LIBRARY 1 UNIVERSITY OP CAtJfOPNIA SAN DIEGO k- J i : 15473 SHELLS SHELLS FROM THE STRAND OF THE SEA OF GENIUS BY HARRIET FARLEY. FIRST SERIES. BOSTON: JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. MDCCCXLVII. Entered according to Act of Congrnv.i, in the year 1847, by JAMES MUNROE & COMPANY, in the Clerk s office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts BOSTON: PRINTED BY THURSTON, TORRY &; CO. 31 Devonshire Stieet. DEDICATED Co ntg JFat&er anfc WHO gave me that education which has enlivened years of labor ; and, while constituting my own happiness, has enabled me to contribute to the enjoyment of others. PREFACE. THESE stories, essays, and fancies, have been col lected at the suggestion of several kind and highly esteemed friends, who seemed to think that others might be as much gratified with their versatility of style and sentiment as they have been. Most of them were first published in the LOWELL OFFERING, hastily written, and but slightly revised. The writer must crave indulgence from the critics, and more especially for her rhymes. Some of them are very faulty in rhythm, and altogether too bad to be mended. Whether they are worthy of publication she leaves for the reader to decide. A collection of shells, not intrinsically beautiful, may by a tasteful arrangement produce a very pleas ing effect. This merit her work does not possess. The original design was broken by a request for matter to enlarge the book, and the sketches included between pages 147 and 224, were prepared after those preced ing them were printed. X PREFACE. Should the sale of this work authorize the publica tion of another volume, it will be succeeded by a Second Series, containing The Princess, an Oriental Fairy Tale ; Garftlena, the Songstress, a Hungarian Tale; and Ermengarde of the Rhine, and the Dia mond King. She trusts that these shells, started from their depths by the bold and skilful navigator, yet collected by a hasty and humble wanderer upon the shore, may not be deemed utterly unworthy of a place in the cab inet or the parlor. H. F. SHADY NOOK, January, 1847. CONTENTS PAGE THE SEA OF GENIUS 1 THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE . . . . 11 THE GARDEN OF SCIENCE . . . . .14 AN ALLEGORY ...... 17 AMBITION AND CONTENTMENT . . . .22 ANCIENT POETRY ..... 32 GLORY OF LIGHT . . . . . .36 A WEAVER S REVERIE ..... 40 JOANNE OF ARC . . . . . .44 ABBY S YEAR IN LOWELL .... 56 THE FIRST BELLS . . . . . .67 A FRAGMENT ...... 78 FATHER MOODY . . . . . .81 DEAL GENTLY ...... 88 THE PHILOSOPHER . . . . . .92 FACTORY ROMANCE ..... 100 WOMAN . . . . . . .115 ARISTOCRACY OF EMPLOYMENT . . . . 121 THE UNSETTING SUN ..... 132 THE PORTRAIT GALLERY .... 147 THE COUNTRY LAWYER ..... 180 THE PATCHWORK QUILT .... 183 Xll CONTENTS. VILLAGE PASTORS ...... 191 THE FURBELOWED BONNET . . . 207 SCENES ON THE MERRIMAC . . . . .214 THE MAN OUT OF THE MOON .... 224 THE WINDOW DARKENED ..... 236 POETICAL PIECES. LINES ADDRESSED TO THE COMET .... 243 THE MOUSE S VISIT ..... 248 THE SONG OF THE SHOE ..... 252 THE SEQUESTERED HARP .... 255 THE TASK OF DEATH ..... 259 LAST EFFORT OF THE POETESS .... 270 THE TRUE MOURNER ..... 272 "HE IS NOT HERE HE IS RISEN" . . . 274 LAMENT OF THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK . . . 276 THE LAME CHILD TO HER MOTHER . . . 280 THE DREAM-LAND ...... 283 ROOM FOR THE DEAD ..... 286 THE HEATHEN WIFE . 289 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. THE SEA OF GENIUS. ONE lovely summer evening, I sat reading the fas cinating production of one of our female authors. The brilliant hues of sunset had faded from the western horizon ; twilight had deepened into darkness ; the Queen of Night had arisen in her soft splendor ; all sounds of man and beast were stilled ; and the hush of midnight was upon all Nature. Yet, unheeding this, I sat entranced by visions of fancy, far more beautiful than aught with which earth could present me ; and not till the last page was perused, and reperused, by eyes which were loath to turn from it, was the en chantment over. And then arose a deep, irrepressible wish that / too might possess the gift of genius ; that I might shine a brilliant star in the literary galaxy, and throw a spell around the hearts of others, even as mine own had been enthralled this night. .-; t And yet I know it to be a fearful gift ; too often bringing upon its envied possessor poverty,, censure, I 2 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND obloquy, madness and premature death. It is the key of a fated chamber, which no threat nor warning can deter its possessor from entering, though she may vainly regret the act when she sees that it is filled with nought but blood, horror, and decay ; and from the consequences of her rash conduct, too seldom does the Selim of plain, practical common sense, come to rescue his presumptuous Fatima. Those who in olden time invented tales of mortals who, for a few years of supernatural power over their fellow beings, sold themselves for all eternity to the Prince of Darkness, were not ignorant of the human heart. They knew of a chord which vibrates in many a bosom ; and I now felt the discord which its touch could create in my own mind. My feelings were pain fully aroused, and I went to my window that I might look upon the sparkling canopy of heaven ; for when murmuring thoughts arise within me, I love to look upon the stars not upon the brighter ones, though they shine so unconscious of their loveliness ; but, ra ther, Would look upon some little star, Which is so faint, and very far, I almost think I gaze on air, And doubt if aught be gleaming there. For the little stars say not one to another, "I am not Sirius, nor Arcturus, nor Aldebaran, and no one will heed me, and take note of my feeble rays; " but they come modestly out after their more brilliant sisters; and as darkness gathers around them, they send forth brighter and brighter rays, and give to the night-sky its beauty. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 3 Even thus may we, like the lesser stars, come forth in our humble stations of life, unenvious of those who shine in wealth, power and splendor ; and when trials, sorrows and gloom gather about us, may we put forth every power, and do all that in us lies to make life gladsome. Thus I mused as I gazed upon the stars, and such the lesson I learned from "Heaven s own alphabet; " but when my mind had become more calm and tran quil, they began to fade away. Fainter grew the stars, and blacker the sky, till I was left in darkness. And with the sight of those lovely orbs, their sweet influ ence also passed away ; and again arose within me the yearning desire for a gift which might never be mine. In the earnestness of my spirit, I prayed for it aloud, and called wildly on INSPIRATION. Scarcely had I spoken, ere I saw a being approach ing me through the gloom. His form was tall and majestic ; his white robes floated gracefully about him, as thin and light as a summer cloud ; his long silvery locks hung loosely over his shoulders ; his sunken cheek and lofty brow were like polished marble ; and his large black liquid eyes were full of a brightness like the light which flashes up when the sun shines on a deep fountain. He cast upon me a mingled glance of sorrow and rebuke, and then said, " Come with me." So I followed him. guided through the darkness by the brightness of his garments ; for I knew that it was he upon whom I had called, and that Inspiration now conducted me. At length he stopped ; and turning, said to me, " What seest thou ? " I replied, " There are dim shad- 4 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND ows about me, and I can see nothing distinctly. " " Thine eye," said he, " will soon become more accus tomed ; but tell me what thou hearest 1 " And I said, "I hear a loud, confused sound, as of many troubled waters." " Thou hast heard aright." said Inspiration ; " but look again, and tell me what thou seest." I re plied, "We are standing on the shore of a vast sea, the waters of which are rough, black and stormy : there are many ships of different sizes on the tossing waves, and a low black cloud is over us and them. Tell me, what is the sea, and whose are the vessels? " Inspiration replied, "The sea before thee is the Sea of Genius, and the vessels are the creations of those who inhabit and conduct them. They are built, in scribed, and ornamented according to my suggestions ; and none but those on whom I bestow my directions and counsels, can make a bark which will long weather those tempestuous waters. True, there are those who, by much industry and skilful imitation, will construct a vessel, and launch upon the Sea of Genius; but, while there, they are the sport of the winds and waves, and are soon tossed upon the strand, where for a short time they remain dismantled wrecks, and then crumble to pieces. Those, on the contrary, whom I choose to favor with my assistance, can make a ship which will last long after the builder s hand has crumbled into dust, and his career across yon sea has been for many ages ended. Walk with me upon the shore, and see those noble vessels which long have been, and long will be, the admiration of your race." So I walked with Inspiration on the strand, which was covered with vessels of many forms and sizes. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. O The first which I noticed was a noble ship, which, though it bore the marks of ages long gone by, was still sound and unshattered. Many men had gathered around it, and were viewing with deep interest the imagery and inscriptions with which it was covered. But the language was unknown to me, and Inspiration bade me listen to the interpreters. I heard them tell strange deeds of beings unlike us, and I also listened to tales of the heroes of other days. I lingered not long, however, for but few of my sex were there ; yet ere I left I looked upon the name, and found that it was HOMER. Farther on, there was another vessel, on which was the name of Virgil. Again I listened awhile to the interpreters ; and then I passed on by many other ves sels, until I came to those inscribed with the language which I knew. I saw the names of Churchill, Chat ter ton, Spenser, Dryden, and others; but one particularly attracted my attention, by its size and beauty, and the vast multitudes gathered around it. Among them were interpreters of different tongues, but I could now look upon the noble ship itself, and read with my own eyes its numerous inscriptions, and admire its richly traced imagery. I read the tales of other climes, and other days ; and wondered at the vastness and versatility of the talent of him who could thus enrich and beautify this majestic ship. The name of it was Shakspeare. I looked also on another noble ship, on which was the name of Milton. I saw there depicted earthly scenes of more than earthly beauty, and also viewed the pictures of other worlds. I saw, too, a darkly colored vessel, inscribed with 1* O SHELLS FROM THE STRAND many melancholy scenes, the name of which was Yotmg. And another, upon which were delicately traced many sad and many pleasing pictures, and scenes of sweet domestic life. The name of it was Cowper. And one, which bore the name of Thomson, was covered with copies of Nature s loveliest scenery, and inscribed with many pleasing sentiments. T gazed with pleasure on a ship which at first I thought a very ancient one, for it had been covered Avith old moss and withered leaves, and the inscriptions were of long past times. The name of it was Ossian. There were also two beautiful ships, in whose con struction Inspiration had evidently been prodigal of his instructions. The names of these were Burns and Byron. The first was built of Highland oak ; and its rough appearance indicated massy strength, and prom ised durability. The other, though evidently as strong, was smooth as polished metal. Both were inscribed Avith beautiful thoughts, and on both Avere depicted scenes on Avhich it pained me to look. "Thou didst much for them both," said I to Inspiration. " And much in vain," Avas his reply. I looked also on many other vessels, for they had be come more numerous as I passed on, and the shore Avas more thickly strown Avith the remains of those which had gone to Avreck. Some had crumbled to atoms, and others Avere loosely holding together. "These," said Inspiration, as he picked up some scattered remnants, "Avere the productions of those Avho vainly imagined they could build a durable ship Avithout my assistance. Fools are they Avho long to embark upon those stormy Avaves, unless they know that my voice will cheer and OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 7 encourage them. Look again, vain mortal! on the Sea of Genius, for thy more accustomed eye can dis cern the inscriptions on the vessels which are now careering there." So I looked again upon the sea, and the ships thereon; and I now saw that the waters were not alike rough on every part of its surface; but while in some places the tossing waves foamed angrily, in others they were almost calm and placid. I saw, too, that above us was not one single cloud, but a mingled mass of light and darker vapors, though all of a sombre hue. The winds were not alike favorable to all the vessels, but some were gaily wafted on, and others impelled with violence. I fixed my eye on a bark remarkable for its beauty and dimensions. I thought at first that the name of it was The Great Unknown: but after looking longer, I saw that it was the Walter Scott. It skimmed lightly along the rough waves, and it was evident that a buoyant heart and skilful hand were at the helm. Many thronged the shore to watch its beauteous career, and listen to the voice which could sing so many different lays. But at length a dark cloud gathered above that noble ship ; strong winds arose to retard its course, and agitate the sea around it. Yet proudly on it went over the dark waters, and new energies were put forth to hasten its course. Farther on was a lighter sky and smoother sea, and a gazing multitude hoped soon to see that glo rious struggle ended; but at length the voice ceased, the hand dropped, the form had vanished, and the ship came to the shore amidst a long loud wail from many hearts. " He was thy favorite," said I to Inspiration. "Yet SHELLS FROM THE STRAND he was not wholly devoted to me," was his reply. "When those I have thus cherished, look to worldly pomp and splendor to enhance their happiness, I often desert them ; but I never left him. I could not leave him." Again I looked upon the sea, and saw a lovely ship with snowy sails, wending its way across the dark waters. The name of it was Henums, and beautiful was the imagery with which she had adorned her bark, and plaintively sweet the voice which proceeded from it. The sky was lowering, and the winds blew rough, and none seemed to favor her but Inspiration. Bright was her course amid the storm; and deep was the sor row of an admiring crowd, when the deserted vessel struck the strand. I saw another beautiful ship playfully bounding over the waves, on which was the name of Howitt ; and another on which were the initials of L. E. L. ; but a dark cloud came over the latter, and with a sudden plunge, it sank into the sea, and then floated a deserted vessel to the shore. I looked also on others which seemed even nearer to me, and which bore the names of Irving, Cooper, Wil lis, Bryant, Gould, Sigourney, and Sedgwick. And once a little fairy skiff appeared upon the Sea of Genius. A childish form was at the helm, and a sweet voice arose upon the breeze : but the sea was too rough, and she too devoted; and soon, too soon, that light bark came to the shore amid the sighs and tears of many dis appointed friends. The name of it was Lucretia Maria Davidson.* "She also was a favorite," said I, turn ing to my guide ; and it might be because my own eyes * This was first published before the writer had heard of Margaret M. Davidson. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. W were dimmed, that I thought I saw tears in those of Inspiration. There were also some other vessels, whose pecu liar appearance attracted my attention. They were painted black, so that it required a closely discerning eye to read the inscriptions, which were in a language unknown to me; but I could read the names and among them were those of Goethe, Schiller, Herder, Krummacher, fyc. "Listen to the interpreters," said Inspiration, "and then tell me how thou art pleased with their words." I replied, " The voices of some of them come to my ear like the songs of beings from another sphere ; there is in them a vague, indistinct sense of beauty, which I can neither appreciate nor un derstand. Others again seem to me like the sounds of well known music, as it comes gently stealing over moon-lit waters. Others again seem to me like jargon and nonsense." " I like thy sincerity," said Inspira tion, "but thou betrayest much ignorance." "I know I am ignorant," was my reply ; but I fain would know, and thou canst teach me. Let me be thy pupil nay, even thy slave, though I may never be thy favored child." "It cannot be," was the answer of Inspiration, " for I have not willed it." " And yet," said I to him, " there are none upon that sea who would be more attentive to thy voice, nor more grate ful for thine instructions. Teach me also to build a ship, and let me launch upon the Sea of Genius." Inspiration replied, " Neither tears nor prayers have ever prevailed with me to bestow my counsels on those I myself had not chosen. Many would be on that sea who now stand watching on the shore, if 10 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND their own wishes and unaided efforts could avail them. And it should be a cause of rejoicing to thee, that I have this once deigned to show thee my face." I had fallen at the feet of my conductor, and now I arose in my hopelessness to leave the place. But the gloom was changed to brilliant light, and the form of Inspiration had vanished in the brightness. I looked on the sea, but its waters seemed changed to liquid gold, and the waves rolled on in sweet harmony. I lifted my eyes to the sky above, but the clouds were now a waving flame ; and when I raised my hand to shade me from the dazzling sight, the motion awoke me, and behold ! it was a dream. I was still sitting by the window from which the stars had disappeared the night before ; but now it was morning, and the rising sun had thrown his first beams on my unshaded eyelids. The birds had com menced their joyous carols, and their matin songs had mingled with the voices of my dream. The opening flowers shed around a sweet fragrance, and the dew- drops were sparkling in the sun light. The beasts had awaked to their morning pleasures : the husband man was cheerfully commencing his labors , and all nature was alive to joy and beauty. The stars of the night had subdued me to placid resignation, but the morning sun aroused me to buoyancy and gladness. The oppressive heaviness of that strange dream had passed away ; and when I saw all around me so con tented and cheerful, I resolved that I too would go actively about the humble duties of the day, and never more repine because I might not steer a bark across the black and stormy Sea of Genius. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 11 THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. IT is difficult for those whose lives are spent in the hurry of business, and the excitement of general society, whose pleasures are those of a giddy crowd, and whose amusements are shared by a mirth-loving throng, to conceive of the joys of the lonely student, or imagine the recompense he receives, when he resigns all other good for the charms of Science. But though we whose thoughts are absorbed by the daily cares of a toilsome life, and whose intellects are dulled by neglect, or warped by misuse, may not be able to comprehend those pleasures, still we may be assured they do exist for those whose minds have strength and perseverance for their pursuit. There are men whose souls are bound within the limits of the laboratory, or the lecture-room ; and those whose hearts are still within their breasts, save when they leap forth from some lone observatory into the midnight heavens ; and there are those who are alive but to the beautiful and curious in the works of Nature, or the organization of their brother man, and who for these joys have resigned the charms of the social circle, and the quiet delights of domestic bliss. We speak of the exclusive devotees of Science ; those for whom the parlor is more lonely than the chamber, and who are but fools, or madmen, when they go forth into a world for which they have unfitted themselves. When their heads throb with undue labor, or over-excitement, there is not for them the hand of love to press the aching brow, or the sweet voice of love to wile away the hours of 12 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND tedious gloom. No : these are not their pleasures ; but "Verily they have their reward." The Botanist looks with a more earnest eye upon the beauties of Nature, than does the Painter or the Poet; and in those plants which escape the notice of the latter, he can find both occupation and amusement. Yes, his heart has warmed amid the snows of Lapland, as he observed its curious moss, and the sight of an Alpine plant has sent a glow into his shivering frame. The Geologist will traverse with unwearied step full many a weary mile, and climb with unshrinking nerve the high and craggy precipice. The Astronomer heeds not the dews and frosts of the chilly night, so that he can but gaze upon a cloudless sky. The Chemist fears not the dan gers of his critical experiments; and the Mathematician envies not the gaities of his livelier friends, so that he may be allowed uninterrupted solitude. There are many other sciences, each of which has its zealous votaries, and all their partial followers. But even the most devoted are not exclusively selfish, for they have pleasures less egotistical than mere amuse ment. Each feels that his science is a benefit to the heedless world, and though his labors may be unappre ciated, he yet believes them productive of good. And he who has the hardest scientific task, that of promulgat ing the long-sought truths, is supported by a faith as undoubting as it is ardent and pure. What to him are the sneers of the contemptuous, or the railleries of the ignorant ? for he knows that a day shall come when persecution will change to adulation, and the tones of contempt to those of approbation. Yes, he feels that OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 13 that time will come, though the voice of praise may never reach his ear, or the smiles of gratitude meet his eye ; for both shall be closed in death. No pleasures can be purer than scientific ones, excepting those of Religion, and none but these are less subject to the vicissitudes of life. They whose enjoyments are derived from wealth, from power, from the applause of the multitude, or any of the hopes of earth, how often have we heard of their disappointments ! And even those who have placed their chief reliance for happiness upon domestic bliss, may be deprived by death of the partners of their pleasure ; and then how desolate are they, unless they have learned to hope for a reunion in "that blest world where sorrows never come." The pleasures which are produced by and dependent upon the elastic buoyancy of youth, are very different from those of Science. He who tastes the latter can never regret the former ; for a light is shed upon his path which brightens as the darkness of age comes on, and dissipates the gloom which too often rests upon those who have placed their hopes and their hearts on the vanities of a changing world. Neither are these enduring pleasures less lively and exhilerating than those of a transitory character. I have heard of a geologist who traveled far to satisfy himself, by observation, respecting a theory which he had adopted ; and when he came to the mountain pass which was to be the test, and his warmest hopes were realized, his joy was too great for utterance. And the great Swedish Naturalist, who left his own loved cr untry 2 14 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND to view the different beauties of other lands, when he first saw the yellow hills of Scotland, knelt down and blessed God that he had made the furze. THE GARDEN OF SCIENCE. SCIENCE has been beautifully compared to a Hill ; may it not also be likened to a vast Garden ? Its dif ferent branches are the various paths, and its facts, experiments and theories, are the many plants and flowers. This garden has been redeemed by much toil and care from the vast wastes of Ignorance, and its verge is now but too barren. The shades of the dark Forest of Mystery throw a gloom upon its borders, and but few of its walks give evidence of long continued cultivation. But these old paths are thronged by a cheerful mul titude, who are ever busy in the culture of its beauteous plants, the admiration of its blossoms, or the enjoyment of its fruits. They are bound together by strong sympathies, and though of many different climes and tongues, yet they feel that their hearts are in sweet unison. They gaze together with heightened delight upon the loveliness around them, and their glad voices cheer each other on their way. Some confine themselves to but one path, where they find full employment in the cultivation of the plants which belong to them exclusively. They heed not the OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 15 perfumes which arise from some distant flowers, or the beauties which attract their friends to some other grove. Their senses are engrossed by their own loved blossoms; they scan minutely their texture, form and color ; they exult in their beauty, and fondly believe there is no odor like that exhaled from their petals. But there are others, who, either from less concen- trative powers, or more expansion of mind, diffuse their labors and their joys among the many different walks. They enjoy the beauties, the fragrance, and the delights of all. They love those flowers more perhaps for their beauty, than their utility, and often seek their own happiness more than the good of others. They can appreciate the labors of the plodding and diligent, yet seldom strive to imitate them ; and when they exert themselves, it is but to smooth the rough walks and ornament the bowers. In this garden, Woman is not an unwelcome visitant, though she would once have been deemed an intruder there. But now, when she enters its precincts, a help ing hand is given, and cheering words are spoken. She walks erect and free amid the admiring throng, and never is the intercourse of the sexes more delightful, pure, and unrestrained, than in those beauteous groves and bowers. In the new and yet uncultivated portions of that garden, she is but seldom seen, and few but the strong and fearless are there to be found. Of these, a few occasionally extend their steps to the verge of the waste, and then unguided and alone, they strike out a new path. They heed not the pleasures and the sym pathies which they have left behind ; they feel not the blasts which sweep over their unsheltered forms ; and 16 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND they breast alone the difficulties which surround them. They seek the small wild flowers, and when they have found some stunted plants, they hail with joy the happy discovery ; and then they scan its tiny blossoms, and think they see the promise of future beauty and use fulness. Their prospective eye looks forward to a time when this path will also be thronged with admirers, and those feeble plants shall flourish beneath assiduous hands, in full and graceful luxuriance. They also think that the now secret virtues of those plants will one day be widely known, and that in their leaves will then be found a balm for healing. I have compared the votaries of Science to those who linger in a vast garden. "Yet I may not deem myself a wanderer there. I am but a distant observer, and "view as through a glass, darkly." But through the dim perspective, I can see that for those favored ones there are pleasures which may not die. For them there are cooling founts and murmuring streams ; for them are the rainbow s brightest hues, and the morn s most sparkling dew-drops ; for them soft breezes blow, and fragrance floats on every passing zephyr; for them the birds sing their sweetest songs, bearing music to the ear, and joy to the heart ; and for them the flowers put forth their brightest tints, and they bloom in colors which never fade away. Their food is from a never- failing store, and their drink from fountains of living water. They never tire nor faint, neither do they weary of that place, since new beauties greet their eyes at each advancing step, and darkness never veils the splendor of that scene, for it is lighted by a sun of ever- brightening glory. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 17 AN ALLEGORY. IT was an evening in times long past, when Creation was yet young, and Earth had not settled into that monotonous routine which since has marked her daily course. Yes, Day had passed, and Evening stole along with quiet step, and sober mien, and softly spread, o er field and hill, her dark grey dusky robe. But Earth moaned sadly, and the breezes filled the ear of Evening with her voice of wailing. Then Even ing said, "Why art thou thus disquieted, oh Earth? and why dost thou refuse to lie, in quiet, beneath the robe which I have spread above thee?" And Earth said, "Because there is in it no beauty. Day cometh. and giveth me a mantle of brightest green. At her voice the flowers raise their heads, and she arrayeth them in gorgeous hues, but at thy approach, they bow upon their stems, for thou taketh away their loveliness. It is not thus that thou hast dealt by the sky; for, -though thou hast taken away its many col ored clouds, and brilliant sun, yet hast thou placed therein a million gems, and it is filled with glory." Then Evening mused awhile, and said, "Thou hast not spoken ill : and Earth, at night, shall also have her jewels." So she sprinkled it with dew-drops, which studded every bush and tree, and sparkled o er each vale and hill. And Earth looked upward to the sky and smiled, for Evening now had given both their glittering beauty. 2* 18 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND HOPE AND DESPAIR. " Beware of desperate steps ; the darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will have passed away." "Go," said I sternly to a beautiful figure, with laughing eyes and sunny brow, who was endeavoring to cheer me by the sweet melodies which he awakened from a harp he held in his hand, and ever and anon accompanied by the thrilling strains which gushed from his lips. "Go, Hope, thou deceiver, and let me never again hear thy false words and beguiling tones; they have already betrayed me to ruin; and now leave me, that I may at least see clearly the gulf into which I have been led." But Hope still lingered, and his merry laugh rang in my ears till I stopped them against that sound of mockery, and again bade the false one leave me to myself. " When I am gone, you are deserted by your best friend," was the reply of Hope. " But not by a true one," I added bitterly ; " how often in bygone hours have you painted to my eager eyes some picture of brightest beauty, and told me then, that it was but a shadow of those scenes of happiness, in which I yet should bear a part ; but the phantasm would quickly fade away, only to be renewed by others as beautiful and false. But I can no longer be deluded; my eyes are now opened to thy hollow treachery, and I can never again be the dupe of thy OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 19 artfulness. Do not stay, for I will neither listen to thy voice, nor gaze upon thy face." Hope looked wistfully at me for a moment, and his fingers moved as if to sweep his harp-strings, but I bade him desist ; and, wrapping his bright mantle about him, he unfolded his white pinions and flew away. One burst of farewell music fell on the stilly air, then slowly died away, and I was left alone. " You are mine," said a hoarse deep voice ; and turning, I beheld the lank form and cadaverous visage of Despair, who, "grinning horribly a ghastly smile," again added, " You are mine. I have long been wait ing for the time when, weary of Hope s delusions, you should banish him from your presence ; for not till then might I venture to approach you. We cannot live together, and the votaries of one have nought to fear from the other. You have found that Hope is false ; his syren words beguile but to betray ; but mine are those of fearful truth. Come with me, then, thou ruined one; for truth, alas, you sought too late." "Nay, nay," said I, in supplicating dread for there was an appalling influence in the cold, stern gaze and hollow voice of Despair, which took from me all power to command him to depart; "I have banished Hope, but not because I would be with thee; for surely, truth may yet be found without the aid of cold Despair." " But not by thee," and his words fell like an ice- bolt on my heart : " you have followed Hope, and trusted him, and guided your every action by his whimsical counsels, until you have found yourself in the gulf of ruin." 20 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND "Nay, tell me not of utter ruin; I have friends to aid me, and a long life still in view ; I have banished the deceiver, and past errors may yet be retrieved." "Too late! too late!" was the stem reply of De spair. " You listened too eagerly, confidingly, and long, to my rival. He has left you in obedience to your own commands, and now you are wholly in my power. You spake of friends ; but would those who think themselves your friends, be such, if they knew all your wickedness, all your miserable folly and cre dulity? It is not you whom they love, but that which you have seemed to them. You know that I speak the words of truth:" and I clasped my hands upon my aching brow, for I dared not gainsay the words of Despair. " You spake of life," continued he ; "come with me, and I will show you where your future life is to be spent." I passively followed my ghastly guide, till he brought me to the bank of a deep, sluggish stream. Its black waters flowed on in a stillness unbroken by nought but the yells and moans of those who, on the opposite bank, were dragging out a wretched existence in the dark regions of Despair. " You must plunge into this stream," said my guide, in a tone of com mand ; " yonder is your future home, and those are to be your companions." "It is the river of death," said I; "and none may cross its waves save at His bidding, who is mightier than thou." "Speak not of HIM," replied my grim companion. " Said I not that you are mine, and my commands must be obeyed ? HE heeds you not ; HE deserted OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 21 you when you banished Hope ; there is nought for you here, and where those wretched beings wail forth their tones of agony, there shall you go." He raised his fleshless arm to thrust me in the stream, when a flash of brilliant light burst over the gloomy waters ; a strain of richest harmony came floating on the wind, and then a sound, "like the faint shiver of a wing," attracted my upward gaze. I looked, and there "he, the departed, stood." Hope had again returned, and once more his cheering words fell sweetly on my ears. "Burst from him," said he, "and I will again be with thee." New strength came like electric fire through my frame, as I listened once more to the voice of Hope. With one earnest effort I released myself from the grasp of Despair ; and bound ing from him, I cast myself at the feet of my former companion. One fearful yell rang through the murky air, and Despair had passed away. "And wilt thou again listen to me," said Hope, "and believe and obey me?" "Not," said I, "as I once did ; then I believed too easily, and trusted too fondly, and too far; yet better are even thy false words, than the stern, heart-break ing truths of Despair. Truths, did I say ? Nay, he is as false as thou hast been, and far more unwelcome. Yet I will not wholly forget all he has told me, nor too credulously believe in thee. Sing again thy sweet melodies, but let them tell of the joys of the spirit- land. Picture again thy bright visions, but lay the scenes in another world. Brighten again my earthly path, but