 The numerous bells of the city were tolling heavily ; and at 
 length, after the patience of the populace had been nearly ex 
 hausted, the head of a column of men, marching in slow time, 
 was seen to enter upon the plaza. First came the governor's 
 guard, their steel caps and cuirasses and halberds polished 
 like silver. After these, walked the officials of the In 
 quisition, and some friars of the order of St. Dominic, sur 
 rounding the unfortunate Landon, who wore the corazo, or 
 pointed cap, upon his head, and the san benito, a robe painted 
 
860 THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 all over with flames and devils, typifying the awful fate 
 which awaited him. He ascended the scaffold with a firm 
 step, while the cortege ranged themselves around it ; and 
 the governor of Valencia, mounted on a splendid barbed 
 charger, and wearing his inquisitorial robes over his military 
 uniform, rode into the square, amid the vivas of the crowd 
 and the presented arms of the troops, and made a sign for 
 the ceremony to proceed. 
 
 As an officer, appointed for the purpose, was about to 
 read the sentence, a great tumult arose in the square, and 
 attracted the attention of all the spectators. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this, Alvarez ? " asked the 
 governor, addressing one of his lieutenants. 
 
 " The people, please your excellency, have got hold of 
 Isaac, the rich Jew, and insist on his beholding the august 
 spectacle of the auto dafe." 
 
 " The unbelieving dog has never liked these brave shows," 
 answered the governor, with a grim smile, " since his well- 
 beloved brother, Issachar, expiated his heresy on this spot 
 in the great auto, when we burned twenty of his tribe before 
 the king. Beshrew my heart ! he abuses my clemency in 
 permitting him to hold house and gold here in Valencia. 
 He shall behold the execution ! Make room there, and drag 
 him into the heart of the hollow square." 
 
 The cruel order was obeyed ; and the old Jew, who was 
 a -mild and venerable-looking man, was forced into the 
 centre of the plaza, whence he could have a full view of 
 the horrid scene about to be enacted. 
 
 But the indignities to which he had been subjected 
 aroused a latent spark of fire even in the soul of the aged 
 Hebrew. He lifted up his voice and cried aloud : 
 
 " Spaniards ! Christians ! are ye men, or are ye brutes ? 
 Fear ye not the vengeance of Heaven, when ye enact deeds 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 361 
 
 that would make the savage blush ? Think ye that Heaven 
 will long withhold its vengeance from atrocities that cry 
 aloud to it night and day that the innocent blood ye have 
 spilt will sink, unavenged, into the earth ? Fear and trem 
 ble, for the hour of wrath and woe is at hand ! " 
 
 The energy and eloquence with which he spoke sent a 
 strange thrill of terror through the crowd. The governor 
 alone insensible to fear, shouted from his saddle : 
 
 " Tremble for yourself, Isaac ! for, by the rood ! if you dare 
 question the justice of the Holy Office, you shall share the 
 fate of yonder prisoner." 
 
 " I fear not the wrath of man," replied the Jew ; " fear 
 you the wrath of Heaven ! " 
 
 And at this moment, as if in vindication of his words, a 
 heavy clap of thunder, that shook the city like the dis 
 charge of a park of artillery, broke upon the ear ; and one 
 of those sudden storms, so common in southerly latitudes, 
 rolled up its dark masses of clouds, and the light of day was 
 suddenly quenched, as in an eclipse. Vivid flashes of light 
 ning lit the upturned and terror-stricken faces of the cower 
 ing multitude. At the same time, the wind howled fiercely 
 through the streets that debouched upon the plaza, and toro 
 the plumage that waved and tossed upon the helmets of the 
 soldiery. 
 
 "Executioner!" roared the governor, whose high, stern 
 tones of military command were heard above the roar of the 
 sudden tornado, " do your duty ! Set fire to the fagots ! " 
 
 The order was obeyed ; the torch was applied, and already 
 a quivering, lurid flame shot up at the feet of the luckless 
 Landon, when the storm burst forth with ungovernable fury. 
 The scaffolding was blown down, the fragments scattered, 
 and the rain, descending in torrents, instantly quenched 
 both torch and fagot. The vast crowc} was thrown into 
 31 
 
862 THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 utter confusion ; the terrified horses of the cavalry plunged 
 madly among the footmen ; hundreds fell and were trampled 
 under foot ; and prayers, shrieks, and imprecations filled the 
 darkened air. 
 
 Landon was unhurt amid the wreck of the sacrificial pyre. 
 A ray of hope shot up in his heart. Scrambling out of the 
 ruins, unobserved and unpursued, he fled down the nearest 
 lane with the utmost speed. Anxious to obtain shelter, he, 
 without even a thought, climbed a garden wall ; once within 
 which he was safe, for a moment, from pursuit. Rushing 
 through a shaded alley of the garden, he found himself at 
 the door of a large and splendid house. Almost without a 
 hope of finding it yield, he tried the handle, and the door 
 opened. Silently and swiftly he ascended a large, stone 
 staircase, and took refuge in the first apartment which he 
 found before him. A beautiful young girl, the only occu 
 pant of the room, starting at the fearful apparition of a 
 stranger flying for his life, in the robe of the san benito, fell 
 upon her knees and crossed herself repeatedly, as her dark 
 eyes were fixed in terror on the intruder. 
 
 " Lady ! " cried Landon, " for the love of that Being whom 
 we both worship, though in a different form, take pity on a 
 wretched fellow-being. Save me ! save me ! " 
 
 " You are accursed and condemned," she answered, rising 
 and recoiling. 
 
 " I am ! I am ! but you know my offence. If you ever 
 loved yourself, you know how to pardon it. Think of the 
 horrid fate which awaits me, if you are pitiless." 
 
 The lady paused and reflected, Landon watching the ex 
 pression of her countenance with the most intense anxiety. 
 At length her brow cleared up ; there was an expression of 
 sweetness about her rosy lips that revived hope in the heart 
 of the fugitive. 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 363 
 
 "I will save you if I can," she answered. 
 
 a Heaven's best blessing on you for the word ! " exclaimed 
 the Englishman. 
 
 " But you have come to a dangerous place for shelter 
 and safety," she continued, sadly. " Do you know whose 
 house this is ? It is the dwelling of my father, Don Rod- 
 rigo d' Almonte, the governor of Valencia." 
 
 Landon started back in terror, but he instantly recovered 
 from that feeling. 
 
 " You, then," he said, " are Donna Florinda, in praise 
 of whose beauty and goodness all Valencia is eloquent. I 
 feel that I am safe in your hands." 
 
 "I will never betray you," said the lady. "You are 
 safe here. It is my bed chamber," she continued, blush 
 ing ; " but I resign it to you sure, from your countenance, 
 that you are a cavalier of honor, who will never give me 
 cause to repent of the step." 
 
 " Be sure of that." 
 
 " Swear it," she said, " upon this trinket, which my fa 
 ther took from your person in the hall of the Inquisition." 
 
 Landon took from Florinda's hand the diamond star 
 given him by Estella, and thus mysteriously restored, and 
 pressed it to his lips. 
 
 . "By this talisman," he said, "by this token, which I 
 prize so highly, I pledge myself not to abuse your confi 
 dence, but to repay the priceless service you render me by 
 a life of gratitude." 
 
 " You may remain here, then, for the present," said Flo 
 rinda, "till I can think what can be done for you." 
 
 " If I can only make my way to the house of the Eng 
 lish ambassador," replied Landon, " I think I can count 
 upon my safety." 
 
 Donna Florinda, after lighting a lamp, (for it was now 
 
364 THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 nightfall,) and setting upon a table some wine and fruit, left 
 tlie chamber, locking the door behind her. 
 
 Descending to the garden, she went directly to a secluded 
 arbor, embowered in foliage, at no great distance from the 
 house. 
 
 " Cesareo ! " she whispered. 
 
 A young cavalier, who was concealed in the arbor, in 
 stantly advanced, and clasped her in his arms. 
 
 " Dear Florinda," he cried, " I feared that you would 
 disappoint me. But we have yet some happy momenta to 
 pass together." 
 
 " Not a moment, Cesareo," replied the lady ; " my father 
 will soon return. I come to beg you to retire instantly, and 
 await another opportunity of meeting." 
 
 " You are anxious to get rid of me ! " replied the cav 
 alier. 
 
 " Not so ; my father will soon return, and he will be sure 
 to inquire for me directly." 
 
 " Well, then," said the lover, " if it must be so, go you 
 to the house, and leave me the solitary pleasure of watch 
 ing the window of the room gladdened by your pres 
 ence." 
 
 " No, no, Cesareo," cried Florinda, in terror, " that must 
 not be." 
 
 As she said this, her eyes were instinctively turned to the 
 window of her room, and Cesareo's followed the same di 
 rection. The shadow of Landon's figure, as it passed be 
 tween the lamp and the window, was seen defined distinctly 
 on the curtain. 
 
 " By Heaven ! " cried Cesareo, " there is a man in youi 
 bed chamber ! " 
 
 "My father!" said Florinda. 
 
 " You told me in your last breath that he had not re 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 365 
 
 turned. You are playing me false, Florinda. You have a 
 lover, and a favored one." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the agonized girl. " It is nothing, bo 
 lieve me trust not appearances. I will explain all." 
 
 But at this moment the distant clang of trumpets and 
 kettledrums was heard, announcing the governor's return. 
 
 " I must begone ! " cried Florinda ; " believe me, I am 
 faithful ; " and with these words she fled into the house. 
 
 " The dream is over ! " said Cesareo. " But I will have 
 vengeance on my rival ; " and he left the garden, muttering 
 curses, and grasping the cross hilt of his sword. 
 
 Florinda flew to her chamber. 
 
 " Fly ! " she cried to Landon. " I have sheltered you at 
 the risk of my reputation my father is returning, and 
 you must leave this house. A jealous lover may denounce 
 me, and both of us be ruined forever. Farewell ; climb 
 the wall at the back of the garden, and take refuge in the 
 next house. I will still watch over you." 
 
 Landon obeyed, and made his escape from the governor's 
 garden just as Don Rodrigo was entering his court yard. 
 He crossed another small garden, and entered a small house 
 at the extremity, the door of which was unbarred, and again 
 found refuge in a room on the first floor, where he concealed 
 himself behind a screen. 
 
 He had not been here long before he heard footsteps en 
 tering the room, and the voices of two persons in conver 
 sation, one of whom was evidently a female, and the other 
 an old man. 
 
 " Dear father ! " said the female, " I am rejoiced to see 
 that you are returned. You never go forth in this city that 
 you do not leave me trembling for your safety." 
 
 " I have passed through much peril, Miriam," replied 
 the man. " Snares and violence have beset my path. I 
 31* 
 
866 THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 went to carry the gold and the silver I had promised to Ja 
 cob, the goldsmith, when, lo ! I was beset by the ungodly 
 rabble." 
 
 " Dear father ! " 
 
 " Yea ! and they dragged me to their place of skulls 
 even to their accursed Golgotha, where the blood of mine 
 only brother was drunken by the ravening flames, and 
 where thirty of our brethren perished because they be 
 lieved in the God of Abraham, and of Isaac, and of Jacob." 
 
 " And did they force you to witness the auto da fe ? " 
 
 " They brought me to the place, Miriam but there the 
 spirit of prophecy descended upon me, and I lifted up my 
 voice and denounced their abominations, even as the proph 
 et of old did the iniquities of the Egyptian king. And lo ! 
 Miriam, there was a miracle wrought. The voice of Heav 
 en spake in thunder to rebuke their impious bloodthirsti- 
 ness. The floodgates of heaven were opened, and the rain 
 descended in mighty torrents, and quenched the Moloch 
 fires kindled by the Christians. And a great wind arose, 
 and the scaffold was destroyed, and the goodly youth that 
 stood thereupon was saved from the death of fire as the 
 multitude were scattered." 
 
 " And lives he, father ? " 
 
 " I fear not," answered the old man, sadly. " For if he 
 were not crushed by the falling scaffold, yet verily the cruel 
 swords of the troopers and the men-at-arms must have 
 sought out his young life." 
 
 At this moment, L an don stepped from his concealment. 
 
 " No, my friends," said he, " I yet live to thank Heaven 
 for its providential care. I have even found a friend in the 
 household of my bitter enemy, for Donna Florinda d' Al 
 monte sheltered me, and commended me to your roof." 
 
 He now had time to scan the persons of his hosts. Th 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 367 
 
 elder, Isaac, the Jew, was, as we described him on his ap* 
 pearance in the plaza, a man of venerable appearance, with 
 a mild and noble countenance, wearing the long beard and 
 flowing robes of his race. His daughter, Miriam, had the 
 commanding beauty, the dark eyes, the flowing hair, and 
 the bold features of the daughters of Israel. She was 
 richly clad in robes of silk, and many a jewel of price 
 gleamed in the raven tresses of her hair. 
 
 "Thou art safe beneath this roof," said the Hebrew, 
 " for Donna Florinda, though the daughter of the man of 
 tiger blood, hath yet befriended us and ours, and for her 
 sake as well as for thine, thou art welcome." 
 
 Landon thanked his new friends for their hospitable 
 pledges. 
 
 " I would fain," said the old Hebrew, " give thee gar 
 ments more fitting than the accursed robe that wraps thy 
 youthful limbs. But of a truth I have none of Spanish 
 fashion, and the Jewish gabardine is almost as fatal to the 
 wearer as the robe of the san benito." 
 
 " Here comes Reuben," said Miriam. " Welcome home, 
 dear brother." 
 
 A handsome youth of sixteen entered at this moment, 
 and saluted his father, his sister, and the stranger. He 
 bore a bundle in his arms. 
 
 " I was charged," he said, " by the lady Florinda, to 
 bear this packet to the stranger I should find here. It con 
 tains a Spanish dress. She bid me say," he continued, 
 addressing Landon, " that when you have put on these 
 habiliments, you can repair with me to the governor's gar 
 den at midnight. The waiting maid and confidant will 
 conduct you through the house to the street, and once there 
 you can make your way to the English ambassador's. 
 
 After thanking the youthful messenger, Landon wa* 
 
*>DO THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 Bhowr. to an apartment, where he was left alone to change 
 his dress. Donna Florinda had supplied him with a plain 
 but handsome cavalier's suit, including mantle, hat, and 
 plume, and in addition to these, a good sword. Landop 
 hailed this latter gift with joy, and buckled the belt with 
 trembling eagerness. He drew the weapon, and found it to 
 be a Toledo blade of the best temper. He kissed the 
 sword with ecstasy. 
 
 " Welcome ! " he cried, " old friend ! "With you I can 
 cut through odds, and at least sell my life dearly, if I fall 
 again into the hands of the Philistines." 
 
 Returning to his new friends, he sat down to a hearty 
 meal which they had prepared for him, and to which he 
 did an Englishman's justice. At the hour of twelve, his 
 young friend Reuben signified his readiness to accompany 
 him on his adventure. 
 
 " Farewell ! " he cried ; " I owe you a debt that nothing 
 can repay. But believe me that your kindness will always 
 dwell in the heart of Clarence Landon." 
 
 Reuben and the Englishman were soon in the governor's 
 garden. It was pitch dark, and they advanced cautiously, 
 groping their way. All at once Landon stumbled against 
 some person. 
 
 " Is it you, Reuben ? " said he, in a low tone. 
 
 But he was instantly grasped by the throat. Dealing his 
 unknown assailant a blow with his clinched hand, which 
 made him release his hold, the Englishman instantly drew 
 his sword and threw himself on guard. His steel was 
 crossed by another blade, and a fierce encounter ensued, 
 the combatants being practised swordsmen, and guided, 
 in the dark, by what swordsmen term the " perception of 
 the blade." Reuben had made his escape, and gone to in 
 form his father of this new disaster. The struggle was 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 369 
 
 brief, for the antagonist of Landon, closing at the peril of 
 his life, and being a man of herculean strength, wrested the 
 sword from the Englishman's grasp, and held him at hia 
 mercy. 
 
 " Now, dog ! " whispered the victor, " have you any thing 
 to offer why I should not take your life as a minion of the 
 tyrant Rodrigo ? " 
 
 " I scorn to ask my life of an unknown assassin," replied 
 Landon ; " but I am no minion of Rodrigo's, and I was 
 even now seeking to escape his clutches." 
 
 " If there was light here," said the stranger, " I could 
 see whether you lied, friend, by your looks. You may be 
 palming off a tale upon me. How did you propose to escape 
 Rodrigo ? " 
 
 " By making my way through his house," answered 
 Landon. 
 
 "A likely tale. How are you to gain access to his 
 house ?" 
 
 " A waiting maid was to let me in." 
 
 " Well, I'll test your veracity. I have your life in my 
 hands. You are unarmed ; I have rapier and dagger. 
 The experiment costs me nothing." 
 
 " It would be idle in me to interrogate you," said Landon ; 
 it would be idle to ask who you are." 
 
 " I will answer you frankly," replied the stranger ; " I 
 am one of those freebooters whose fortunes are their swords. 
 If I were in Rodrigo's power, my life would not be worth 
 five minutes' purchase ; and yet I am seeking him to-night." 
 
 " You speak in riddles." 
 
 a Perhaps ; but be silent now, if you value your life, and 
 follow me." 
 
 The stranger, still retaining a firm grasp upon the luck 
 less Landon, approached a door which led into the governor's 
 
370 THE DIAMOND STAlt. 
 
 house, showing, in their progress, a perfect acquaintance 
 with the labyrinthian alleys of the garden. They halted^ 
 and a female voice spoke in a whisper, saying, " Here's 
 the key." 
 
 The stranger grasped it, and dragging Landon into the 
 house, instantly locked the door behind him. A dark lan 
 tern was placed on the floor of the corridor ; the stranger 
 told Landon to take this up, and precede him up stairs. 
 Landon obeyed, the stranger following close behind, and 
 giving him whispered directions as to his course. 
 
 Having reached a certain door, the stranger took the light 
 and entered a chamber, followed by the wondering English 
 man. The walls of the room were heavily draped, and upon 
 a huge bed the governor of Valencia was reclining, buried 
 m a deep slumber. 
 
 " He sleeps ! " whispered the stranger in the ear of Lan 
 don ; " he sleeps, as if he had never shed blood as if the 
 head of my brother had never fallen on the block by the 
 hand of his bloody executioner. He will soon sleep sounder." 
 
 " "What mean you ? " asked Landon. 
 
 " Wait and see," was the reply. 
 
 The stranger cautiously lifted the light in his left hand, 
 bending over the sleeper, while with his right he drew a 
 broad, sharp poniard from his belt, and raised it in the act 
 to strike. But just as it was descending, Landon caught 
 the assassin's arm, and shouted in his loudest tones, 
 
 " Don Rodrigo, wake ! " 
 
 " Baffled ! " cried the ruffian, with an oath. " You shall 
 pay with your life for interfering." 
 
 The governor sprang from his bed in time to witness the 
 deadly struggle between Landon and the midnight assassin. 
 It was short and decisive, for as the robber was aiming a 
 blow at his antagonist, the latter changed the direction, and 
 
THE DIAMOND STAR. 371 
 
 it was buried to the hilt in his own heart. He fell, and died 
 without a groan. The noise of the struggle had aroused 
 the household, and the servants came pouring into the room 
 with lights, accompanied by Donna Florinda, who was ago 
 nized with terror. 
 