let the light come down from above ; and 22 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND when thou shalt again depart from earth, may it be but to fold thy wings in heaven. " " Despair has gone," said Hope, in a sweet, mild tone; "but his influence is still upon thy soul ; there is joy for thee even here, though a purer bliss awaits thee in that better land; " and Hope struck his harp, and again I listened to its melody. I was cheered and invigorated ; I returned again to my former haunts, and mingled in the busy scenes of life. And though I never again would yield to the sweet delusions of Hope, and permitted him no more to sing those strains of visionary joy, neither would I entirely banish him from my presence, being con vinced that he alone could save me from the visits of Despair. AMBITION AND CONTENTMENT. AN ALLEGORY. IT was morning. A mother watched her beauteous boy, as he frolicked among the garden flowers, or sportively anticipated the southern breeze, which stealthily came on its wonted errand to bear away upon its silken wings the diamond gems with which Night had so lavishly bestudded each leaf of the grove and herb of the field ; and as he shook the bright dew- drops from the low wild-flowers, or more beauteous OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 23 blossoms of the garden parterre, he gaily laughed in his childish glee. Nor did he pause in his wild pastime, save when he cast an upward glance at the sky-lark, soaring on to her own sweet music, as though it were her mission to pour that tribute of melody upon the fleecy clouds, which were blushing in the crimson robes thrown over their varying forms by the rising King of Day. And a thoughtful smile came upon the full lips, and beamed from the bright eyes of the fair child, as his young heart thrilled to th,at matin song. But the flowers were many, and their hues were very beautiful; and the perfume with which they loaded the morning breeze in return for its slight caress, was very sweet ; and the gay butterflies flitted about, or shadowed with their gorgeous wings the opening petals of those lovely earth-stars, as if they were Flower- Spirits, guarding and admiring the sweet objects of their care. So the boy withdrew his gaze from the glories of heaven, and fixed them again upon the beauties of earth ; and his heart no longer swelled within him at the gushing strains of the heaven-bound lark, for he listened to nought but the chirp of the cricket, the song of the grasshopper, and the buzz of the silver- winged flies, which hummed amid the fragrant herbage ; and he renewed his wild play, and sported, like the passing zephyr, with the frail flowerets around him. The morning passed. The mothers eyes were still upon her son, and she saw that he began to weary of the wonted pastime with flowerets, dew-drops and but terflies, and that a shadow was stealing upon his sunny 24 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND brow, and the sparkle was fading from his joyous eyes ; and she called the bright boy to her side, and asked him why he had ceased his merry shout, and why the gloom had so early settled upon his spirit. And the child said, "Mother, the dew-drops are gone; the pink shadows of the morning clouds no longer rest upon the limpid lake ; the blue haze, which slightly veiled the mountain-tops, has faded all away ; the breeze now sleeps within the forest-shade, and beneath the shrubbery of the garden ; the flowers are drooping on their stems, or folding up their withered blossoms, say, dearest mother, say, why should I longer shout for joy, or smile again in sunny glee?" And the mother pressed her boy closer to her side, and her low voice fell softly upon his ears, as she answered. "My son, are there not other beauties and other pleasures than those of the early morn? and is thy heart saddened that they should so quickly fade away ? But behold the sun, for he is high in the heavens ; the labor of the day is before thee. Go now about thine appointed task, and thank thy Father in heaven that the day has dawned so brightly, and that so joyous a morning has been given to gladden thy heart, and strengthen thy frame." And the boy said, "Mother, will there be no more morning ? Will the flowers no longer bloom ? and the insects no longer sing? and the dew-drops never more sparkle ? and the zephyrs no more play with the slight tendrils of the vine ?" And the mother replied, " To each day there is but one morn; but our Father above has assured us that the day shall follow the night, and that when we lie OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 25 down to sleep, it shall surely be to wake again. But if we would lie down to rest in peace, and would waken beneath His approving smile, it must be with the con sciousness of a day well spent, and a night anticipated as a release from useful toil. Yet God forbid that no more flowers should gladden thine eyes, and no more music enliven thy heart ; but the carols of early birds, and the fragrance of opening flowers, are delights which this day can never again bestow. My son can no more return to the haunts of his morning pleasures; or if he could, those gardens, fields and vales would no more offer the delights which have beguiled his gone-by hours. Yet in the pilgrim-path before him, there may be joys which will better meet his maturer mind. Flowers may blossom by the way-side, and leisure may be given the passing traveler to enjoy their sweet odor. Birds may carol in the shadowing trees, and may the ears and heart of my child be ever unsealed to their simple melody. Sky-larks may never again attract thine upward gaze, but let those morning songs reverberate in the deep recesses of thy heart, and the ears of thy soul listen to the low echoes of their minstrelsy. So shall the brightness of the morn ing illuminate the coming day, as the sun sends forward roseate robes, for the clouds which wait upon his rising." And the boy said, "Mother, there is but one direc tion, and that is, FORWARD ; but there are many paths. Is there no chart? no guide for the inexperienced one?" And the mother repeated mournfully, "Alas ! is there no guide for my son?" 3 26 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND And there came in reply to her call a noble form, arrayed in richest robes of crimson and purple hues ; a diadem glittered above his brow, and his majestic mien and haughty step well beseemed one clad in so much grandeur. Yet, spite of his lofty bearing, there was much of fascination in his tones, as he said to the boy, "My name is Ambition. Accept me as thy guide, for I can direct thy steps in the path which leads to Happiness. The way is toilsome, for thy steps must be ever ascending; yet there is a joy in the upward progress, and a noble pleasure awaits thee when thou shalt stand above thy fellows on yonder heights ; and amidst the brilliant lights which play around their sum mits, there are glorious forms whose task is ever to minister to those who gain that envied station. Fame and Happiness, twin-sisters, there make their habita tions, and nowhere else can they ever be found." The boy s heart was stirred within him at the beguil ing words of his visitant, and he looked upward to the hills which Ambition had pointed out as the abodes of Fame and Happiness ; and the lurid, nickering light was so dazzling to his young eyes, that he saw not how shadowy were the forms which he had been assured were those whom he should ever seek. Yet ere he started upon his weary ascent, there came to him another form. Cheerful and placid was the expression of her countenance, and the serene light which beamed from her clear blue eyes, was well con trasted with the brighter but restless fires which flashed from the dark orbs of Ambition. Gentle and retiring were her manners ; and there was little to charm in her person, arrayed in a plain brown robe, which bespoke OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 27 frugality and mediocrity of station. She advanced calmly to the boy, and her voice was low and sweet, though her speech was plain, as she thus addressed him: " My name is Contentment. I too am willing to be thy guide ; and though I may not present to thy view those attractions with which my rival would lure thee away, yet believe me when I assure thee, that I alone can conduct thee to Happiness. The path in which I would lead, winds through a lowly vale ; and though to thy bedazzled eyes it may look gloomy now, (for the shadows of those dizzy heights hang darkly over it,) yet there are lights gleaming upward from the still waters, and a soft brightness resting upon the low recesses of the sheltered valley. If Fame be consid ered the only person worthy thy regard, and the coro net that she may place upon thy brows the only object to which thou art willing to devote thy energies, I must withdraw my proffered aid; but believe not the seducing words of yon false one, for Fame is not allied to Happiness, nor are their dwelling-places the same. The former may indeed be found upon that summit, but the latter dwells with every cottager who makes his home in that humble valley, and with every pil grim who treads the shaded path which winds around it. Say then, wilt thou follow me? or wouldst thou rather become the victim of that seducer?" The boy was young, and the splendid attire of Am bition was far more pleasing to his eyes than the plain garments of Contentment ; and the path, to which he pointed, seemed like a bright ascent, leading upward to a scene of glittering illumination ; but the over- 28 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND hanging heights which enclosed the low vale of Con tentment, appeared to him to surround a scene of mingled poverty and gloom. So he took hold of the skirts of Ambition s robe, and declared his readiness to pass the day in following his footsteps ; yet he dared not look back for his mother s blessing, for he felt that she would have smiled far more sweetly upon him, had he accepted the guidance of his gentler monitor. But when Con tentment saw that he slighted her offers, and noticed not the hand which she had kindly extended towards him, she meekly turned away. * * The sun was at the zenith. The mother s eyes were still upon her child, but it was with a fearful joy that she marked the upward path he trod, and saw that in basking amidst the bright rays which poured upon his path, he heeded not the dark clouds which were rolling up from the horizon. And she saw, too, that the gay smile which illuminated his face when he commenced his journey, had vanished away. His countenance was pale and haggard, his eyes wildly sending forth their bright, restless glances, and his footsteps growing fainter and more uncertain. Ever and anon would he cast an anxious glance at the brow of the hill he was ascend ing, thinking to behold upon it the splendid temple to which he had ever directed his steps, and hoping that there he might at length recruit his exhausted frame, and enjoy the reward of his hours of toil. But height peeped over height, hill frowned above hill, Alps on Alps continually arose, until the anxious expression of his own countenance had changed to one of settled gloom. He had outstripped many of his competitors, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 29 and had obeyed the low, selfish suggestions of his guide, who bade him thrust his rivals from the path, or hurl them down the summit, until his course had become one of reckless madness. Desiring to stand alone upon that lofty pinnacle, he had endeavored to bring upon all around him disappointment and destruc tion. His bosom had become a dark fountain, sending forth its black stream of unholy desires and impious machinations. None ever smiled upon him now, and the voice of sympathy never fell upon his ears. There were no friends to aid him, no loved ones to cheer him. Yet he was not alone. Wherever he went, he found that others had been there before him. Whatever summit he might ascend was overlooked by a loftier one, upon whose brow stood those who had attained a higher elevation. Yet Happiness was never visible, and the clouds, which had previously appeared to him refulgent with brightness, were bursting in tempestu ous fury upon his head, and casting their black shadows upon the pathway before him. He paused, and cast his eyes downward upon the low valley, in which he had been invited to pass the day. And he saw that the storms passed high above it, and though the bright sun-beams never dazzled it with radiant light, yet a softer brightness ever illumi nated its bosom. He saw, also, that the dwellers there were a happy band, with cheerful smiles and joyful songs, and that they were truly wealthy, for what they had was all they wished. And he vainly regretted that he had not chosen the better part. "I can never dwell there now," he bitterly repeated, "but happiness may yet be found upon some loftier 3* 30 SHELLS FROM THE SARAND height." Again he turned to resume his toilsome pro gress, but his feeble limbs refused their aid ; darkness came thickly down from the misty hills; his frame was sinking, and his mind despairing. He turned away from Ambition, who would still have urged him on, and sank down in utter despondency. Night was coming. Quickly had passed that day, for the sun had early hasted to his going down. The watchful mother had hastened to her son, and she vainly endeavored to arouse his drooping spirits, and cheer his sunken heart. But it w r as too late. The shades of evening were gathering fast around him, and the sun was sinking below the horizon. "Will no one aid me?" said the wretched mother; and there came, in reply to her call, a lovely form arrayed in robes of snowy whiteness. "My name," said she, "is Religion. Mine is the task to heal the broken-hearted, to give joy to the chil dren of affliction, and to bestow upon them the spirit of rejoicing, for the garment of heaviness. And she turned her angelic face towards that child of disappointment and despair, and sweetly smiled upon him ; and with a voice whose every tone was heavenly melody, she poured into his listening ears the words of consolation. "Oh," said he, "that I had earlier received thine instructions, and enjoyed the delights of thy presence." "My dwelling," she replied, "is in the valley below, and seldom do I find a votary upon the heights. Hadst thou followed Contentment, thou wouldst also have found me, and my sister, Happiness, whom thou hast vainly sought upon these dizzy summits." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 31 "But," said he, "must thy votaries ever continue in the low rallies ? Is there no upward path, but that \vhich Ambition has chosen, to lure his followers to destruction?" And Religion replied, "Thou hast said well, in that thou thinkest an upward progress preferable to a con stant sojourn in the low vallies. There is an upward path, and it leads to mansions of eternal bliss ; there is an exercise for the longing spirit, and it is to serve the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy mind, and with all thy strength ; and there is a joy in this which lasteth evermore. The day is now past, and the night cometh ; but that will also flee away, and a brighter morning shall arouse thee to renovated strength, to purer pleasures, to nobler and greater capacities of enjoyment, and to an entrance to that mansion which is the everlasting abode of Happiness, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. " The bright glow which irradiated the countenance of Religion was reflected upon that of her listener ; a heavenly smile passed over his worn features ; a bril liant light beamed from his sunken eyes; he pressed his mother s hand in his, then gently laid his head upon her breast, "and so he fell asleep." 32 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND ANCIENT POETRY. I LOVE old poetry, with its obscure expressions, its obsolete words, its quaint measure, and rough rhyme. 