 " Dear father ! " she cried, rushing into the governor's 
 arms, " what does this mean ? " 
 
 " It means," replied Don Rodrigo, "that this ruffian, who 
 had sworn to take my life because I had condemned his 
 brother to death for manifold misdeeds, has been slain in 
 the attempt by this young man." 
 
 "And do you recognize your generous savior?" ex 
 claimed the daughter. * Behold ! it is the young English 
 man you condemned to perish at the stake. O father ! " 
 And she explained the manner in which Landon had been 
 enabled to save the governor's life. 
 
 " Young man," said the governor, addressing Landon with 
 deep emotion, " a mightier Power than the hand of man is 
 visible in this. For the life you have saved I will repay 
 you in the same manner. I insure you a full and free 
 pardon, and you shall not have it to say that Don Rodrigo 
 d' Almonte, bad as he has been represented, was a monster 
 of ingratitude." 
 
 And he kept his word. Landon soon after set sail for 
 England, in company with the Hebrew family who had 
 sheltered him, and there, in due time, was united to the 
 lovely Miriam, with whose beauty he had been impressed 
 on first sight. In England, he rejoined Hamilton and his 
 Spanish bride, to secure whose happiness he had perilled 
 his own life ; and he always preserved Estella's diamond 
 star as a memorial of his adventures in Valencia. Soon 
 after his arrival he received a letter from Donna Florinda, 
 announcing her marriage to Cesareo, whose jealousy had 
 
372 THE DIAMOND STAR. 
 
 been so signally excited by Landon's shadow on the window 
 curtain. When Don Rodrigo died, he was buried with all 
 the honors due to a soldier, a governor, and an eminent 
 member of that mild and benevolent institution* the Spanish 
 Inquisition. 
 
THE GAME OF CHANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AT nightfall, on an autumnal evening, when the stars 
 were just beginning to twinkle overhead like diamonds on 
 a canopy of azure, two young men were standing together, 
 engaged in conversation on the steps of the Black Eagle, a 
 fashionable hotel in one of the principal streets of the gay 
 and celebrated city of Vienna. One of them wore the 
 .rich uniform of an Austrian hussar ; the other was clad in 
 the civic costume of a gentleman. 
 
 " So, all is completed at the ministry of war, except the 
 signature of the commission, and the payment of the pur 
 chase money ? " said the soldier. 
 
 " Exactly so." 
 
 " And to-morrow, then," continued the hussar, " I am to 
 congratulate you on the command of a company, and sa 
 lute you as Captain Ernest Walstein." 
 
 The last speaker was Captain Christian Steinfort, an 
 officer who had seen some two years' service. 
 
 " Ah ! my boy ! " continued he, twirling his jet black 
 mustache, " your uniform will be a passport to the smiles 
 of the fair. But you already seem to have made your 
 way to the good graces of Madame Von Berlingen, the 
 rich widow who resides at this hotel." 
 
 32 Y 373 
 
874 THE GAME OF CHANCE. 
 
 " Bah ! she is forty," answered Ernest, carelessly. 
 
 " But in fine preservation, and a beauty for all that," 
 said Captain Steinfort. " The Baron Von Dangerfeld wag 
 desperately in love with her ; but within a few days, the 
 widow seems rather to have cut him. You are the happy 
 roan, after all." 
 
 " Undeceive yourself, my dear Christian," said Ernest, 
 blushing ; " I have only flirted with the handsome widow. 
 My hand is already engaged to a charming girl, Meena 
 Altenburg, the playmate of my infancy, adopted and 
 brought up by my good father. I am to marry her as soon 
 as I get my company." 
 
 " And what is to support you, Captain Ernest ? " 
 
 " My pay, of course, and the income of the moderate 
 dowry my father, who is well enough off for a farmer, pro 
 poses to give his favorite. So, you see my lot in life is 
 settled." 
 
 " Precisely so," replied the captain. " But since you 
 are free this evening, I engage you to pass it with me. 
 Have you got any money about you ? " 
 
 "A good deal. Besides the price of my company, 
 which is safely stowed away in bank notes in this breast 
 pocket, I have a handful of ducats about me, with which I 
 propose purchasing some trinkets for my bride. But I 
 have a gold piece or two that I can spare, if " 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! I'm well enough provided," answered 
 the captain. " You know this is pay day. Come along." 
 
 " But whither ? " 
 
 " You shall see." 
 
 With these words, the captain thrust his arm within that 
 of his companion, and the pair walked off at a rapid rate. 
 After passing through several streets, Steinfort halted, and 
 rang at the door of a stately mansion. It ^as opened by 
 
THE GAME OF CHANCE. 375 
 
 a servant in handsome livery, and the young gentlemen 
 entered and went up stairs. 
 
 Walstein soon found himself in a scene very different 
 from any of which he had ever dreamed of in his rustic and 
 simple life upon his father's farm. Around a large table, 
 covered with cloth, were seated more than a dozen persons 
 of different ages, all so intent upon what was going for 
 ward, that the captain and his friend took their seats unno 
 ticed. At the head of the table sat a man in a gray wig, 
 with a pair of green spectacles upon his nose, before whom 
 lay a pile of gold, and who was busily engaged in paying 
 and receiving money, and in giving an impetus to a small 
 ivory ball, which spun at intervals its appointed course. 
 Walstein soon learned that this was a rouge-et-noir table. 
 The gentleman in the gray wig was the banker. 
 
 "Make your game, gentlemen," said this individual, 
 " while the ball spins. Your luck's as good as mine. It's 
 all luck, gentlemen, at rouge-et-noir. Rouge-et-noir, gen 
 tlemen, the finest in all the world. Black wins ; it's yours, 
 sir twenty ducats, and you've doubled it. Make your 
 game black or red." 
 
 " Try your fortune, Ernest," said the captain. Ernest 
 mechanically put down a few ducats on the red. 
 
 " Red wins," said the banker, in the same monotonous 
 tone. " Make your game, gentlemen, while the ball rolls." 
 
 Why need we follow the fortunes of Ernest on this 
 fatal evening, as he yielded, step by step, to the seduction 
 to which he was now exposed for the first time in his life ? 
 Long after Steinfort left the gambling house, he continued 
 to play. His luck turned. He had soon lost all his win 
 nings, and the money set apart for his bridal presents. 
 Still the ball rolled, and he continued to stake. He had 
 broken the package of bank notes, the money he had re- 
 
876 THE GAME OF CHANCE. 
 
 ceived from his father for the purchase of his commission 
 and though he ?aw bill after bill swept away before his 
 eyes, he continued to play, in the desperate hope of win 
 ning back his losses. At length his last ducat was gone. 
 He rose and left the room, the last words ringing in his 
 ears being, 
 
 " Make your game, gentlemen, while the ball rolls." 
 
 Despairing and heart-stricken, the young man sought his 
 hotel and his chamber. On the staircase he encountered 
 Madame Von Berlingen, but he saw her not. His eyes 
 were glazed. He did not notice or return her salutation.' 
 He threw himself upon his bed without undressing, and 
 towards morning fell into an unrefreshing and dream- 
 peopled slumber. 
 
 When he arose, late the next day, he looked at himself 
 in the glass, but scarcely recognized his own face, so 
 changed was he by the mental agonies he had undergone. 
 When he had paid some little attention to his toilet, he 
 received a message from Madame Von Berlingen, request 
 ing the favor of an interview in her apartments. He 
 mechanically obeyed the summons, though ill fitted to sus 
 tain a conversation with a lady. 
 
 The widow requested him to be seated. 
 
 " Mr. Walstein," said she, with a smile, " you are grow 
 ing very ungallant. I met you last night upon the stair 
 case ; but though I spoke to you, you had not a word or a 
 nod for me." 
 
 " Last night, madam," answered the unfortunate young 
 man, " I was beside myself. O madam, if you knew all ! " 
 
 " I do know all," replied the lady. 
 
 " What ! that I had been gambling that I had thrown 
 away yes, those are the words every ducat of the 
 
THE GAME OF CHANCE. 377 
 
 money my poor father furnished me with to purchase my 
 commission ? " 
 
 " Yes, I knoV all that. But the loss is not irreparable." 
 
 " Pardon me, madam. My father, though reputed 
 wealthy, is unable to furnish me with a similar sum, even 
 if I were base enough to accept it at his hands." 
 
 " But if some friend were to step forward." 
 
 " Alas ! I know none." 
 
 " Mr. Walstein," said the lady, " I am rich. A loan of 
 the requisite amount would not affect me in the least." 
 
 " O madam ! " cried the young man, " if you would 
 indeed save me by such generosity, you would be an angel 
 of mercy." 
 
 " What is the amount of your loss ? " inquired the lady, 
 calmly, as she unlocked her desk. 
 
 "Three thousand ducats," answered Ernest. "But I 
 can give you no security for the payment." 
 
 " Your note of hand is sufficient," said the lady, handing 
 the young man a package of notes. " Please to count 
 those, and see if the sum is correct. Here are writing 
 materials." 
 
 Ernest did as he was bid counted the money, and then 
 sat down at the desk. 
 
 " Write at my dictation," said the lady. 
 
 Ernest took up a pen and commenced. 
 
 The date," said the lady. 
 
 Ernest wrote it. 
 
 " Received of Anna Von Berlingen the sum of three 
 thousand ducats." 
 
 Ernest wrote and repeated, " three thousand ducats." 
 
 " In consideration whereof, I promise to marry the afore 
 said Anna Von Berlingen." 
 
 " To marry you ? " exclaimed Ernest. 
 32* 
 
378 THE GAME OF CHANCE. 
 
 " A} to marry me ! " said the lady. " Am I deformed 
 
 am 1 ugly am I poor ? " 
 
 " I cannot do it you know not the reason that induces 
 me to refuse." 
 
 " Then go home to your father and confess your guilt." 
 
 Ernest reflected a few moments. He could not go home 
 to his father with the frightful tale. It was a question 
 between suicide and marriage he signed the paper. 
 
 "Now then, baron," said the widow to herself, as she 
 carefully secured the promise, " you cannot say that you 
 broke the heart of Anna by your cruelty. Take the money, 
 Ernest," she added aloud ; " go and purchase your commis 
 sion." 
 
 Ernest obeyed. His dreams of yesterday morning had 
 all been dissipated by his own act ; he felt a degraded and 
 broken-spirited criminal. He had sold himself for gold. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 " HERE comes Captain Ernest! " cried a youthful voice. 
 And a beautiful, blue-eyed girl of nineteen stood at the 
 garden gate of a pretty farm house, watching the approach 
 of a horseman, who, gayly attired in a hussar uniform, was 
 galloping up the road. At her shout of delight, a sturdy 
 old gray-haired man came forth and stood beside her. 
 
 " Captain Ernest ! " he repeated. " That sounds well. 
 When I was of his age, I only carried a musket in the 
 ranks. I never dreamed then that a son of mine could 
 ever aspire to the epaulet." 
 
 Ernest, waving his hand to Meena Altenburg and his 
 father, rode past them to the stable, where he left his 
 
THE GAME OF CHANCE. 379 
 
 horse. He th^n rushed into the farm house where his 
 father met him. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this, boy ? " he said. " How 
 wild and haggard you look! And you have avoided 
 Meena and this, too, upon your wedding day." 
 
 " My wedding day O Heavens ! I shall die," said the 
 young man, sinking into a seat. 
 
 As soon as he could collect himself, he told his father 
 that he could not marry Meena, and the reason he had 
 pledged himself to another. The old man, who was the soul 
 of honor, burst forth in violent imprecations, and drove him 
 from his presence. As he left the house, the unfortunate 
 young man encountered a person whom he at once recog 
 nized as the Baron Von Dangerfeld, the reputed suitor of 
 Madame Von Berlingen. 
 
 " I have been looking for you, Captain Walstein," said 
 the baron, sternly. 
 
 u And you have found me," answered the young man, 
 shortly. 
 
 Yes and I thank Heaven you wear that uniform. It 
 entitles you to meet a German noble, and answer for your 
 conduct." 
 
 " I am answerable for my conduct to no living man," 
 retorted Ernest. 
 
 " You wear a sword." 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Very well if you refuse to give satisfaction for the 
 injury you have done me, in robbing me of my mistress, I 
 will proclaim you a coward in the presence of the regi 
 ment upon parade." 
 
 " (), make yourself easy on that score, baron," answered 
 Ernest. " Life is of too little worth for me to think of 
 
380 THE GAME OF CHANCE. 
 
 shielding it. If you will step with me into the shadow of 
 yonder grove, we can soon regulate our accounts." 
 
 The two men walked silently to the appointed spot, and 
 without any preliminary, drew their swords and engaged in 
 combat. The struggle was not of long duration, for Ernest 
 wounded his adversary in the sword arm, and disarmed 
 him. 
 
 " Are you satisfied ? " he asked. 
 
 " I must be so for the present," replied the baron, sullen 
 ly. " When I recover, you shall hear from me again." 
 
 " As you please," said Ernest, coldly. " In the mean 
 time, suffer me to bind up your arm." 
 
 The young man bandaged the wound of his adversary, 
 and as he faltered from the loss of blood, led him towards 
 the farm house. As they approached it, two ladies ad 
 vanced to meet them one of them was Meena, the other 
 Madame Von Berlingen. 
 
 " Dangerfeld wounded ! " cried the latter, bursting into 
 tears " O, I have been the cause of this : forgive me - 
 forgive me, Dangerfeld, or you will kill me." 
 
 " You forget, madame, that you belong to another." 
 
 " I am yours only I can never love another. Nor 
 does the person you allude to," added the lady, turning to 
 Ernest, " cherish any attachment to me." 
 
 " My only feeling for you, madame," said Ernest, with 
 meaning, " would be gratitude, were a certain paper de 
 stroyed." 
 
 What is the meaning of all this ? " asked the father of 
 Ernest, coming forward. 
 
 " It means," said Ernest, tearing to atoms the promis 
 sory note he received from the widow's hands, " that I had 
 very ugly dreams last night I dreamed that I played at 
 
THE GAME OF CHANCE. 381 
 
 rouge-et-noir, and lost all the money you gave me to pur 
 chase my commission with, and then that I made up the 
 loss by promising " 
 
 " Hush ! " said the widow, laying her finger on her lips. 
 " Then it was all a dream," said the old man. 
 
 " Look at my uniform," replied the captain. 
 
 " And what did you mean in the story you told me just 
 now ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " Forget it, father/' said Ernest. " Dear Meena, look 
 up, my love. It is our wedding day ; and if you do but 
 smile, I'm the happiest dog that wears a sabre and a 
 doliman." 
 
 That very day two weddings were celebrated in the 
 farm house, those of Captain Ernest Walstein with the 
 Fraulein Meena Altenburg, and Baron Von Dangerfeld 
 with the yet beautiful and wealthy widow. The captain 
 Dever tried his luck again at any GAME OF CHANCE. 
 
THE SOLDIER'S SON. 
 
 MANY, many years ago, at the close of a sultry sum 
 mer's day, a man of middle age was slowly toiling up a 
 hill in the environs of the pleasant village of Aumont, a 
 small town in the south of France. The wayfarer was 
 clad in the habiliments of a private of the infantry of the 
 line ; that is to say, he wore a long-skirted, blue coat, faced 
 with red, much soiled and stained ; kerseymere breeches 
 that were once white, met at the knee by tattered gaiters 
 of black cloth, an old battered chapeau, and a haversack, 
 which he carried slung over his right shoulder, on a 
 sheathed sabre. From time to time, he paused and wiped 
 the heavy drops of perspiration that gathered constantly 
 upon his forehead. 
 
 " Courage, Franfois, courage," said the soldier to him 
 self; " a few paces more, and you will reach home. Ah, 
 this is sufficiently fatiguing, but nothing to the sands of 
 Egypt. May Heaven preserve my eyesight long enough 
 to see my home my wife my brave boy Victor, once 
 more ! Grant me but that, kind Heaven, and I think I 
 will repine at nothing that may happen further." 
 
 It will be seen from the above, that Fra^ois Bertrand 
 belonged to the army which had recently covered itself 
 with glory in the Egyptian campaign, under the command 
 of General Bonaparte, a name already famous in military 
 annals. He had fought like a hero in the battle of the 
 
 382 
 
THE SOLDIER'S SON. 383 
 
 Pyramids, when the squares of the French infantry re 
 pulsed the brilliant cavalry of Murad Bey, and destroyed 
 the flower of the Mamelukes by the deadly fire of their 
 musketry. Wounded in that memorable battle, he was 
 afterwards attacked by the ophthalmia of the country ; but 
 his eyesight, though impaired, was not yet utterly de 
 stroyed. Honorably discharged, he had just arrived at 
 Marseilles, from Egypt, and was now on his way home, 
 eager to be folded in the arms of his beloved wife and his 
 young son. So the soldier toiled bravely up the hill, for 
 he knew that the white walls of his cottage and the foliage 
 of his little vineyard would be visible in the valley com 
 manded by the summit. 
 
 At length he reached the brow of the hill, and gazed 
 eagerly in the direction of his humble home ; but O, agony, 
 it was gone ! In its place, a heap of blackened ruins lay 
 smouldering in the sunlight that seemed to mock its des 
 olation. Fatigue weakness were instantly forgotten, 
 and the soldier rushed down the brow of the hill to the 
 scene of the disaster. At the gate of his vineyard, he was 
 *net by little Victor, a boy of ten. 
 
 " A soldier ! " cried the boy, who did not recognize his 
 father. " O sir, you come back from the wars, don't you ? 
 Perhaps you can tell me something about my poor papa ? " 
 
 " Victor, my boy, my dear boy ! don't you know me ? " 
 cried the poor soldier ; and he strained his son convulsively 
 in his arms. 
 
 " O, I know you now, my dear, dear papa," said the 
 boy, sobbing. "I knew you by the voice but how 
 changed you are ! Why, your mustaches are turned gray." 
 
 "Victor, Victor, where is your mother?" gasped the 
 soldier. 
 
 " Poor mamma ! " said the boy. 
 
884 THE SOLDIER'S SON. 
 
 " Speak I charge you, boy." 
 
 " She is dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " Fran9ois fell to the ground as if a bullet had 
 passed through his brain. When he recovered his senses, 
 he saw Victor kneeling beside him, and bathing his head 
 with cold water, which he had brought in his hat from a 
 neighboring spring. In a few words, the child told him 
 their cottage had taken fire in the night, and been burned 
 to the ground, and his mother had perished in the flames. 
 
 A kind cottager soon made his appearance, and con 
 ducted the unfortunate father and son to his humble cabin. 
 Here they passed the night and one or two days following. 
 During that time, Franfois Bertrand neither ate nor slept, 
 but wept over his misfortune with an agony that refused all 
 consolation. On the third day only he regained his com 
 posure ; but it was only to be conscious of a new and over 
 whelming misfortune. His eyesight was gone. The agony 
 of mind he had suffered, and the tears he had shed, had 
 completed the ravages of his disorder. 
 
 " Where are you, Victor ? " said the soldier. 
 
 " Here, by your side, father ; don't you see me ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no, my boy. I can see nothing. Give me youi 
 little hand. Your poor father is blind." 
 