1 love it with all these, perhaps for these. It is because it is different from modern poetry, and not that I think it better, that it at times affords me pleasure. But when one has been indulging in the perusal of the smooth and elegant productions of later poets, there is at least the charm of variety in turning to those of ancient bards. This is pleasant to those who love to exercise the imagination for if we would understand our author, we must go back into olden times ; we mnst look upon the countenances and enter into the feelings of a long-buried generation ; we must remem ber that much of what we know was then unknown, and that thoughts and sentiments which may have become common to us, glowed upon these pages in all their primal beauty. Much of which our writer may speak, has now been wholly lost ; and difficult, if not impossible to be understood, are many of his expres sions and allusions. But these difficulties present a "delightful task" to those who would rather push on through a tangled labyrinth, than to walk with ease in a smooth -rolled path. Their self-esteem is gratified by being able to discover beauty where other eyes behold but deformity; and a brilliant thought or glowing image is rendered to them still more beautiful, because it shines through a veil impenetrable to other eyes. They are proud of their ability to perceive this beauty, or understand that OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 33 oddity, and they care not for the mental labor which they have been obliged to perform. When I turn from modern poetry to that of other days, it is like leaving bright flowery fields to enter a dark tangled forest. The air is cooler, but damp and heavy. A sombre gloom reigns throughout, occa sionally broken by flitting sunbeams, which force their way through the thick branches which meet above me, and dance and glitter upon the dark underwood below. They are strongly contrasted with the deep shade around, and my eye rests upon them with more pleas ure than it did upon the broad flood of sunshine which bathes the fields without. My searching eye at times discovers some lonely flower, half hidden by decayed leaves and withered moss, yet blooming there in unde- caying beauty. There are briers and thistles and creeping vines around, but I heedlessly press on, for I must enjoy the fragrance and examine the structure of these unobtrusive plants. I enjoy all this for awhile, but at length I am chilled and weary, and glad to leave the forest for a less fatiguing resort. But there is one kind of old poetry to which these remarks may not apply I mean the POETRY OF THE BIBLE. And how much is there of this ! There are songs of joy and praise, and those of woe and lamen tation ; there are odes and elegies ; there are prophecies and histories; there are descriptions of nature and narratives of persons, and all written with a fervency of feeling which embodies itself in lofty and glowing imagery. And what is this but poetry 1 yet not that which can be compared to some dark, mazy forest, but rather like a sacred grove, such as "were God s first 34 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND temples." There is no gloom around, neither is there bright sunshine ; but a calm and holy light pervades the place. The tall trees meet not above me, but through their lofty boughs I can look up and see the blue heavens bending their perfect dome above the hallowed spot, while now and then some fleecy cloud sails slowly on, as though it loved to shadow the still loveliness beneath. There are soft winds murmuring through the high tree-tops, and their gentle sound is like a voice from the spirit-land. There are delicate white flowers waving upon their slight stems, and their sweet fragrance is like the breath of heaven. I feel that I am in God s temple. The Spirit above waits for the sacrifice. I can now erect an altar, and every self ish, worldly thought should be laid thereon, a free-will offering. But when the rite is over, and I leave this consecrated spot for the busy path of life, I should strive to bear into the world a heart baptised in the love of beauty, holiness and truth. I have spoken figuratively perhaps too much so to please the pure and simple tastes of some but He who made my soul, and placed it in the body which it animates, implanted within it a love of the beautiful in literature, and this love was first awakened and then cherished by the words of Holy Writ. I have, when a child, read my Bible, from its ear liest book to its latest. I have gone in imagination to the plains of Uz, and have there beheld the pastoral prince in all his pride and glory. I have marked him, too, when in the depth of his sorrow he sat speechless upon the ground for seven days and seven nights ; but when he opened his mouth and spake, I listened with OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 35 eagerness to the heart-stirring words and startling imagery which poured forth from his burning lips ! But my heart has thrilled with a delightful awe when "the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind." and I listened to words of more sublimity than uninspired man may ever conceive. I have gone, too, with the beloved disciple into that lonely isle where he beheld those things of which he was commanded to write. My imagination dared not conceive of the glorious throne, and of Him who sat upon it; but I have looked with a throbbing delight upon the New Jerusalem coming down from heaven in her clear crystal light, " as a bride adorned for her husband." I have gazed upon the golden city, flash ing like " transparent glass," and have marked its pearly gates and walls of every precious stone. In imagination have I looked upon all this, till my young spirit longed to leave its earthly tenement and soar upward to that brighter world, where there is no need of sun or moon, for " the Lamb is the light thereof." I have since read my Bible for better purposes than the indulgence of taste. There must I go to learn my duty to God and my neighbor. There should I look for precepts to direct the life that now is, and for the promise of that which is to come : yet seldom do I close that sacred volume without a feeling of thank fulness, that the truths of our holy religion have been so often presented in forms, which not only reason and conscience will approve, but also which the fancy can admire and the heart must love. 36 SHELLS FROBI THE STRAND GLORY OF LIGHT. BEAUTIFUL to the believer is every work of Nature. To him there is a loveliness and meaning in the hum blest herb, and smallest insect ; and he knows that whenever beauty meets the eye, then should instruc tion go to the heart. But the object which more than all others combines both beauty and instruction, is LIGHT. Beautiful is light when it shines from the dazzling sun, and beau tiful when it beams from the milder moon ; beautiful when it flashes from some dark thunder-cloud, and beautiful when it twinkles from myriads of evening stars. Beautiful is it when concentred in noonday clouds, and beautiful when, with scarlet and purple, it curtains the sunset sky. Beautiful is it in the North, when its varying colors stream upward in the Borealis, and beautiful in the South, when it reddens the midnight sky from seas of prairie fire. Beautiful is light when it crests the ocean-billow, and beautiful when it dances on the rippling streamlet; beautiful when it lies like a silvery robe on the placid lake, and beautiful when it turns the foaming surge to fretted gold. Beautiful is light when it flashes from the maiden s eye, and beautiful when it sparkles from the diamond on her hand. Beautiful are the varying hues of light, as they flit and change on the water-bubble, and beautiful are they when marshalled in the rainbow. Beautiful is the light which glistens from millions of points and pinnacles in Arctic glaciers, and beautiful when it OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 37 rests like a glorious crown on Alpine mountains ; and beautiful also is light, when it breaks through forest- boughs, and holds wild play with the flitting shadow. Beautiful are the coruscations of light in the labora tory of the chemist, and beautiful is the fire-side light when friends around it meet in that dearest of all earth s cherished spots, in " Home, sweet home." Beautiful is light to the poor man, when it comes through the little lattice to brighten his humble cot, and beautiful to the prince, when it streams through gilded casements to illuminate his palace. Beautiful is the light of morn to the Persian wor shipper, and beautiful is it after the night-storm to the shipwrecked mariner. Beautiful is it to the child of guilt or affliction, to whom the night can bring no quiet rest ; and beautiful, after their undisturbed sleep, is it to all beasts, birds and insects, whose morning voices unite in one loud thanksgiving for the light. Beautiful is light to the dungeon prisoner, when, after years of darkened life, he stands beneath the sun s glad beams ; and beautiful is it to the invalid, when from the couch of sickness he emerges into the bright ocean above and around him, and from the depths of his grateful heart he blesses God for the light. Beautiful also is light to the timid child, when, after awaking in darkness, his screams of terror have brought some taper, and as though he knew that his guardian angel had come to watch his slumbers, he lays his cheek upon his little hand, even shuts his eyes upon the wished-for object, and sweetly sleeps for it is light. 4 38 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Beautiful is light when it paints the tulip with gold, the rose with crimson, and the grass-grown earth with living green. Yes, beautiful is every light, of morn, of eve, of midnight and of noon, and grateful for all of beauty should we be to Him who is the "Father of lights." Beautiful is light in its mystery ; and is it not in structive too? Though to the Christian, earth s mean est object has its spiritual teachings, yet here is a high and holy lesson for the Atheist. Ask him why he be lieves there is no God, and his reply will be, "Because I cannot see him, I cannot feel him, I cannot touch him, nor comprehend how he exists." Tell him to look upon Nature, for there he must see the evidence of a Creator s hand; but bid him, above all, to contemplate the light. He can see that, too he can calculate the rapidity of its motion, and the laws of reflection and refraction by which it is governed ; he sees it, he believes in it, he knows it exists ; yet he cannot touch it, he cannot feel it, he cannot tell of what it is made, nor how it exists. He can fill his chamber with it, yet he cannot draw his shutters and say, "I have shut it in," for it eludes his efforts, though he can never tell how. The light has its lessons for us all ; and so indispen sable is it as a medium of instruction, that it has become but another name for knowledge, and its ab sence for ignorance. Though some have lived with out ever beholding its brightness, yet what they knew was learned from those who were blessed with sight ; and as we can form no idea of beauty without it, neither can we think of knowledge entirely separated from it OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 39 Ask the poet what single object affords him the most illustrations of various truths, and he says, " It is the light." Ask the painter what most engages his atten tion, and elicits his skill, when he transfers to canvass the lovely scenes of nature, and he, too, answers, -The light." Ask the natural philosopher upon what subject he dwells with most pleasure, in his lectures of instruc tion, and he answers, "It. is light/ Ask the rhetorician what sentence in our language is most sublimely beau tiful, and his reply will be. And God said, Let there be light, and there was light." And why so sublime and beautiful? Because though we know that the earth was gradually formed thus glorious and perfect, yet in those few words is conveyed the idea of an instantaneous springing into life and beauty. Listen to the missionary, as he depicts the woes of heathen lands; and he says, "You must send them light." Hear the philanthropist, as he tells of the ignorance and affliction of the poor and neglected of our own land, and his prayer will be that they may have light. Listen also to the controversialist, as he argues with his bigoted opponent ; and how earnestly he wishes that he may have light. When the Hebrew poet endeavored to portray the beauty and majesty of God, he said, ""Who covereth himself with light as with a garment;" and through out the Scriptures, how many ideas of happiness, beauty and knowledge are symbolized by the word "light"! On the contrary, all ignorance, error, deso lation and misery are symbolized by darkness. Our Saviour used many similes to shadow forth the glory, knowledge, holiness and happiness which were 40 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND to result from his mission ; but never could the truth have been more powerfully conveyed to his listeners, than when he said, "I am the light of the world." I had thought of endeavoring to portray a world without light ; but this has been already done with thrilling distinctness by him who wrote the "Dream of Darkness." No, never were so much of terror, selfish ness, agony and woe, depicted in one scene, as in that when " all hearts Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light." In our visions of the spirit-world, we think not of sun, moon, stars, oceans, trees, flowers or streamlets; we divest ourselves of all things which have here been sources of beauty and knowledge of all, save one; for all our ideas of its glory, felicity, purity, and never- failing sources of instruction, are enhanced by the sweet reflection, that there it will be always light. A WEAVER S REVERIE. IT was a sunny day, and I left, for a few moments, the circumscribed spot which is my appointed place of labor, that I might look from an adjoining window upon the bright loveliness of nature. Yes, it was a sunny day ; but for many days before, the sky had been veiled in gloomy clouds ; and joyous indeed was OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 41 it to look up into that blue vault, and see it unobscured by its sombre screen; and my heart fluttered like a prisoned bird, with its painful longings for an uncheck ed flight amidst the beautiful creation around me. " Why is it," said a friend to me one day, " that the factory girls write so much about the beauties of na ture?" Oh ! why is it, (thought I, when the query after wards recurred to me,) why is it that visions of thrilling loveliness so often bless the sightless orbs of those whose eyes have once been blessed with the power of vision? Why is it that the delirious dreams of the famine- stricken, are of tables loaded with the richest viands, or groves, whose pendent boughs droop with their delicious burdens of luscious fruit ? Why is it that haunting tones of sweetest melody come to us in the deep stillness of midnight, when the thousand tongues of man and nature are for a season mute ? Why is it that the desert-traveller looks forwa d upon the burning, boundless waste, and sees pictured before his aching eyes, some verdant oasis, with its murmuring streams, its gushing founts, and shadowy groves but as he presses on with faltering step, the bright mirage recedes, until he lies down to die of weariness upon the scorching sands, with that isle of loveliness before him? Oh tell me why is this, and I will tell why the fac tory girl sits in the hour of meditation and thinks, not of the crowded, clattering mill, nor of the noisy tene ment which is her home, nor of the thronged and busy 4* 42 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND street which she may sometimes tread ; but of the still and lovely scenes which, in by-gone hours, have sent their pure and elevating influence with a thrilling sweep across the strings of the spirit-harp, and then awakened its sweetest, loftiest notes; and ever, as she sits in silence and seclusion, endeavoring to draw from that many-toned instrument a strain which may be meet for another s ear, that music comes to the eager listener like the sound with which the sea-shell echoes the roar of what was once its watery home. All her best and holiest thoughts are linked with those bright pictures which called them forth, and when she would embody them for the instruction of others, she does it by a delineation of those scenes which have quickened and purified her own mind. It was this love of nature s beauties, and a yearning for the pure, hallowed feelings which those beauties had been wont to call up from their hidden springs in the depths of the soul, to bear away upon their swell ing tide the corruption which had gathered, and I feared might settle there it was this love, and long ing, and fear, which made my heart throb quickly, as I sent forth a momentary glance from the factory win dow. I think I said there was a cloudless sky ; but it was not so. It was clear, and soft, and its beauteous hue was of "the hyacinth s deep blue" but there was one bright, solitary cloud, far up in the cerulean vault; and I wished that it might for once be in my power to lie down upon that white, fleecy couch, and there, away and alone, to dream of all things holy, calm, and beautiful. Methought that better feelings, and clearer OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 43 thoughts than are often wont to visit me, would there take undisturbed possession of my soul. And might I not be there, and send my unobstructed glance into the depths of ether above me, and forget, for a little while, that I had ever been a foolish, way ward, guilty child of earth? Could I not then cast aside the burden of error and sin which must ever depress me here, and with the maturity of woman hood, feel also the innocence of infancy ? And with that sense of purity and perfection, there would neces sarily be mingled a feeling of sweet, uncloying bliss such as imagination may conceive, but which seldom pervades and sanctifies the earthly heart. Might I not look down from my aerial position, and view this little world, and its hills, valleys, plains and streamlets, and its thousands of busy inhabitants, and see how puerile and unsatisfactory it would look to one so totally dis connected from it? Yes, there, upon that soft, snowy cloud <xmld I sit, and gaze upon my native earth, and feel how empty and "vain are all things here below." But not motionless would I stay upon that aerial couch. I would call upon the breezes to waft me away over the -broad, blue ocean, and with nought but the clear, bright ether above me, have nought but a bound less, sparkling, watery expanse below me. Then I would look down upon the vessels pursuing their dif ferent courses across the bright waters; and as I watched their toilsome progress, I should feel how blessed a thing it is to be where no impediment of wind or wave might obstruct my onward way. But when the beams of a mid-rday sun had ceased to flash from the foaming sea, I should wish my cloud 44 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND to bear away to the western sky, and, divesting itself of its snowy whiteness, stand ^there, arrayed in the brilliant hues of the setting sun. Yes, well should I love to be stationed there, and see it catch those part ing rays, and, transforming them to dyes of purple and crimson, shine forth in its evening vestment, with a border of brightest gold. Then could I watch the king of day as he sinks into his watery bed, leaving behind a line of crimson light to mark the path which led him to his place of rest. Yet once, O only once, should I love to have that cloud pass on on on among the myriads of stars; and leaving them all behind, go far away into the empty void of space beyond. I should love, for once, to be alone. Alone ! where could I be alone ? But I would fain be where there is no other save the INVISI BLE, and there, where notVven one distant star should send its feeble rays to tell of a universe beyond, there would I rest upon that soft, light cloud, and with a fathomless depth below me, and a measureless waste above and around me, there would I "Your looms are going without filling," said a loud voice at my elbow ; so I ran as fast as possible, and changed my shuttles. JOANNE OF ARC. WHEN, in the perusal of history, I meet with the names of females whom circumstances, or their own inclinations, have brought thus openly before the pub lic eye, I can seldom repress the desire to