 The agonizing sobs of the boy told him how keenly he 
 appreciated his father's misfortune. 
 
 " Dry your eyes, Victor," said the soldier. " Remember 
 the instructions of your poor mother, how she taught you 
 to submit with resignation to all the sufferings that Prov 
 idence sees fit to inflict upon us in this world of sorrow. 
 Henceforth you must see for both of us; you will be my 
 eyes, my boy." 
 
 " Yes, father ; and I will work for you and support you v 
 
THE SOLDIER'S SON 385 
 
 "You are too young and delicate, Victor. "We must 
 Li g our bread." 
 
 Beg, father ? " 
 
 " Yes, you shall guide my footsteps. There are good 
 people in the world who will pity my infirmities and your 
 youth. When they see my ragged uniform, they will say, 
 * There is one of the braves who upheld the honor of 
 France upon the burning sands of Egypt/ and they will 
 not fail to drop a few sous into the old soldier's hat. Come, 
 Victor, we must march. We have been too long a burden 
 on our poor neighbor. Courage, mon enfant, le Ion temps 
 viendra" 
 
 And so the boy and his father set forth upon their wan 
 derings. Neither asked alms ; but when seated by the 
 roadside, under the shadow of an overhanging tree, the 
 passer-by would halt, and bestow a small sum upon the 
 worn and blind soldier. Victor was devoted to his father, 
 and Heaven smiled upon his filial affection. Though 
 denied the society and sports so dear to his youth, he was 
 always cheerful and happy in the accomplishment of his 
 task. Often did his innocent gayety beguile his father into 
 a temporary forgetfulness of his sufferings. Then he 
 would place his hand upon the boy's head, and stroking his 
 soft, curling locks, smile sweetly as his sightless eyes were 
 turned towards him, and commence some stirring narrative 
 of military adventure. 
 
 In this way, days, weeks, months, and even years rolled 
 by. They were every where well received and kindly 
 treated ; and all their physical wants were supplied. But 
 the old soldier often sighed to think of the burden his mis 
 fortunes imposed upon his boy, and of his wearing out his 
 young life without congenial companionship, without in* 
 33 
 
886 THE SOLDIER'S SON. 
 
 etruction, without a future beyond the life of a mendicant. 
 He often prayed in secret that death might liberate, hia 
 little guide from his voluntary service. 
 
 One day, Francois was seated alone on a stone by the 
 roadside, Victor having gone to the neighboring village on 
 an errand, when he suddenly heard a carriage stop beside 
 him. The occupant, a man of middle age, alighted, and 
 approached the soldier. 
 
 " Your name," said the stranger, " is, I think, Franpois 
 Bertrand." 
 
 The same." 
 
 ft A soldier of the army of Egypt ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 H And that pretty boy who guides you is your son ? ' 
 
 u He is Heaven bless him ! " 
 
 "Amen! But has it never occurred to you, my friend, 
 that you are doing him great injustice in keeping him by 
 you at an age when he ought to be getting an education to 
 enable him to push his way in the world?" 
 
 " Alas ! sir, I have often thought of it. But what could 
 gupply his place ? and then, who would befriend and educate 
 him?" 
 
 " His place might be supplied by a dog and for his 
 protector, I, myself, who have no son, should be glad to 
 adopt and educate him." 
 
 His son's place supplied by a dog ! The thought was 
 agony. And to part with Victor ! The idea was as cruel 
 as death itself. The old soldier was silent. 
 
 "You are silent, my friend. Has my offer offended 
 you?" 
 
 " No sir no. But you will pardon a father's feelings.' 1 
 
 "I respect them and I do not wish to hurry you. 
 Take a day to think of my proposition, and to inform your- 
 
THE SOLDIER'S SON. 387 
 
 ielf respecting my character and position. I am a mer 
 chant. My name is Eugene Marmont, and I reside at No. 
 17 Rue St. Honore, Paris. I will meet you at this spo% 
 to-morrow at the same hour, and shall then expect an an 
 swer. Au revoir" He placed a golden louis in the hand 
 of the soldier, and departed. 
 
 A little reflection convinced Bertrand that it was his duty 
 to accept the merchant's offer. But cruel as was the task of 
 reconciling himself to parting with his son, that of inducing 
 Victor to acquiesce in the arrangement was yet more diffi 
 cult. It required the exercise of authority to sever the ties 
 that bound the son to the father. But it was done Vic 
 tor resigned his task to a little dog that was procured by 
 the merchant, and after an agonizing farewell was whirled 
 away in Harmon t's carriage. 
 
 Years passed on. Victor outstripped all his companions 
 at school, and stood at the head of the military academy ; 
 for he was striving to win a name and fortune for his father. 
 The good Marmont, from time to time, endeavored to ob 
 tain tidings of the soldier; but the latter had purposely 
 changed his usual route, and, satisfied that his son was in 
 good hands, felt a sort of pride in not intruding his poverty 
 and misfortunes on the notice of Victor's new companions. 
 The boy, himself, was much distressed at not seeing or hear 
 ing from his father ; but he kept struggling on, saying to 
 himself, "Courage, Victor le bon temps viendra tho 
 good time will come." 
 
 On the death of Marmont, he entered the army as a sub 
 lieutenant, and fought his way up to a captaincy under the 
 eye of the emperor. At the close of a brilliant campaign 
 he was invited to pass a few weeks at the chateau of a gen 
 eral officer named Duvivier, a few leagues from Paris. Tho 
 lompany there was brilliant, composed of all that was most 
 
888 THE SOLDIER'S SON. 
 
 beautiful, talented, and distinguished in the circle in which 
 the general moved. But the " star of that goodly company " 
 was Julie Duvivier, the youthful and accomplished daughter 
 of the general. Many distinguished suitors contended for 
 the honor of her hand ; but the moment Victor appeared, 
 they felt they had a formidable rival. The belle of the 
 chateau could not help showing her decided preference for 
 him, though, with a modesty and delicacy natural to his 
 position, he refrained from making any decided advances. 
 
 One night, however, transported beyond himself by 
 passion, he betrayed the secret of his heart to Julie, as he 
 led her to her seat after an intoxicating waltz. The re 
 ception of his almost involuntary avowal was such as to 
 convince him that his affection was returned. But he felt 
 that he had done wrong and a high sense of honor in 
 duced the young soldier immediately to seek the general, 
 and make him a party to his wishes. 
 
 He found him alone in the embrasure of a window that 
 opened on the garden of the chateau. 
 
 " General," said he, with military frankness, " I love your 
 daughter." 
 
 The general started, and cast a glance of displeasure on 
 the young man. 
 
 "I know you but slightly, Captain Bertrand," he an 
 swered, " but you are aware that the man who marries my 
 daughter must be able to give her her true position in society. 
 Show me the proofs of your nobility and wealth, and I will 
 entertain your proposition." 
 
 " Alas ! " answered the young soldier in a faltering voice 
 " I feel that I have erred pity me forgive me I wag 
 led astray by a passion too strong to be controlled. I have 
 no name and my fortune is my sword." 
 
 The general bowed coldly, and the young soldier passed 
 
THE SOLDIER'S SON. 389 
 
 out into the garden. It was a brilliant moonlight evening. 
 Every object was defined as clearly as if illuminated by the 
 sun's rays. Removing his chapeau, that the night air might 
 ,ool his fevered brow, he was about to take his favorite seat 
 beside the fountain where he had passed many hours in 
 weaving bright visions of the future, when he perceived 
 that it was already occupied. An old man in a faded mili 
 tary uniform sat there, with a little dog lying at his feet. 
 One glance was sufficient the next instant Victor folded 
 his father in his arms. 
 
 " Father ! " " My boy ! " The words were interrupted by 
 convulsive sobs. 
 
 After the first passionate greeting was over, the old man 
 passed his hand over his son's dress, and a smile of joy was 
 revealed by the bright moonbeams. 
 
 " A soldier ! I thought I heard the clatter of your 
 sabre," said the old man. " Where did you get these epau 
 lets?" 
 
 " At Austerlitz, father they were given me by the em 
 peror." 
 
 " Long live the emperor ! " said the old man. " He never 
 forgets his children." 
 
 " No, father. For when he gave me my commission, 
 he said, thoughtfully, ' Bertrand ! your name is familiar.' 
 * Yes, sire my father served under the tricolor.' * I re 
 member he was one of my old Egyptians/ And then 
 father then he gave me the cross of the legion 
 and told me, when I found you, to affix it to your breast in 
 his name." 
 
 " It is almost too much ! " sighed the old soldier, as tho 
 young officer produced the cross and attached it to his fa 
 ther's breast. 
 
 33* z 
 
390 THE SOLDIER'S SON. 
 
 " And now," said the young man, " give mo your hand 
 as of old, dear father, and let me lead you." 
 
 " Whither ? " 
 
 " Into the saloon of the chateau, to present you to General 
 Duvivier and his guests." 
 
 " What ! in my rags ! before all that grand company ? " 
 
 " Why not, father ? The ragged uniform of a brave 
 soldier who bears the cross of honor on his breast is the 
 proudest decoration in the world. Come, father." 
 
 Leading his blind father, young Bertrand reentered the 
 saloon he had so lately left, and went directly to the general, 
 who was standing, surrounded by his glittering staff. 
 
 " General," said he, " here is my title of nobility my 
 father is all the wealth I possess in the world." 
 
 Tears started to the general's eyes, and he shook the 
 old soldier warmly by the hand. Then beckoning to 
 Julie, he led her to Victor, and placed her trembling hand 
 in his. 
 
 " Let this dear girl," said he, " make amends for my cold 
 ness a moment since. A son so noble hearted is worthy of 
 all happiness." 
 
 In a word, Captain, afterwards Colonel, Bertrand married 
 the general's daughter, and the happiness of their fireside 
 was completed by the constant presence of the good old 
 soldier, to whose self-denial Victor owed his honors and do 
 mestic bliss. 
 
TAKING CHARGE OF A LADY. 
 
 THE steamer Ben Franklin it was many years ago, 
 reader was just on the point of leaving her dock at Prov 
 idence, when a slender, pale young man, with sandy whis 
 ker? and green eyes, who had just safely stowed away his 
 valise, honorably paid his fare, and purchased a supper 
 ticket, and now stood on the upper deck, leaning on his 
 blue cotton umbrella in a mild attitude of contemplation, 
 was accosted by a benevolent-looking old gentleman, in gold- 
 bowed spectacles, upon whose left arm hung a feminine, in 
 a bright mazarine blue broadcloth travelling habit, with a 
 gold watch at her waist, and a green veil over her face, 
 with the (to a timid young man) startling question of, 
 
 " Pray, sir, will you be so kind as to take charge of a 
 lady?" 
 
 The slender young man with the blue cotton umbrella 
 blushed up to the roots of his sandy hair, but he bowed 
 deeply and affirmatively. 
 
 " We were disappointed in not meeting a friend, sir," 
 continued the benevolent-looking old gentleman, " and so I 
 had to trust to chance for finding an escort to Fanny. Only 
 as far as New York, sir ; my daughter will give you very 
 little trouble. She's a strong-minded, independent woman, 
 sir, and abundantly able to take care of herself ; but I don't 
 like the idea of ladies travelling alone. If the boat sinks, 
 
 391 
 
392 TAKING CHARGE OF A LADY. 
 
 sir, she's abundantly able to swim ashore. Good by, 
 Fanny." 
 
 " Father," said the lady in the blue habit, in a deep and 
 mellow baritone, rather a queer voice for a woman, 
 though, "a parting salute ! " She threw back her veil, 
 displaying a pair of piercing black eyes, kissed the paternal 
 cheek, veiled the black eyes a moment with a lace-bordered 
 handkerchief, as her sire descended the gang plank, his 
 exit being deprived of dignity by the sudden withdrawal of 
 the board, and then placed her arm within that of the 
 sandy-haired young gentleman, and began walking him up 
 and down the promenade deck. 
 
 " Isn't this delightful ? " said she. " O, what can exceed 
 the pleasure of travelling, when one has a sympathizing 
 friend as a companion ! " And she rather pressed the arm 
 of her companion. She was strong-handed as well as 
 strong-minded. 
 
 Mr. Brown, for that was the name of the timid young 
 gentleman with the sandy hair and the blue cotton umbrel 
 la, was not particularly susceptible, for he had already lost 
 his heart to a sandy-haired young lady, who resided in 
 New York; and, besides, he didn't like strong-minded 
 women ; so he asked, very unromantically, but sensibly, if 
 the happy parent of the lady in the blue habit had pur 
 chased her a ticket. 
 
 " I believe I am certain that he did not," was the 
 reply. " Father is so forgetful ! " 
 
 " I'll do it myself then, ma'am if you'll excuse me a 
 moment. What name ? " 
 
 " Brown," said the lady. 
 
 " My own name ! " cried the young man. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " cried the blue beauty. " What a coii* 
 cidence ! How striking ! charming ! " 
 
TAKING CHARGE OF A LADT. 393 
 
 She made no offer of money, and Brown invested his 
 own funds in a passage and supper ticket. 
 
 " You dear creature ! " cried the lady, when he handed 
 them to her, " you are very attentive. But there was no 
 necessity for this supper ticket. I am the least eater in 
 the world." 
 
 She said nothing about the cost of the tickets ; and hew 
 could Brown broach the subject ? 
 
 " There's that bell, at last ! " she cried, when the supper 
 bell rang ; " do let's hurry down, Brown, for people are so 
 rude and eager on board steamboats, that unless you move 
 quick you lose your chance." 
 
 Brown was hurried along by his fair friend, and she 
 struggled through the crowd till she headed the column 
 and got an excellent seat at the table. Our sandy -haired 
 friend had exalted opinions of the delicacy of female appe 
 tites ; he had never helped ladies at a ball, or seen them 
 in a pantry at luncheon time, and fancied they fed as light 
 ly as canary birds. He was rather glad to hear Fanny 
 make that remark about the supper ticket on the prome 
 nade deck. But now he found she could eat. The cold 
 drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead as he watched 
 the evidences of her voracity. She was helped four times, 
 by the captain, to beefsteak no miniature slices either, 
 but huge, broad cubes of solid flesh. A dish of oysters 
 attracted her eye, and she gobbled them up every one. 
 Toast and hot bread disappeared before her ravenous appe 
 tite. Sponge and pound cake were despatched with fearful 
 celerity. She took up the attention of one particular nig 
 ger, and he looked weary and collapsed when the supper 
 was finished. 
 
 Yet, after all this, Fanny paraded the deck, and had the 
 heart to talk about the " orbs of heaven," and Shelley, and 
 
394 TAKING CHARGE OF A LADY. 
 
 Byron, and Tennyson, and Ralph Waldo Emeison, and 
 Fanny Ellsler, and Schiller. Brown was very glad when 
 she retired to the lady's cabin. 
 
 The morning he rose late, purposely to avoid her till the 
 boat touched the wharf. He engaged a carriage and 
 hunted up the lady's baggage ; fortunately there was not 
 much of it. This done, he escorted her on shore, and 
 handed her into the coach. 
 
 " Now, then," said the one-eyed driver, he had recently 
 lost his eye in a fight, on the first night of his return from 
 Blackwell's Island, " where away ? Oyster House, 'Mer- 
 rikin, or Globe ? " 
 
 " Where are you going, madam ? " asked Brown. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked the lady. 
 
 " To the American, ma'am." 
 
 " What a coincidence ! " exclaimed the lady, rolling up 
 her black eyes. 
 
 " American House, driver." 
 
 " All right in with you ! " cried the one-eyed man, as 
 he pitched Brown headlong into the coach, slammed the 
 rickety door on him, sprang to his box, and lashed his sorry 
 steeds into a gallop. In due time they arrived, and a 
 room was engaged for the lady, and one for her cavalier. 
 
 Brown went up town as soon as he had dressed, to see 
 his sweetheart, taking particular care to say nothing of his 
 namesake, the fair Fanny. 
 
 The next day he was promenading Broadway with Miss 
 S., when he was confronted, opposite St. Paul's, by a furi 
 ous man, with black whiskers, who halted directly in his 
 path. 
 
 " Do you call yourself Brown ? " asked the furious man, 
 furiously. 
 
 " That's my name, sir," said the sandy-haired young gen 
 tleman, meekly. 
 
TAKING CHARGE OF A LADY. 393 
 
 "It's my name, sir," shouted the furious man. "John 
 Brown. Now you know who I am. Do you know Mrs. 
 Brown ? " 
 
 " I don't know," stammered the unfortunate young man 
 with sandy hair. 
 
 " Who did you come from Providence with ? answer me 
 that ! " roared the furious man, getting as black as his 
 whiskers with apoplectic rage. 
 
 "I I took charge of a lady, certainly," stammered the 
 guiltless but confounded young man. 
 
 " You took charge of Mrs. Brown, sir Fanny Sopho- 
 nisba Brown, sir, who has left my bed and board without 
 provocation, sir, vide the Providence papers, sir, left 
 me, sir, because I didn't approve of her strong-minded 
 goings on, sir, her woman's-rights meetings, sir, and her 
 nigger colonizations, sir, and her but that's enough, sir." 
 
 Here Miss Suraker, who was a mild, freckled-faced girl, 
 dropped the arm of her companion, and meekly sat down 
 on a doorstep, and covered her face with a handkerchief. 
 
 " Mr. Brown, sir ! " cried our poor young friend, finally 
 plucking up a spirit. 
 
 " Go it, lemons ! " shouted a listening drayman, as he 
 hung over the scene from one of his cart stakes. 
 
 " Captain Brown," suggested the furious man, with smoth 
 ered rage. 
 
 " Well then, Captain Brown," said Brown, 2d., spiteful 
 ly, "the lady you allude to is a total stranger to me. 
 She was put under my care by a benevolent-looking old 
 gentleman, with gold-bowed spectacles, and she has already 
 cost me ten dollars, money advanced on her account." 
 
 " All persons are forbidden to trust the same, as I will 
 pay no debts of her contracting," said the furious man, with 
 gleams of unmitigated ferocity and savage exultation. 
 
896 TAKING CHARGE OF A LADY. 
 
 " Then I'm done brown, that's all," said the. young man, 
 gloomily. "As for Mrs. Fanny Sophomsba Brown, I 
 never want to see her face again. She is at the American 
 House, and you can recover her by proving property and 
 paying charges. And, for my part, I hope I may be 
 kicked to death by grasshoppers if ever I take charge of a 
 lady again." 
 
 This was the largest speech, probably, that the sandy- 
 haired young man had ever made in his life. It was a reg 
 ular " stunner," though. It convinced Miss Sumker, who 
 had for a moment thought of withdrawing the light of her 
 freckles from him forever, and who now hastened to re 
 place her arm in his ; and it convinced Captain Brown, 
 who became suddenly as mild as moonbeams, shook his 
 new acquaintance by the hand, and declared him a, " fine 
 young fellow." 
 
 But the drayman was disgusted at the affair ending 
 without a fight, and expressed his feelings, as he laid the 
 lash across his horse, by the single exclamation, " Pickles ! " 
 thereby insinuating that the nauseous sweetness of the 
 reconciliation required a strong dash of acidity to neutral 
 ize its flavor. 
 
 The captain regained his strong-minded wife, and our 
 sandy-haired friend went home with Miss Sumker, meta 
 morphosed into Mrs. Brown, having " taken charge " of 
 her for life. 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
 HOTV the wind blew on the evening of the 31st Decem 
 ber, in the year but no matter for the date. It came 
 roaring from the north, fraught with the icy dullness of 
 those hyperborean regions that are lost to the sunlight for 
 six months, the realm of ice-ribbed caverns, and snow 
 mountains heaped up above the horizon in the cold and 
 cheerless sky. On it came, that northern blast, howling 
 and tearing, and menacing with destruction every obstacle 
 that crossed its path. It dashed right through a gorge in 
 the mountains, and twisted the arms of the rock-rooted 
 hemlock and the giant oak, as if they were the twigs of 
 saplings. Then it swept over the wild, waste meadows, 
 rattling the frozen sedge, and whirling into eddies the few dry 
 leaves that remained upon the surface of the earth. Next 
 it invaded the principal street of the quaint old village, and 
 played the mischief with the tall elms and the venerable 
 buttonwoods that stood on either side like sentinels guarding 
 the highway. How the old gilt lion that swung from the 
 sign post of the tavern, hanging like a malefactor in irons, 
 was shaken and disturbed ! Backwards and forwards the' 
 animal was tossed, like a bark upon the ocean. Now he 
 seemed as if about to turn a somerset and circumnavigate 
 the beam from which he hung, creaking and groaning dis 
 mally all the while, like an unhappy soul in purgatory. 
 The loose shutters of the upper story of the tavern chat- 
 34 397 
 
398 THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
 tered like the teeth of a witch -ridden old crone. But 
 cheerful fires of hickory and maple were burning within 
 doors ; a merry group was gathered in the old oak parlor, 
 and little recked the guests of the elemental war without. 
 In fact, they knew nothing of it, till the driver of the vil 
 lage stage coach, making his appearance with a few flakes 
 of snow on his snuff-colored surtout, announced, as he ex 
 panded his broad hands to the genial blaze, that it was a 
 " wild night out of doors." 
 
 But on on sped the wild wind, driving the snow flakes 
 before it as a victorious army sweeps away the routed 
 skirmishers and outposts of the enemy. Away went the 
 night wind on its wild errand, reaching at last a solitary 
 cottage on the outskirts of the village. Here it revelled in 
 unwonted fury, ripping up the loose shingles from the moss- 
 grown rooftree, and forcing an entrance through many a 
 yawning crevice. 
 
 The scene within the cottage presented a strange and 
 painful contrast to the interior of most of the comfortable 
 houses in the flourishing village through which we have 
 been hurrying on the wings of the cold north wind. The 
 room was scantily furnished. There were two or three 
 very old-fashioned, rickety, straw-bottomed chairs, an oaken 
 stool or two, and a pine table. The hour hand of a wooden 
 clock on the mantel piece pointed to eleven. A fire of chips 
 and brushwood was smouldering on the hearth. In one 
 corner of the room, near the fireplace, on a heap of straw, 
 covered with a blanket, two little boys lay sleeping in each 
 other's arms. Crouched near the table, her features dimly 
 lighted by a tallow candle, sat a woman advanced in life, 
 clad in faded but cleanly garments, whose hollow cheeks 
 and sunken eye told a painful tale of sorrow and destitu 
 tion. Those sad eyes were fixed anxiously and imploringly 
 
THE NEW TEAK'S BELLS. 399 
 
 upon the stern, grim face of a hard-featured old man, who, 
 with hat pulled over his shaggy gray eyebrows, was stand 
 ing, resting on a stout staff, in the centre of the floor. 
 
 " So, you haven't got any money for me," said the old 
 man, in the harshest of all possible voices. 
 
 " Alas ! no, Mr. Wurm if I had I should have brought 
 it to you long ago," answered the poor woman. " I had 
 raked and scraped a little together but the sickness of 
 these poor children poor William's orphans swept it 
 all away I haven't got a cent." 
 
 " So much the worse for you, Mrs. Redman," answered 
 the old man, harshly. " I've been easy with you I've 
 waited and waited trusting your promises. I can't wait 
 any longer. I want the money." 
 
 "You want the money ! Is it possible ? Report speaks 
 you rich." 
 
 "It's false false!" said the old man, bitterly. "I'm 
 poor I'm pinched. Ask the townspeople how I live. 
 Do I look like a rich man ? No, no ! I tell you I want my 
 dues and I will have 'em." 
 
 " I can't pay you," said the woman, sadly. 
 
 " Then you must abide the consequences ! " 
 
 " What consequences ? " 
 
 " I've got an execution that's all," said the hardheart 
 ed landlord. 
 
 " An execution ! what's that ? " 
 
 " A warrant to take all your goods." 
 
 " My goods ! " said the poor woman, looking round her 
 with a melancholy smile. " Why I have nothing but what 
 few things you see in this room. You surely wouldn't take 
 those." 
 
 I'll take all I can get." 
 
 " And leave me here with the bare walls." 
 
4:00 THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
 "No, m ! you walk out of this to-morrow." 
 
 " In the depth of winter ! You cannot be so hard 
 hearted." 
 
 " We shall see that." 
 
 "I care not for myself; but what is to become of these 
 poor children ? " 
 
 " Send 'em to work in the factory." 
 
 " But they are just recovering from sickness ; they are 
 too young to work. O, where, where can we go ? " 
 
 " To the poorhouse," said the landlord, fiercely. 
 
 The poor woman rose, and approaching the landlord's 
 feet, fell upon her knees, clasped her hands, and looked 
 upward in his stern and unrelenting face. 
 
 " Israel "Wurm," she said, " has your heart grown as hard 
 as the nether millstone ? Have you forgotten the days of 
 old lang syne ? O, remember that we were once prosperous 
 and happy ; remember that misfortune and not sin has re 
 duced me and mine to the deplorable state in which you 
 find us. Remember that my husband was your early friend 
 your schoolfellow your playmate. Remember that 
 when he was rich and you poor, he gave you from his 
 plenty freely bountifully not gave with the expec 
 tation of a return ; his gifts were bounties, not loans." 
 
 " Therefore I owed him nothing," said the obdurate miser, 
 turning away. 
 
 " You shall hear me out," said the woman, starting to her 
 feet. " I ask for a further delay ; I ask you to stay the 
 hard hand of the law. You profess to be a Christian ; I 
 demand justice and mercy in the name of those sleeping 
 innocents, my poor grandchildren, whose father is in heaven. 
 You shall be merciful." 
 
 " Heyday ! " exclaimed the miser ; " this is fine talk, upon 
 my word. You demand justice, do you ? Well, you shall 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 401 
 
 have it. The law is on my side, and I will carry it out to 
 the letter." 
 
 " Then," said the outraged woman, stretching forth her 
 trembling hand, " the curse of the widow and the orphan 
 shall be upon you. Sleeping or waking, it shall haunt you ; 
 and on your miserable death bed, when the ugly shapes that 
 throng about the pillow of the dying sinner shall close around 
 you, our malediction shall weigh like lead upon you, and 
 your palsied lips shall fail to articulate the impotent prayer 
 for that mercy to yourself which you denied to others. 
 And now begone. This house is mine to-night, at least. 
 Afflict it no longer with your presence. Go forth into the 
 night ; it is not darker than your benighted soul, nor is the 
 north wind one half so pitiless as you." 
 
 With a bitter curse upon his lips, but trembling and dis 
 mayed in spite of himself, Israel Wurm left the presence of 
 the indignant victim of his cruelty, and turned his footsteps 
 in the direction of his home. His home ! It scarcely de 
 served the name. There was no fire there to thaw his 
 chilled and trembling frame no light to gleam athwart 
 the darkness, and send forth its pilgrim rays to meet him 
 and guide his footsteps to his threshold. No wife, no 
 children, waited eagerly his return. It was the miser's 
 home dark, desolate, stern, and repulsive. Its deep cel 
 lars, its thick walls held hidden stores of gold, and notes, 
 and bonds, but there were garnered up no treasures of the 
 heart. 
 
 The miser's path lay through the churchyard, a desolate 
 place enough even in the gay noon of a midsummer day, 
 now doubly repulsive in the wild midnight of midwinter. 
 The wall was fuinous. The black iron gateway frowned, 
 naked and ominous. The field of death was crowded with 
 headstones of slate, and innumerable mounds marked the 
 34* 
 
402 THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
 resting-place of many generations. The snow was no\t 
 gathering fast over the dreary and desolate abode, as the 
 miser stumbled along the beaten pathway, bending against 
 the blast and drift. A strange numbness and drowsiness 
 crept over him. He no longer felt the cold ; an uncontrol 
 lable desire of slumber possessed him. He sat down upon 
 a flat tombstone, and soon lost all consciousness of his actual 
 situation. 
 
 Suddenly he saw before him the well-known figure of the 
 old sexton of the village, busily occupied in digging a grave. 
 The winter had passed away ; it was now midsummer. The 
 birds were singing in the trees, and from the far green 
 meadows sounded the low of cattle, and the tinkling of 
 sheep bells. Even the graveyard looked no longer desolate, 
 for on many of the little hillocks bright flowers were spring 
 ing into bloom and verdure, attesting the affection that out 
 lived death, and decorating with living bloom the precincts 
 of decay. 
 
 " My friend, for whom are you digging that grave ? " 
 asked Israel. 
 
 The sexton looked up from his work, but did not seem to 
 recognize the spokesman. 
 
 " For a man that died last night ; he is to be buried 
 to-day." 
 
 " Methinks this haste is somewhat indecorous," said Israel 
 Wurm. 
 
 " 0, for the matter of that," said the sexton, " the sooner 
 this fellow's out of the way the better. There's nobody tc 
 mourn for him." 
 
 " Is he a pauper, then ? " 
 
 " O no ! he was immensely rich." 
 
 u And had he no relations no friends ? " 
 
 u For relations, he had a nephew, who inherits all his 
 
THE NEW TEAR'S BELLS. 403 
 
 property. The young dog will make the money fly, I tell 
 you. As for friends, he had none. The poor dreaded him 
 the good despised him ; for he was a hardhearted, self 
 ish, griping man. In a word, he was a MISER," said tho 
 sexton. 
 
 " A miser," faltered the trembling dreamer ; " what waa 
 his name ? " 
 
 " Israel Wurra," replied the sexton. 
 
 Graveyard and sexton faded away ; in their place arose 
 a splendid grove of trees a clearing a village school 
 house. Two boys were sauntering along the roadside, en 
 gaged in serious, childish talk. One was fair, with golden 
 locks ; the other dark-haired and grave of aspect. Israel 
 started, for in the latter he recognized himself a boy of 
 fifty years ago. 
 
 " Israel," said the golden-haired boy, " it's 'lection day 
 to-morrow ; we'll hire Browning's horse and chaise, and go 
 to Boston, and have a grand time on the Common, seeing 
 all the shows." 
 
 " You forget, Mark," said the dark-haired boy, sadly, 
 " that I have no money." 
 
 " What of that ? " replied the other ; " I have a pocket 
 full ; and what's mine is yours, you know. Come, cheer up, 
 you'll one day be as rich as I am ; and then it will be your 
 turn to treat, you know. I can afford to be generous, and 
 so would you be, if you had the means." 
 
 Then the shadow passed from the face of the dark -haired 
 boy, and a smile lighted up his countenance, and the two 
 schoolfellows passed on their way together. 
 
 Grove and school house passed away, melting into another 
 scene like one of the dissolving views. Israel stood before 
 a huge illuminated screen, in the midst of a gaping company 
 of sight seers. He could see nothing but a confused mass 
 
404 THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
 of heads, vaguely lighted by the rays from that vast screen, 
 It was some kind of an exhibition. 
 
 " Now, ladies and gentlemen," said a strange voice issuing 
 from the darkness, " we shall show you the wonders of the 
 oxy-hydrogen microscope ; natural objects magnified five 
 thousand times. Look and behold the proboscis of the 
 common house fly." 
 
 Israel gazed with the rest, and soon a huge object, re 
 sembling the trunk of a monster elephant, appeared on the 
 illuminated disk. It passed away. 
 
 " Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the voice, " look well 
 to the illuminated screen. What do you see now ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " was the universal and indignant answer. 
 
 " I thought so," replied the voice. " Yet you have before 
 you a miser's soul magnified five thousand times ; a million 
 such would not produce an image on the screen." 
 
 The illuminated disk grew dark and disappeared ; then 
 a lurid light seemed to fill all space ; and soon huge billows 
 of flames rolled upward, and writhed and twisted together 
 like a myriad of gigantic serpents. Shrieks and howls of 
 anguish issued from the fiery mass, but above all was heard 
 the startling clangor of a bell. 
 
 " Halloo ! who's this ? " cried a voice that evidently issued 
 from a set of powerful human lungs. The miser felt him 
 self roughly shaken by the shoulder, and awoke. 
 
 " What's the noise ? lire ? " he asked ; for the bell he 
 had heard in his dream now jarred upon his waking senses. 
 
 " Fire ! no ! " said the man who had awakened him the 
 butcher of the village. " It's the boys ringing in the new 
 year. By the way, I wish you a happy new year, Mr, 
 Wurm." 
 
 " A happy new year, Mr. Wurm," said the schoolmaster 
 for he, too, was present. 
 
THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 405 
 
 " A happy new year," said Farmer Harrowby. 
 
 " And a happy new year " chorused a dozen other voices. 
 It was great fun wishing a miser a happy new year. 
 
 " Thank you, neighbors ; I wish you a thousand," replied 
 Israel, cheerfully. 
 
 " How came you asleep there ? " asked Farmer Harrowby. 
 " Why, you might have perished in the drift." 
 
 " I was overcome by drowsiness," answered Israel. " I 
 was very cold ; I'd been to make a call on Widow Redman, 
 and the poor soul was out of wood. By the way, farmer, 
 the first thing after sunrise, I want you to be sure to geai 
 up your ox team, and take a cord of your best hickory and 
 pitch pine to the widow." 
 
 " And who'll pay me ? " asked the farmer, doubtfully. 
 
 " I will, to be sure," answered Israel. " Have not I got 
 money enough ? Here hold your hand ; " and he put a 
 handful of silver in the farmer's honest palm. " And you, 
 Mr. Wilkins," he added, addressing the butcher, " take her 
 the best turkey you've got, and half a pig, with my compli 
 ments, and a happy new year to her." 
 
 " And how about that execution ? " asked the constable, 
 who was round with the rest, ' seeing the old year out and 
 the new year in.' 
 
 " Confound the execution ! Don't let me hear another 
 word about it," said Israel, magnanimously. "And now, 
 neighbors," he added, " I owe you something for your good 
 wishes ; come along with me to the Golden Lion, and I'll 
 give you the best supper the tavern affords. Hurrah ! 
 New year don't come but once in a twelvemonth." 
 
 We will be bound that a meirier party never left a 
 churchyard, even after a funeral, nor a merrier set ever sat 
 down to a festal board, than that which gathered to greet 
 the hospitality of Israel Wurm. In the course of the even- 
 
 2 A 
 
406 THE NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
 ing, an old Scotch gardener gave it as his opinion that >he 
 " miser was fey." (When a man suddenly changes his 
 character, as when a spendthrift becomes saving, or a nig 
 gard generous, the Scotch say that he is fey, and consider 
 the change a forerunner of sudden death.) 
 
 " No, my friends," said Israel, overhearing the remark, 
 " I am not fey ; and I mean to live a long while, Heaven 
 willing, for I have just learned that the true secret of en 
 joying life is to do good to others. I had a dream to-nignt 
 which has, I trust, made me a wiser and better man. The 
 miser lies buried in yonder churchyard ; Israel Wurm, a 
 new man, has risen in his place ; and as far as my means 
 go, I intend that this shall be a happy new year to every 
 one of my acquaintances." 
 
 Israel was as good as his word, and never relapsed into 
 his old habits. The widow and the orphan children were 
 provided for by his bounty ; he gave liberally to every ob 
 ject of charity. Hospitals, schools, and colleges were the 
 recipients of his bounty ; and when he died, in the fulness 
 of years, the blessings of old and young followed him to his 
 last resting-place in the old churchyard where he had 
 dreamed the mysterious dream, and been awakened to a 
 better life by the pealing of the NEW YEAR'S BELLS. 
 
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 " 0, THIS is beautiful beautiful indeed !" cried a young 
 hind silvery voice, musical as fairy bells heard at midnight. 
 " How white this snowy drapery hangs upon the roofs of 
 these bright palaces ! " and the speaker, a gay boy, danced 
 trippingly along, following in the footsteps of an old, gray- 
 bearded man who was tottering before him. 
 
 The old man turned. " You % call that snowy drapery 
 beautiful ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes it is like the raiment of a bride," said the boy. 
 
 " To me it seems a shroud thrown over the grave of 
 buried hopes," answered the old man. 
 
 " But what are these joy bells ringing for ? " said the boy. 
 
 " For a death and for a birth ! " replied the old man. 
 
 You speak riddles." 
 
 "I speak truth. The same sounds have a different 
 import to different ears. To mine there is a death knell in 
 these tremulous vibrations of the air." 
 
 " You are very old, father and age has cankered you." 
 
 " A twelvemonth since, young child of Time," replied the 
 old man, " I was like you." 
 
 " A twelvemonth ! Your back is bent, your locks are sil 
 very, your voice is tremulous. How is this ? " 
 
 " Wrinkles and gray hairs are the work of sorrows, not of 
 years. Eyes that are weary of the sight of suffering grow 
 dim apace." 
 
 407 
 
408 THE OLD TEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 " But hark ! " said the youth. " Hear you not that mu 
 sic the peals of laughter that come from yonder illumi 
 nated house ? It is a wedding festival." 
 
 " Yes," replied the old man, sadly. " A twelvemonth 
 since, I heard the same sounds in the same house. There 
 was music and feasting it was, as now, a wedding festi 
 val. Where is the -bride? Go to yonder churchyard. 
 You will find her name inscribed on a simple stone. If you 
 pass out of the city to the north, you will see some huge 
 buildings of brick, towering upon an eminence. If you 
 linger by the garden wall you will hear shrieks and curses, 
 the howls of despair, the ravings of hopeless lunacy. The 
 husband is there the victim of his own evil passions a 
 raving maniac." 
 
 " Away with these croaking reminiscences ! " cried the 
 younger voice. " Let the music peal let the dance go on. 
 The wine is red within the cup." 
 
 " Yes and the deadly serpent lurks below." 
 
 " Then the world is all desolate ! " cried the New Year. 
 
 " No ! there are green spots in the desert ! " said the 
 Old Year ; " but beware of deeming it all fairyland ! But 
 a little while and you will follow me. But the end is not 
 here after Time, Eternity ! There suffering and sin are 
 unknown. There each departed spirit, after making the 
 circuit of its appointed sphere, shall rise to a higher and a 
 higher, while boundless love and wisdom illuminate all, 
 radiating from a centre whose brightness no human senses 
 can conceive." 
 
 The old man was gone. The joyous bells had rung his 
 requiem. The young heir was enthroned and with min 
 gled hope and foreboding commenced the reign of 1853. 
 

.JO 
 
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 The three brides 
 
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