know more OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 45 of them. Was it choice, or necessity, which led them to the battle-field, or council-hall ? Had the woman s heart been crushed within their breasts? or did it struggle with the sterner feelings which had then found entrance there 1 Were they recreant to their own sex? or were the deeds which claim the historian s notice but the necessary results of the situations in which they had been placed? These are questions which I often ask, and yet I love not in old and musty records to meet with names which long ere this should have perished with the hearts upon which love had written them ; for happier may be woman, when in some faithful heart she has been "shrined a queen," than when upon some power ful throne she sits with an untrembling form and an unquailing eye, to receive the homage, and command the services of loyal thousands. I love not to read of woman transformed, in all save outward lineaments, into one of the sterner sex; and when I see, in the memorials of the past, that this has apparently been done, I would fain overleap the barriers of by-gone time, and know how it has been effected. Imagina tion goes back to the scenes which must have been witnessed then, and, perhaps unaided, portrays the mi nuter features of the sketch, of which history has preserved merely the outlines. But I sometimes read of woman, when I would not know more of the places where she has rendered her self conspicuous; when there is something so noble and so bright in the character I have given her, that I fear a better knowledge of trivial incidents might break the spell which leads me to love and admire her; 46 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND where, perhaps, the picture which my fancy has paint ed, glows in colors so brilliant, that a sketch by Truth would seem beside it but a sombre shadow. JOANNE OF ARC is one of those heroines of history, who cannot fail to excite an interest in all who love to contemplate the female character. From the gloom of that dark age when woman was but a plaything and a slave, she stands in bold relief, its most conspicuous personage. Not, indeed, as a queen, but as more than a queen, even the preserver of her nation s king; not as a conqvieror, but as the savior of her country ; not as a man, urged in his proud career by mad ambition s stirring energies, but as a woman, guided in her bril liant course by woman s noblest impulses ; so does she appear in that lofty station which for herself she won. Though high and dazzling was the eminence to which she rose, yet " t was not thus, oh, t was not thus, her dwelling-place was found." Low in the vale of humble life was the maiden born and bred ; and thick as is the veil which time and distance have thrown over every passage of her life, yet that which rests upon her early days is most impenetrable. And much room is there here for the interested inquirer, and Imagination may revel almost unchecked amid the slight revelations of history. Joanne is a heroine a woman of mighty power wearing herself the habiliments of man, and guiding armies to battle and to victory ; yet never to my eye is "the warrior maid" aught but a woman. The ruling passion, the spirit which nerved her arm, illumed her eye, and buoyed her heart, was woman s faith. Ay, it was power ; and call it what ye may say it was OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 47 enthusiasm, fanaticism, madness or call it, if ye will, what those did name it who burned Joanne at the stake, still it was power, the power of woman s firm, undoubting faith. I should love to go back into Joanne s humble home, that home which the historian has thought so little worthy of his notice ; and in imagination I must go there, even to the very cradle of her infancy, and know of all those influences which wrought her mind to that fearful pitch of wild enthusiasm, when she declared herself the inspired agent of the Almighty. Slowly and gradually was the spirit trained to an act like this; for though, like the volcano s fire, its instantaneous bursting forth was preceded by no her ald of its coming, yet Joanne of Arc was the same Joanne ere she was Maid of Orleans ; the same high- souled, pure and imaginative being, the creature of holy impulses, and conscious of superior energies. It must have been so ; a superior mind may burst upon the world, but never upon itself ; there must be a feel ing of sympathy with the noble and the gifted, a knowledge of innate though slumbering powers. The neglected eaglet may lie in its mountain nest, long after the pinion is fledged ; but it will fix its unquail- ing eye upon the dazzling sun, and feel a consciousness of strength in the untried wing; but let the mother- bird once call it forth, and far away it will soar into the deep blue heavens, or bathe and revel amidst tem pest-clouds ; and henceforth the eyrie is but a resting place. As the diamond is formed, brilliant and priceless, in the dark bowels of the earth, even so, in the gloom of 48 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND poverty, obscurity and toil, was formed the mind of Joanne of Arc. Circumstances were but the jeweller s cutting, which placed it where it might more readily receive the rays of light, and flash them forth with greater brilliancy. I have said, that I must in imagination go back to the infancy of Joanne, and note the incidents which shed their silent, hallowing influence upon her soul, until she stands forth an inspired being, albeit inspired by nought but her own, imagination. The basis of Joanne s character is religious enthu siasm: this is the substratum, the foundation of all that wild and mighty power which made her, the peasant girl, the savior of her country. But the flame must have been early fed ; it was not merely an ele mentary portion of her nature, but it was one which was cherished in infancy, in childhood and in youth, until it became the master-passion of her being. Joanne, the child of the humble and the lowly, is also the daughter of the fervently religious. The light of faith and hope illumes their little cot ; and rever ence for all that is good and true, and a trust which admits no shade of fear or doubt, is early taught the gentle girl. Though "faith in God s own promises" was mingled with a superstitious awe of those to whom all were indebted for a knowledge of the truth ; though priestly craft had united the wild and false with the pure light of the gospel ; and though Joanne s religion was mingled with delusion and error, still it comprised all that is fervent, and pure, and truthful, in the female heart. The first words her infant lips are taught to utter, are those of prayer; prayer, mayhap, to Saints OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 49 or Virgin ; but still to her then, and in all after time, the aspirations of a spirit which delights in commun ion with the invisible. She grows older, and still, amid ignorance, and pov erty, and toil, the spirit gains new light and fervor. With a mind alive to everything that is high and holy, she goes forth into a dark and sinful world, dependent upon her daily toil for daily bread. She lives among the thoughtless and the vile ; but like that plant which opens to nought but light and air, and shrinks from all other contact, so her mind, amid the corruptions of the world, is shut to all that is base and sinful, though open and sensitive to that which is pure and noble. "Joanne," says the historian, " was a tender of sta bles at a village inn." Such is her outward life; but there is for her another life, a life within that life. While the hands perform low, menial service, the soul, untrammelled, is away, and revelling amid its own creations of beauty and of bliss. She is silent and abstracted ; always alone among her fellows, for among them all she sees no kindred spirit ; she finds none who can touch the chords within her heart, or respond to their melody when she herself would sweep its harp- strings. Joanne has no friends; far less does she ever think of earthly lovers ; and who would love her, the wild and strange Joanne ! thought, perhaps, the gloomy, dull, and silent one. But that soul, whose very es sence is fervent zeal and glowing passion, sends forth in secrecy and silence its burning love upon the uncon scious things of earth. She talks to the flowers, and the stars, and the changing clouds ; and their voiceless 5 50 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND answers come back to her soul at morn, and noon, and stilly night. Yes, Joanne loves to go forth in the dark ness of eve, and sit " Beneath the radiant stars, still burning as they roll, And sending down their prophecies into her fervent soul." But better even than this does she love to go into some high cathedral, where the " dim religious light" comes faintly through the painted windows ; and when the priests chant vesper hymns, and burning incense goes upward from the sacred altar, and when the solemn strains and the fragrant vapor dissolve and die away in the distant aisles and lofty dome, she kneels upon the marble floor, and in ecstatic worship sends forth the tribute of a glowing heart. And when at night she lies down upon her rude pal let, she dreams that she is with those bright and happy beings with whom her fancy has peopled heaven. She is there, among saints and angels, and even permitted to hold high converse with the Mother of Jesus. Yes, Joanne is a dreamer ; and she dreams not only in the night but in the day ; whether at work or at rest, alone or among her fellow-men, there are angel- voices near, and spirit- wings are hovering around her, and visions of all that is pure, and bright, and beau tiful, come to the mind of the lowly girl. She finds that she is a favored one ; she feels that those about her are not gifted as she has been ; she knows that their thoughts are not as her thoughts ; and then the spirit questions ; Why is it thus that she should be per mitted communings with unearthly ones ? Why was this ardent, aspiring mind bestowed upon her, one of earth s meanest ones, shackled by bonds of penury, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 51 toil, and ignorance of all that the world calls high and gifted? Day after day goes by, night after night wears on, and still these queries will arise, and still they are unanswered. At length the affairs of busy life, those which to Joanne have heretofore been of but little moment, begin to awaken even her interest. Hitherto, absorbed in her own bright fancies, she has mingled in the scenes around her like one who walketh in his sleep. They have been too tame and insipid to arouse her energies, or excite her interest ; but now there is a thrilling power in the tidings which daily meet her ears. All hearts are stirred, but none now throb like hers ; her country is invaded, her king an exile from his throne ; and at length the conquerors, unopposed, are quietly boasting of their triumphs on the very soil they have polluted. And shall it be thus ? Shall the victor revel and tri umph in her own loved France 1 Shall her country thus tamely submit to wear the foreign yoke ? And Joanne says, No ! She feels the power to arouse, to quicken and to guide. None now may tell whether it was in fancies of the day, or visions of the night, that the thought first came, like some lightning flash, upon her mind, that it was for this that powers unknown to others had been vouchsafed to her; and that for this, even new ener gies should now be given. But the idea once received is not abandoned ; she cherishes it, and broods upon it, till it has mingled with every thought of day and night. If doubts at first arise, they are not harbored, and at length they vanish away. " Her spirit shadowed forth a dream till it became a creed." 52 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND All that she sees, and all that she hears the words to which she eagerly listens by day, and the spirit-whis pers which come to her at night they all assure her of this, that she is the appointed one. All other thoughts and feelings now crystallize in this grand scheme ; and as the cloud grows dark upon her country s sky, her faith grows surer and more bright. Her countrymen have ceased to resist, have almost ceased to hope ; but she alone, in her fervent joy, has " looked beyond the present clouds, and seen the light beyond." The spoiler shall yet be vanquished, and she will do it ; her country shall yet be saved, and she will save it ; her unanointed king shall yet sit on his throne, and " Charles shall be crowned at Rheims." ^uch is her mission, and she goes forth in her own ar dent faith to its accomplishment. And did those who first admitted the claims of Joanne as an inspired leader, themselves believe that she was an agent of the Almighty ? None can now tell how much the superstition of their faith, mingling with the commanding influence of a mind firm in its own conviction of supernatural guidance, influenced those haughty ones, as they listened to the counsels, and obeyed the mandates, of the peasant girl. Per haps they saw that she was their last hope, a frail reed upon which they might lean, yet one that might not break. Her zeal and faith might be an instrument to effect the end which she had declared herself des tined to accomplish. Worldly policy and religious credulity might mingle in their admission of her claims ; but however this might be, the peasant girl of Arc soon rides at her monarch s side, with helmet OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 53 on her head, and armor on her frame, the time-hallowed sword girt to her side, and the consecrated banner in her hand ; and with the lightning of inspiration in her eye, and words of dauntless courage on her lips, she guides them on to battle and to victory. Ay, there she is, the low-born maid of Arc ! there, with the noble and the brave, amid the clangor of trumpets, the waving of banners, the tramp of the war-horse, and the shouts of warriors ; and there she is more at home than in those humble scenes in which she has been wont to bear a part. Now for once she is herself ; now may she put forth all her hidden ener gy, and with a mind which rises at each new demand upon its powers, she is gaining for herself a name even greater than that of queen. And now does the light beam brightly from her eye, and the blood course quickly through her veins ; for her task is ended, her mission accomplished, her prophecy fulfilled, and " Charles is crowned at Rheims." This is the moment of Joanne s glory, and what is before her now? To stand in courts, a favored and nattered one ? to revel in the soft luxuries and enervat ing pleasures of a princely life? Oh, this was not for one like her. To return to obscurity and loneliness, and there to let the over- wrought mind sink back with nought to occupy and support it, till it feeds and driv els on the remembrance of the past, this is what she would do ; but there is for her what is better far, even the glorious death of a martyr. Little does Joanne deem, in her moment of triumph, that this is before her; but when she has seen her mission ended, and her king the anointed ruler of a 5* 54 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND liberated people, the sacred sword and standard are cast aside ; and throwing herself at her monarch s feet, and watering them with tears of joy, she begs permis sion to return to her humble home. She has now done all for which that power was bestowed ; her work has been accomplished, and she claims no longer the special commission of an inspired leader. But Dunois says, No ! The English are not yet entirely expelled the kingdom ; and the French general would still avail himself of that name, and that presence, which have in fused new courage into his armies, and struck terror into their enemies. He knows that Joanne will no longer be sustained by the belief that she is an agent of heaven ; but she will be with them, and her presence alone must benefit their cause. He would have her again assume the standard, sword and armor; he would have her still retain the title of "Messenger of God," though she believes that her mission goes no farther. It probably was not the first time, and it certainly was not the last, when woman s holiest feelings have been made the instruments of man s ambition, or agents for the completion of his designs. Joanne is now but a woman, poor, weak and yielding woman ; and overpowered by their entreaties, she consents to try again her influence. But the power of that faith is gone, the light of inspiration is no more given, and she is attacked, conquered, and delivered to her ene mies. They place her in low dungeons, they bring her before tribunals ; they wring and torture that noble spirit, and endeavor to obtain from it a confession of imposture, or connivance with the " Evil One ;" but she still persists in the declaration that her claims to a heavenly guidance were but true. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 55 Once only was she false to herself. Weary and dis pirited ; deserted by her friends, and tormented by her foes, she yields to their assertions, and admits that she did deceive her countrymen. Perhaps in that hour of trial and darkness, when all hope of deliver ance from without, or from above, had died away, when she saw herself powerless in the merciless hands of her enemies, the conviction might steal upon her own mind, that she had been self-deceived ; that phan tasies of the brain had been received as visions from on high, but though her confession was true in the abstract, yet in a confession of imposture Joanne was surely untrue to herself. Still it avails her little ; she is again remanded to the dungeon, and there awaits her doom. At length they bring her the panoply of war, the armored suit in which she went forth at her king s right hand to fight their battle-hosts. Her heart thrills, and her eye flashes, as she looks upon it for it tells of glorious days. In her wild dream of the past, and all unwitting what she does, she dons once more those fatal garments, and they find her arrayed in the habiliments of war. It is enough for those who wished but an excuse to seal her fate, and the Maid of Orleans is condemned to die. They lead Joanne to the martyr-stake. Proudly and nobly goes she forth, for it is a fitting death for one like her. Once more the spirit may rouse its no blest energies ; and with brightened eye, and firm, un daunted step, she walks where banners wave, and trumpets sound, and martial hosts appear in proud array. And the sons of England weep as they see 56 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND her, the calm and tearless one, come forth to meet her fate. They bind her to the stake ; they light the fire ; and upward borne on wreaths of soaring flame, the soul of the martyred maid ascends to heaven. ABBY S YEAR IN LOWELL. CHAPTER I. " MR. ATKINS, I say ! Husband, why can t you speak ? Do you hear what Abby says? " "Anything worth hearing?" was the responsive question of Mr. Atkins ; and he laid down the New Hampshire Patriot, and peered over his spectacles, with a look which seemed to say, that an event so un common deserved particular attention. "Why, she says that she means to go to Lowell, and work in the factory." "Well, wife, let her go; " and Mr. Atkins took up the Patriot again. " But I do not see how I can spare her ; the spring cleaning is not done, nor the soap made, nor the boys summer clothes ; and you say that you intend to board your own { men- folks, and keep two more cows than you did last year ; and Charley can scarcely go alone. I do not see how I can get along without her. " " But you say she does not assist you any about the house." "Well, husband, she might." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 57 " Yes, she might do a great many things which she does not think of doing ; and as I do not see that she means to be useful here, we will let her go to the factory." " Father, are you in earnest? may I go to Lowell 1 " said Abby ; and she raised her bright black eyes to her father s, with a look of exquisite delight. " Yes, Abby, if you will promise me one thing, and that is, that you will stay a whole year without visit ing us, excepting in case of sickness, and that you will stay but one year." "I will promise anything, father, if you will only let me go ; for I thought you would say that I had bet ter stay at home, and pick rocks, and weed the garden, and drop corn, and rake hay ; and I do not want to do such work any longer. May I go with the Slater girls next Tuesday 1 for that is the day they have set for their return." " Yes, Abby, if you will remember that you are to stay a year, and only a year." Abby retired to rest that night with a heart flutter ing with pleasure ; for, ever since the visit of the Slater girls, with new silk dresses, and Navarino bonnets trimmed with flowers, and lace veils, and gauze hand kerchiefs, her head had been filled with visions of fine clothes ; and she thought if she could only go where she could dress like them, she should be completely happy. She was naturally very fond of dress, and often, while a little girl, had she sat on the grass bank by the road-side, watching the stage-coach which went daily by her father s retired dwelling; and when she saw the gay ribbons and smart shawls, which passed like a 58 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND bright phantom before her wandering eyes, she had thought that when older she too would have such things ; and she looked forward to womanhood as to a state in which the chief pleasure must consist in wear ing fine clothes. But as years passed over her, she be came aware that this was a source from which she could never derive any enjoyment while she remained at home, for her father was neither able nor willing to gratify her in this respect ; and she had begun to fear that she must always wear the same brown cambric bonnet, and that the same calico gown would always be her " go-to-meeting dress." And now what a bright picture had been formed by her ardent and unculti vated imagination ! Yes, she would go to Lowell, and earn all that she possibly could, and spend those earn ings in beautiful attire ; she would have silk dresses, one of grass green, and another of cherry red, and another upon the color of which she would decide when she purchased it ; and she would have a new Navarino bonnet, far more beautiful than Judith Slater s; and when at last she fell asleep, it was to dream of satin and lace, and her glowing fancy revelled all night in a vast and beautiful collection of milliners finery. But very different were the dreams of Abby s mother ; and when she awoke the next morning, her first words to her husband were, " Mr. Atkins, were you serious last night when you told Abby that she might go to Lowell ? I thought at first that you were vexed because I interrupted you, and said it to stop the conversation." " Yes, wife, I was serious, and you did not interrupt me, for I had been listening to all that you and Abby OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 59 were saying. She is a wild, thoughtless girl, and I hardly know what it is best to do with her ; but per haps it will be as well to try an experiment, and let her think and act a little while for herself. I expect that she will spend all her earnings in fine clothes, but after she has done so she may see the folly of it ; at all events, she will be rather more likely to understand the value of money when she has been obliged to work for it. After she has had her own way for one year, she may possibly be willing to return home and become a little more steady, and be willing to devote her active energies (for she is a very capable girl) to house hold duties, for hitherto her services have been principal ly out of doors, where she is now too old to work. I am also willing that she should see a little of the world, and what is going on in it ; and I hope that if she receives no benefit, she will at least return to us uninjured." "O, husband, I have many fears for her," was the reply of Mrs. Atkins, " she is so very giddy and thought less, and the Slater girls are as hare-brained as herself, and will lead her on in all sorts of folly. I wish you would tell her that she must stay at home." " I have made a promise," said Mr. Atkins, " and I will keep it, and Abby, I trust, will keep hers." Abby flew round in high spirits to make the neces sary preparations for her departure, and her mother assisted her with a heavy heart. CHAPTER II. The evening before she left home her father called her to him, and, fixing upon her a calm, earnest, and almost mournful look, he said, "Abby, do you ever 60 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND think?" Abby was subdued, and almost awed, by her father s look and manner. There was something unusual in it something in his expression which was unexpected in him, but which reminded her of her teacher s look at the Sabbath school, when he was endeavoring to impress upon her mind some serious truth. " Yes, father," she at length replied, "I have thought a great deal lately about going to Lowell." " But I do not believe, my child, that you have had one serious reflection upon the subject, and I fear that I have done wrong in consenting to let you go from home. If I were too poor to maintain you here, and had no employment about which you could make yourself useful, I should feel no self-reproach, and would let you go, trusting that all might yet be well ; but now I have done what I may at some future time severely repent of; and, Abby, if you do not wish to make me wretched, you will return to us a better, milder, and more thoughtful girl." That night Abby reflected more seriously than she had ever done in her life before. Her father s words, rendered more impressive by the look and tone with which they were delivered, had sunk into her heart as words of his had never done before. She had been surprised at his ready acquiescence in her wishes, but it had now a new meaning. She felt that she was about to be abandoned to herself, because her parents despaired of being able to do anything for her ; they thought her too wild, reckless, and untamable to be softened by aught but the stern lessons of experience. " I will surprise them," said she to herself; "I will show them that I have some reflection ; and after I come home, my father shall never ask me if I think. Yes, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 61 I know what their fears are, and I will let them see that I can take care of myself, and as good care as they have ever taken of me. I know that I have not done as well as I might have done ; but I will begin now, and when I return, they shall see that I am a better, milder, and more thoughtful girl. And the money which I intended to spend in fine dress shall be put into the bank ; I will save it all, and my father shall see that I can earn money, and take care of it too. O, how different I will be from what they think I am ; and how very glad it will make my father and mother to see that I am not so very bad, after all." New feelings and new ideas had begotten new reso lutions, and Abby s dreams that night were of smiles from her mother, and words from her father, such as she had never received nor deserved. When she bade them farewell the next morning, she said nothing of the change which had taken place in her views and feelings, for she felt a slight degree of self-distrust in her own firmness of purpose. Abby s self-distrust was commendable and auspi cious ; but she had a very prominent development in that part of the head where phrenologists locate the organ of firmness ; and when she had once determined upon a thing she usually went through with it. She had now resolved to pursue a course entirely dif ferent from that which was expected of her, and as different from the one she had first marked out for her self. This was more difficult, on account of her strong propensity for dress, a love of which was freely grati fied by her companions. But when Judith Slater pressed her to purchase this beautiful piece of silk, or that splendid piece of muslin, her constant reply was, 6 62 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND " No, I have determined not to buy any such things, and I will keep my resolution." Before she came to Lowell, she wondered, in her simplicity, how people could live where there were so many stores, and not spend all their money; and it now required all her firmness to resist being overcome by the tempting display of beauties which met her eyes whenever she promenaded the illuminated streets. It was hard to walk by the milliners shops with an unwavering step ; and when she came to the confec- tionaries, she could not help stopping. But she did not yield to the temptation ; she did not spend her mo ney in them. When she saw fine strawberries, she said to herself, " I can gather them in our own pasture next year; " when she looked upon the nice peaches, cherries, and plums, which stood in tempting array behind their crystal barriers, she said again, "I will do without them this summer ;" and when apples, pears and nuts were offered to her for sale, she thought that she would eat none of them till she went home. But she felt that the only safe place for her earnings was the savings bank, and there they were regularly deposited, that it might be out of her power to indulge in momentary whims. She gratified no feeling but a newly-awa kened desire for mental improvement, and spent her leisure hours in reading useful books. Abby s year was one of perpetual self-contest and self-denial ; but it was by no means one of unmitiga ted misery. The ruling desire of years was not to be conquered by the resolution of a moment ; but when the contest was over, there was for her the triumph of victory. If the battle was sometimes desperate, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 63 there was so much more merit in being conqueror. One Sabbath was spent in tears, because Judith Slater did not wish her to attend their meeting with such a dowdy bonnet; and another fellow-boarder thought her gown must have been made in the "year one." The color mounted to her cheeks, and the lightning flashed from her eyes, when asked if she had "just come down ;" and she felt as though she should be glad to be away from them all, when she heard their sly innuendoes about "bush-whackers." Still she remain ed unshaken. "It is but for a year," said she to herself; "and the time and money that my father thought I should spend in folly, shall be devoted to a better purpose. " CHAPTER III. At the close of a pleasant April day, Mr. Atkins sat at his kitchen fireside, with Charley upon his knees. "Wife," said he to Mrs. Atkins, who was busily preparing the evening meal, "is it not a year since Abby left home?" "Why, husband, let me think: I always clean up the house thoroughly just before fast-day, and I had not done it when Abby went away. I remember speak ing to her about it, and telling her that it was wrong to leave me at such a busy time, and she said, Moth er, I will be at home to do it all, next year. Yes, it is a year, and I should not be surprised if she should come this week." " Perhaps she will not come at all," said Mr. Atkins, with a gloomy look ; " she has written us but few let ters, and they have been very short and unsatisfactory. 64 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND I suppose she has sense enough to know that no news is better than bad news, and having nothing pleasant to tell about herself, she thinks she will tell us nothing at all. But if I ever get her home again, I will keep her here. I assure you, her first year in Lowell shall also be her last." " Husband, I told you my fears, and if you had set up your authority, Abby would have been obliged to stay at home ; but perhaps she is doing pretty well. You know she is not accustomed to writing, and that may account for the few and short letters we have received ; but they have all, even the shortest, con tained the assurance that she would be at home at the close of the year." "Pa, the stage has stopped here," said little Charley, and he bounded from his father s knee. The next moment the room rang with the shout of " Abby has come! Abby has come!" In a few moments more, she was in the midst of the joyful throng. Her father pressed her hand in silence, and tears gushed from her mother s eyes. Her brothers and sisters were clamor ous with delight, all but little Charley, to whom Abby was a stranger, and who repelled with terror all her overtures for a better acquaintance. Her parents gazed upon her with speechless pleasure, for they felt that a change for the better had taken place in their once wayward girl. Yes, there she stood before them, a little taller and a little thinner, and, when the flush of emotion had passed away, perhaps a little paler ; but the eyes were bright in their joyous radiance, and the smile of health and innocence was playing around the rosy lips. She carefully laid away her new straw OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 65 bonnet, with its plain trimming of light blue ribbon, and her dark merino dress showed to the best advan tage her neat, symmetrical form. There was more delicacy of personal appearance than when she left them, and also more softness of manner ; for constant collision with so many young females had worn off the little asperities which had marked her conduct while at home. " Well, Abby, how many silk gowns have you got?" said her father, as she opened a large, new trunk. " Not one, father," said she ; and she fixed her dark eyes upon him with an expression which told much. " But here are some little books for the children, and a new calico dress for mother ; and here is a nice black silk handkerchief for you to wear around your neck on Sundays ; accept it, dear father, for it is your daugh ter s first gift." "You had better have bought me a pair of spectacles, for I am sure I cannot see anything." There were tears in the rough farmer s eyes, but he tried to laugh and joke that they might not be perceived. " But what did you do with all your money?" "I thought I had better leave it there," said Abby, and she placed her bank-book in her father s hand. Mr. Atkins looked at it a moment, and the forced smile faded away. The surprise had been too great, and tears fell thick and fast from the father s eyes. "It is but little," said Abby. "But it was all you could save," replied her father, "and I am proud of you, Abby ; yes, proud that I am the father of such a girl. It is not this paltry sum which pleases me so much, but the prudence, self-command, and real affec- 6* 66 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND tion for us, which you have displayed. But was it not sometimes hard to resist temptation?" "Yes, father, you can never know how hard; but it was the thought of this night which sustained me through it all. I knew how you would smile, and what my mother would say and feel ; and though there have been moments, yes, hours, that have seen me wretched enough, yet this one evening will repay for all. There is but one thing now to mar my happi ness, and that is, the thought that this little fellow has quite forgotten me;" and she drew Charley to her side. But the new picture-book had already effected wonders, and in a few moments he was in her lap, with his arms around her neck, and his mother could not persuade him to retire that night until he had given " sister Abby a hundred kisses." " Father," said Abby, as she arose to retire, when the tall clock struck eleven, "may I not sometime go back to Lowell ? I should like to add a little to the sum in the bank, and I should be glad of one silk gown ! " " Yes, Abby, you may do anything you wish. I shall never again be afraid to let you spend a year in Lowell." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 67 THE FIRST BELLS. CHAPTER I. THERE are times when I am melancholy, when the sun seems to shine with a shadowy light, and the woods are filled with notes of sadness ; when the up-springing flowers seem blossoms strewed upon a bier, and every streamlet chants a requiem. Have we not all "our trials ? and though we may bury the sad thoughts to which they give birth in the dark recesses of our own hearts, yet Memory and Sensibility must both be dead, if we can always be light and mirthful. Once it was not so. There was a time when I gaily viewed the dull clouds of a rainy day, and could hear the voice of rejoicing in the roarings of the wintry storm, when sorrow was an, unmeaning word, and in things which now appear sacred, my thoughtless mind could see the ludicrous. These thoughts have been suggested by the recol lection of a poor old couple, to whom in my careless girlhood I gave the name of " the first bells." And now, I doubt not, you are wondering what strange association of ideas could have led me to fasten this appellation upon a poor old man and woman. My answer must be the narration of a few facts. When I was young, we all worshipped in the great meeting-house, which now stands so vacant and for lorn upon the brow of Church Hill. It is never used but upon town-meeting days, for those who once went up to the house of God in company, now worship in 68 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND three separate buildings. There is discord between them that worst of all hatred, the animosity which arises from difference of religious opinions. I am sor ry for it ; not that I regret that they cannot all think alike, but that they cannot "agree to differ." Because the heads are not in unison, it needeth not that the hearts should be estranged; and a difference of faith may be expressed in kindly words. I have my friends among them all, and they are not the less dear to me because upon some doctrinal points our opinions can not be the same. A creed which I do not now believe, is hallowed by the recollections of the Sabbath wor ship, the evening meetings, the religious feelings in short, of the faith, hope and trust of my earlier days. I remember now how still and beautiful our Sunday mornings used to seem, after the toil and play of the busy week. I would take my catechism in my hand, and go and sit on a large flat stone under the shade of the chestnut tree ; and, looking abroad, would wonder if there was a thing which did not feel that it was the Sabbath. The sun was as bright and warm as upon other days, but its light seemed to fall more softly upon the fields, woods and hills ; and though the birds sung as loudly and joyfully as ever, I thought their sweet voices united in a more sacred strain. I heard a Sab bath tone in the waving of the boughs above me, and the hum of the bees around me. and even the bleating of the lambs and lowing of the kine seemed pitched upon some softer key. Thus it is that the heart fash ions the mantle with which it is wont to enrobe all nature, and gives to its never silent voices a tone of joy, or sorrow, or holy peace. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 69 We had then no bell ; and when the hour approached for the commencement of religious services, each nook and dale sent forth its worshippers in silence. But precisely half an hour before the rest of our neighbors started, the old man and woman, who lived upon Pine Hill, could be seen wending their way to the meeting house. They walked side by side, with a slow, even step, such as was befitting the errand which had brought them forth. Their appearance was always the signal for me to lay aside my book, and prepare to fol low them to the house of God. And it was because they were so unvarying in their early attendance, be cause I was never disappointed in the forms which first emerged from the pine trees upon the hill, that I gave them the name of " the first bells." Why they went thus regularly early I know not, but think it probable they wished for time to rest after their long walk, and then to prepare their hearts to join in exercises which were evidently more valued by them than by most of those around them. Yet it must have been a deep interest which brought so large a congre gation from the scattered houses, and many far-off dwellings of our thinly-peopled country town. And every face was then familiar to me. I knew each white-headed patriarch who took his seat by the door of his pew, and every aged woman who seated herself in the low chair in the middle of it ; and the countenances of the middle aged and the young were rendered familiar by the exchange of Sabbath glances, as we met year after year in that humble temple. But upon none did I look with more interest than upon " the first bells." There they always were when 70 SHELLS FROAJ THE STRAND I took my accustomed place there upon the free seat at the right hand of the pulpit. Their heads were always bowed in meditation till they arose to join in the morning prayer ; and when the choir sent forth their strain of praise, they drew nearer to each other, and looked upon the same book as they silently sent forth the spirit s song to their Father in heaven. There was an expression of meekness, of calm and perfect faith, and of subdued sorrow, upon the countenances of both, which won my reverence, and excited my curiosity to know more of them. They were poor. I knew it by the coarse and much- worn garments w r hich they always wore ; but I could not conjecture why they avoided the society and sym pathy of all around them. They always waited for our pastor s greeting when he descended from the pul pit, and meekly bowed to all around ; but farther than this their intercourse with others extended not. It ap peared to me that some heavy trial, which had knit their own hearts more closely together, and endeared to them their faith, and its religious observances, had also ren dered them unusually sensitive to the careless remarks and curious inquiries of a country neighborhood. One Sabbath our pastor preached upon parental love. His text was that affecting ejaculation of David, "O Absalom, my son, my son!" He told of the depth and fervor of that affection which in a parental heart will remain unchanged and unabated through years of sin, estrangement and rebellion. He spoke of that reckless insubordination which often sends pang after pang through the parent s breast; and of wicked deeds which sometimes bring their grey heads in sorrow to OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 71 the grave. I heard stifled sobs, and looking up, saw that the old man and woman at the right hand of the pulpit had buried their faces in their hands. They were trembling with agitation, and I saw that a fount of deep and painful remembrances had now been opened. They soon regained their usual calmness, but I thought their steps more slow, and their countenances more sorrowful that day, when, after our morning service had closed, they went to the grave in the corner of the church-yard. There was no stone to mark it, but their feet had been wearing, for many a Sabbath noon, the little path which led to it. I went that night to my mother, and asked her if she could not tell me something about " the first bells." She chid me for the phrase by which I was wont to designate them, but said that her knowledge of their former life was very limited. Several years before, she added, there was a man murdered in hot blood in a distant town, by a person named John L. The mur derer was tried and hung ; and not long after, this old man and woman came and hired the little cottage upon Pine Hill. Their names were the same that the mur derer had borne, and their looks of sadness, and retiring manners, had led to the conclusion that they were his parents. No one knew certainly that it was so, for they shrunk from all inquiries, and never adverted to the past ; but a gentle and sad looking girl, who had accompanied them to their new place of abode, had pined away, and died within the first year of their arrival. She was their daughter, and was supposed to have died of a broken heart for her brother who had been hung. She was buried in the corner of the church- 72 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND yard, and every pleasant Sabbath noon her aged parents had mourned over her lowly grave. "And now, my daughter," said my mother, in con clusion, "respect their years, their sorrows, and above all, the deep, fervent piety which cheers and sustains them, and which has been nurtured by agonies, and watered by tears, such as I hope my child will never know." My mother drew me to her side, and kissed me ten derly, and I resolved that never again would I in a spirit of levity call Mr. and Mrs. L. "the first bells." CHAPTER II. Years passed on; and through summer s sunshine and its showers, and through winter s cold, and frosts, and storms, that old couple still went upon their neA^er- failing Sabbath pilgrimage. I can see them even now, as they looked in days long gone by. The old man in his loose, black, Quaker-like coat, and low-crowned, much-worn hat, his heavy, cow-hide boots, and coarse blue mittens ; and his partner walking slowly by his side, wearing a scanty brown cloak, with four little capes, and a close, black, rusty-looking bonnet. In summer, the cloak was exchanged for a cotton shawl, and the woollen gown for one of mourning print. The Sabbath expression was as unchangeable as its dress. Their features were very different, but they had both the same mild, mournful look, the same touching glance, whenever their eyes rested upon each other ; and it was one which spoke of sympathy, hallowed by heart-felt piety. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 73 At length a coffin was borne upon a bier from the little house upon the hill ; and after that, the widow went alone each sabbath noon to the two graves in the corner of the church-yard. I felt sad when L thought how lonely and sorrowful she must be now ; and one pleasant day I ventured, an unbidden guest, into her lowly cot. As I approached her door, I heard her singing, in a low, tremulous tone, " How are thy servants blessed, O Lord." I was touched to the heart ; for I could see that her blessings were those of a faith, hope and joy, which the world could neither give nor take away. She was evidently destitute of what the world calls comforts, and I feared she might also want its necessa ries. But her look was almost cheerful as she assured me that her knitting (at which I perceived she was quite expeditious) supplied her with all which she now wanted. I looked upon her sunburnt, wrinkled countenance, and thought it radiant with moral beauty. She wore no cap, and her thin gray hair was combed back from her furrowed brow. Her dress was a blue woollen skirt, and a short, loose gown ; and her hard, shrivelled hands bore witness to much un feminine labor. Yet she was contented, and even happy, and singing praise to God for His blessings. * * * The next winter I thought I could perceive a falter ing in her gait, whenever she ascended Church Hill ; and one sabbath she was not in her accustomed seat. The next, she was also absent ; and when I looked upon Pine Hill, I could perceive no smoke issuing from 7 74 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND her chimney. I felt anxious, and requested liberty to make, what was then in our neighborhood an unusual occurrence, a sabbath visit. My mother granted me permission to go. and remain as long as my services might be necessary ; and at the close of the afternoon worship, I went to the little house upon the hill. I lis tened eagerly for some sound, as I entered the cold apartment; but hearing none, I tremblingly approach ed the low, hard bed. She was lying there with the same calm look of resignation, and whispered a few words of welcome as I took her hand. "You are sick, and alone," said I to her; "tell me what I can do for you." "lam sick," was her reply, "but not alone. He who is every where, and at all times present, has been with me in the day and in the night. I have prayed to Him, and received answers of mercy, love and peace. He has sent His angel to call me home, and there is nought for you to do but to watch the spirit s depar ture." I felt that it was so ; yet I must do something. I kindled a fire, and prepared some refreshment; and after she drank a bowl of warm tea, I thought she looked better. She asked me for her Bible, and I brought her the worn volume which had been lying upon the little stand. She took from it a soiled and much- worn letter, and after pressing it to her lips, en deavored to open it but her hands were too weak, and it dropped upon the bed. " No matter," said she, as I offered to open it for her ; "I know all that is in it, and in that book also. But I thought I should like to look once more upon them both. I have read them OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 75 daily for many years till now; but I do not mind it I shall go soon." She followed me with her eyes as I laid them aside, and then closing them, her lips moved as if in prayer. She soon after fell into a slumber, and I watched her every breath, fearing it might be the last. What lessons of wisdom, truth, and fortitude, were taught me by that humble bed-side ! I had never be fore been with the dying, and I had always imagined a death-bed to be fraught with terror. I expected that there were always fearful shrieks, and appalling groans, as the soul left its clay tenement ; but my fears were now dispelled. A sweet calmness stole into my inmost soul, as I watched by the low coach of the sufferer ; and I said, If this be death, may my last end be like hers. But at length I saw that some dark dream had brought a frown upon the pallid brow, and an expres sion of woe around the parched lips. She was endeavoring to speak or to weep, and I was about to awaken her, when a sweet smile came like a flash of sunlight over her sunken face, and I saw that the dream of woe was exchanged for one of pleasure. Then she slept calmly, and I wondered if the spirit would go home in that peaceful slumber. But at length she awoke, and after looking upon me and her little room with a bewildered air, she heaved a sigh, and said mournfully, " I thought that I was not to come back again, but it is only for a little while. I have had a pleasant dream, but not at first. I thought once that I stood in the midst of a vast multitude, and we were all looking up at one who was struggling on a gallows. 76 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND O, I have seen that sight in many a dream before, but still I could not bear it, and I said, Father, have mer cy ; and then I thought that the sky rolled away from behind the gallows, and there was a flood of glory in the depths beyond ; and I heard a voice saying to him who was hanging there, This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise ! And then the gallows dropped, and the multitude around me vanished, and the sky rolled together again ; but before it had quite closed over that scene of beauty, I looked again, and they were all there. Yes," added she, with a placid smile, "I know that h e is there with them; the three are in heaven, and /shall be there soon." She ceased, and a drowsy feeling came over her. After a while, she opened her eyes with a strange look of anxiety and terror. I went to her, but she could not speak, and she pressed my hand closely, as though she feared I would leave her. It was a momentary terror, for she knew that the last pangs were coming. There was a painful struggle, and then came rest and peaceful confidence. " That letter," whispered she convulsively ; and I went to the Bible, and took from it the soiled paper which claimed her thoughts even in death. I laid it in her trembling hands, which clasped it nervously, and then pressing it to her heart, she fell into that slumber from which there is no awakening. When I saw that she was indeed gone, I took the letter and laid it in its accustomed place ; and then, after straightening the limbs, and throwing the bed clothes over the stiffening form, I left the house. It was a dazzling scene of winter beauty that met my eye, as I went forth from that lowly bed of death. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 77 The rising sun threw a rosy light upon the crusted snow, and the earth was dressed in a robe of sparkling jewels. The trees were hung with glittering drops, and the frozen streams were dressed in robes of bril liant beauty. I thought of her upon whose eyes a brighter morn had beamed, and of a scene of beauty upon which no sun should ever set. I went home, and told my mother what had passed; and she went, with some others, to prepare the body for burial. I went to look upon it once more the morning of the funeral. The features had assumed a rigid aspect, but the placid smile was still there. The hands were crossed upon the breast ; and as the form lay so still and calm in its snowy robes, I almost wish ed that the last change might come upon me, so that it would bring a peace like this which should last for- evermore. I went to the Bible, and took from it that letter. Curiosity was strong within me, and I opened it. It was signed "John L.," and dated from his prison, the night before his execution. But I did not read it. O no ! it was too sacred. It contained those words of penitence and affection over which her stricken heart had brood ed for years. It had been the well-spring from which she had drunk joy and consolation, and derived her hopes of a reunion where there should be no more shame, nor sorrow, nor death. I could not destroy that letter ; so I laid it beneath the clasped hands, over the heart to which it had been pressed when its beatings were forever stilled ; and they buried her, too, in the corner of the church-yard : and 7* 78 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND that tattered paper soon mouldered to ashes upon her breast. * * * We have now a bell upon our new meeting-house ; and when I hear its sabbath-morning peal, my thoughts are subdued to a tone fitting for sacred worship ; for my mind goes back to that old couple, whom T was wont to call " the first bells ; " and I think of the pow er of religion to hallow and strengthen the affections, to elevate the mind, and sustain the drooping spirit, even in the saddest and humblest lot of life. A FRAGMENT. From THE WIFE, one of the illustrations of the affections in Factory Life. I CANNOT now tell you all of the sad experience of that time, of all that I suffered, and also of that which I enjoyed; for. in time, the better feelings displaced those more unworthy, and observation and reflection did their work in enlightening me with regard to myself and others. I was now among the poor and unsophisticated. I heard the complaints of the ne glected and the ignorant, and I was taught much real knowledge of the human heart. I was sad and stricken, and I met with universal kindness and sym pathy. I had always thought these girls an almost unmixed compound of envy, injustice and ill will. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 79 These feelings had been awakened in them by me, and others like myself, but now there was an entire change of feeling and demeanor. O, Helen ! it may do us good to descend for a time into the cold, dark gulf where so many always dwell ; and I now often ask myself this question : Why has the sun of pros perity shone upon so large a portion of my earthly path, while so many, quite as worthy, walk always in the shade? And believe me when I say that I consid er my present exemption from that hard toil and trial an unmerited privilege, but not a right. If the same task should ever again appear in the line of duty I would perform it, without feeling that there was one claim for approval as an act of heroism or self-sacri fice. But you will ask, Is the trial now wholly over? Are all admirers of your past conduct? Do not the vain and fashionable sneer at her who was once a fac tory operative ? There are many who regard me with astonishment. They look at me as they would at an ogre or a mermaid. They cannot conceive why a fac tory did not metamorphose me into something less than human. These amuse me : and then there are others who look upon my past conduct as the effect of melan choly ; they pity me. and rejoice that my sadness and its cause are removed. But, when I meet with those who exhibit contempt and arrogance, their conduct places them too far beneath me to permit me to be either wounded or offended. O. how strong I feel then, in the powers which had once lain dormant within me, and in those which I had in that toil acquired. What would these weak creatures have done in my place ? 80 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND And what would have become of me had I been like them ? I should now be beggarly dependent upon my wealthy relatives, and my deserted husband perhaps a corpse. But now we are happier and dearer to each other than we have ever been before, for the love is stronger and purer, which has suffered and struggled, than that which has merely enjoyed. But, indeed, there may be enjoyment even in suffering and labor. That, which once would have appeared so terrible to me that I should have been paralyzed with horror at the prospect of it, was not thus dreadful in endu rance. Do you not remember how often we have sat in our cheerful parlor, listening to the howling storm which beat against the windows? And if we were obliged to go out, how we dreaded to meet it ! But when we had submitted ourselves to its horrors how they vanished, as we passed on ! How many of its terrors had been imaginary ! The wind and the rain and the darkness were not so awful as we had suppos ed. Thus it is in the storms of life ; and it is in these times also that our perceptions of spiritual things are quickened and refined ; that the unseen world becomes more visible ; that faith seems lost in sight, and hope in fruition. Then our purest aspirations go up, and GOD S richest blessings come down. Yes, there are times in our earthly pilgrimage when we come to a desert place the sun sets upon us, and we are weary and alone. We lay ourselves upon the cold, hard ground, and our heads are pillowed upon stones. The darkness thickens around us ; but, in the depth of the gloom, Heaven is opened above us a ladder is placed between the earth and parted sky, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 81 and angels are ascending and descending upon it The dark night passes away morning dawns upon us; we rise, invigorated, to pursue our journey; but that spot is gratefully marked by some pillar of re membrance, and we say of the scene of our trial, Surely, this is none other than the house of GOD this is the gate of heaven. " SKETCHES OF THE PAST. No. 1. FATHER MOODY. AND who, methinks I hear some one ask, was Father Moody? Gentle querist! he was one of the old New England clergymen, in the days c o lang syne, when they could step the earth with an air which seemed to say, I am monarch of all I survey ; and he was one of the most renowned of that noted order of men. His fame went abroad through all the coun try round about, that is, the District of Maine for that was long before it was a State and even to the farthest corner of New England. The cause of this notoriety was probably his eccentricity, for his talents, though undisputed, raised him not so much above his fellow-men, as his oddities removed him from them. When he lived, I cannot exactly say ; but as he was my great-great-great-grandfather, it must have been a great, great, great while ago. He was the minister of 82 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND York, the oldest (and at that time the chief) town in Maine. The following anecdotes will illustrate his character, and none will be related but those which are well authenticated, though many others are extant. The first I shall narrate displays his oddity, more than his good nature ; and of that it is a pretty fair specimen. Madam Moody was very fond of riding on horse back, and her husband often gratified her by a seat on the pillion, when he took an airing. But sometimes he would tell his lady to prepare for a ride, and when the horse was saddled and pillioned, he would mount him, and ride around the yard, while madam was impa tiently waiting upon the horse-block. After a while he would dismount, and send the horse away. But, Mr. Moody, his spouse would exclaim, you promised me a ride. Why do you treat me thus ? To teach you to bear disappointment, Mrs. Moody, would be the amiable reply. This is to exercise your patience, and give you an opportunity for self-control. So Mrs. Moody would exercise her locomotives, by descending from the block, returning to the house, and divesting herself of her riding habiliments, without uttering a reproachful word, though perhaps thinking that there is no need of making opportunities for the exercise of these virtues. A young clergyman was once visiting him, and on the morning of the Sabbath he asked him if he would not preach. Oh no, Father Moody, was the young gentleman s reply ; I am travelling for my health, and wish to be entirely relieved from clerical duties. Besides, you, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 83 sir, are a distinguished father in Israel, and one whom I have long wished to have an opportunity of hearing, and I hope to-day for that gratification. Well, said the old man, as they wended their way to the meeting-house, you will sit with me in the pul pit? It was perfectly immaterial, the young minister re plied; he could sit in the pulpit, or the pew, as Father Moody preferred. So when they entered the meeting house, Father Moody stalked on, turned his companion up the pulpit stairs, and went himself into the parson age pew. The young man looked rather blank when he found himself alone, and waited a long while for his host to come to the rescue. But there Father Moody sat be fore him, as straight and stiff as a stake or a statue, and finding there was to be no reprieve for him, he opened the Bible, and went through with the exer cises. Perhaps the excitement caused by this strange treatment might have enlivened his brain ; at all events he preached remarkably well. After the conclusion of the services, Father Moody arose in his pew, and said to the congregation, My friends, we have had an excellent discourse this morn ing, from our young brother ; but you are all indebted to me for it. Perhaps it was the same young clergyman, (and I should not wonder if it was the very night after this clerical joke,) of whom the following anecdote is relat ed. He requested his guest to lead the evening house hold service, but was answered by a request to be ex cused. But you will pray with us, exclaimed the 84 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND old man. No, Father Moody, I wish to be excused. But you must pray. No, sir; I must be excused. But you shall pray. No, sir ; I shall be excused. I command you, in the name of Almighty God, to pray. Mr. Moody ! replied the young man, in a determined voice, you need not attempt to brow-beat me, for I WON T pray. Well, well, exclaimed the old gentleman, in a discomfited tone, I believe you have more brass in your face, than grace in your heart. A daughter of President Edwards was once at his house, upon a visit. I shall remember you in my public prayers this morning, said he to her, one Sab bath, as they started for meeting. No ! oh, no ! Father Moody, I beg of you not to do so. I entreat of you not to do it. But in his morning service, he did pray for the young lady who was then an inmate of his family, the daughter of one of the most distinguish ed divines, and while all eyes were probably directed to the parsonage pew, he continued, She begged me not to mention her in my prayers, but I told her I would? Father Moody was very direct and fearless in his rebukes to the evil-doers ; and he wished always to see them shrink and cower beneath his reproof and frown ; but in one instance, at least, he was not grati fied. Col. Ingrahame, a wealthy parishioner, had retained his large stock of corn, in time of great scarcity, in hopes of raising the price. Father Moody heard of it, and resolved upon a public attack upon the transgres sor. So he arose in his pulpit, one Sabbath, and named as his text, Proverbs xi. 26, He that withholdeth corn, the people shall curse him : but blessings shall be OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 85 upon the head of him that selleth it. Col. Ingrahame could not but know to whom reference was made ; but he held up his head, and faced his pastor, with a look of stolid unconsciousness. Father Moody went on with some very applicable remarks, but Col. Ingrahame still pretended not to understand the allusion. Father Moody grew very warm, and became still more direct in his remarks upon matters and things. But Col. In grahame still held up his head, as high, perhaps a little higher than ever, and would not put on the coat so aptly prepared for him. Father Moody at length lost all patience. Col. Ingrahame ! said he, Col. In grahame ! You know that I mean YOU. WHY DON T YOU HANG DOWN YOUR HEAD ? Mrs. Ingrahame, the Colonel s lady, was very fond of fine dress, and sometimes appeared at meeting in a style not exactly accordant with her pastor s ideas of Christian female propriety. One morning she came sweeping into church, in a new hooped dress, which was then very fashionable. Here she comes, said Father Moody from the pulpit, Here she comes, top and top-gallant, rigged most beautifully, and sailing most majestically ; but she has a leak that will sink her to hell? The old gentleman was something of a sportsman, and occasionally, in the fall of the year, he would bring Madam Moody a fine goose, to grace her dinner table. One morning he took down his fowling-piece, and said to his wife, If I shoot one goose, I will bring it to you, but if I bring down two I shall devote one of them to the Lord. And what will you do with it ? 8 86 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND I will give it to that poor widow, over the way." He brought home two, but they were very different one of them a remarkably fine, large bird : the other, much inferior. Madam Moody wished him to reserve the larger one for himself. No, no, Mrs. Moody, re plied her husband, the Lord shall have the best, and he carried it to the poor woman, in defiance of his wife s objections. Father Moody would not receive a regular salary, and was indeed so negligent of pecuniary affairs, that the parish appointed a committee, to see that the parsonage house was supplied with wood, meal, meat, and other necessaries. He was very generous ; and it has been said that he took his wife s shoes off her feet, to give to a bare-footed beggar. This may be true ; but if so, it is probable the good lady had a bet ter pair up stairs. One time when he was going to Boston, to attend a great Conference, or Convention, or something of that sort, accompanied by Elder Soward, as delegate, he saw a poor man in the hands of the officers, who were taking him to jail, for debt. Father Moody inquired the amount for which he was to be imprisoned, and found that he had sufficient to defray the debt, which he immediately did, and the poor man was liberated. Elder Soward, said he to his companion, I must depend upon you to bear the expenses of my journey, for I have nothing left. The Elder ventured respect fully to question the propriety and prudence of his conduct in thus rendering himself so dependent ; but the old clergyman replied, Elder Soward, does not the Bible say, Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find it after many days ? OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 87 Towards evening, they reached the city; and the good people of that good city came out upon Boston Common, to see the famous Father Moody ; then, as now, ever ready, to bestow attention upon talent and piety. Elder Soward did not fail to relate the morn ing s adventure, and after they had retired to their lodgings, a waiter brought Father Moody a sealed packet. He opened it, and found that it enclosed the precise sum which he had given to the poor man in the morning. Whether it was the benefaction of some one benevolent individual, or the proceeds of a sub scription, our deponent saith not ; but the old man turned to his companion, exclaiming, Elder Soward ! I cast my bread upon the waters in the morning, and behold ! it is returned to me in the evening. When the war vessel was officered and manned for an attack upon Cape Breton, and the sailors were ready to start her from the wharf, it was proposed that Father Moody should crave a blessing upon the enter prise. The seamen were discomfited, fearing a long detention, but the old clergyman uncovered his head, and lifting his eyes to heaven, he prayed, "O LORD! for Christ s sake give us Cape Breton. Amen. Now you may hoist ! " One of the best anecdotes, and the one with which I will close this sketch, is as follows : He was chosen chaplain when the American army was at Cape Bre ton : and when a splendid dinner was to be given, in honor of the officers who took Louisburg, they wished Father Moody to crave the blessing at table, thinking that as he was then an old man, and such an old man, he would not detain them with a very protracted exer- 88 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND else. The old man arose, and said, l We bless thee, O Lord ! for the great and glorious victory, with which thou hast favored us ; but so varied and numberless are thy mercies, that our thanksgiving for them we will defer unto eternity. Amen. DEAL GENTLY. " Can you name her now so lightly ? Once the idol of you all : When a star has shone so brightly, Can you glory in its fall ? " T. MOORE. THERE were loud voices in Madam Bradshaw s little sitting-room : tones of anger, derision, and reproach, uttering words of detraction. Madam sat silently lis tening to her young visitors, but her brow contracted, and her lips compressed, as harsh feelings seemed to strengthen by an open expression of them. She re membered that just one year before this Sophy Melton had come to visit her, with the same young ladies who were now paying her their annual visit. Madam Bradshaw was the widow of the old village clergyman ; who, when he died, left her poor, though not destitute. In the parish she had been much re spected and beloved, and there was no fear that Mad am would ever be left to want, among so many friends. They had a very delicate way of bestowing their boun ty, and made several annual parties ; when they went to the old parsonage always "carrying their welcome." The children went when her cherries were ripe ; the OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 89 married ladies at Thanksgiving time, bringing their bounties ; the elderly spinsters considerate souls just after Fast, and did her spring cleaning for her, and re plenished her exhausted winter stores. The misses came when her roses were in blossom, and her front garden was one little wilderness of fragrant beauty. Then they did up her summer caps, collars, and neck erchiefs, and saw that her wardrobe needed no addi tion. Among those who came with the roses, "herself a fairer flower," had been Sophy Melton; but this year she was absent, and Madam missed her bright smile and sweet voice. The morning was busily passed by the girls in washing, starching, and ironing the after noon in mending and making for the good old lady. But now the sewing was all done, the tea-table had been nicely cleared away, and, as twilight came on, the girls sat in the old parlor talking of their past and fu ture annual visits. How they loved this old room the old pictures in their heavy frames the dark ma hogany, polished to the brightness of crystal the worn and faded but spotless carpet, the old china, as perfect as ever the well kept silver, and her store of curiosi ties, as curious as ever. Then there were her portraits, upon which they all loved to gaze. There was the old pastor himself, looking at them from the canvass as benignly as he had ever done from the pulpit. There was the son, who had gone a missionary to for eign lands, and left name and fame, if nought else, to his fond mother. There was the noble boy, too, who left his mother for a long voyage to the Arctic seas, and was never heard of more. There was the 8* 90 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND mild but steadfast daughter, who had gone to the far West, and laid down her life in that home missionary enterprise, the education of the young. The girls loved to look upon those relics, and feel, awakening in them selves, aspirations for that excellence which had been embodied and lived by those who had now passed away. Perhaps they imagined they were showing respect for virtue by their severe remarks upon Sophy Melton; but Madam Bradshaw was evidently displeased.. At length she spoke : " Can you name her now so lightly ? " &c. The girls were abashed for a moment. But Caroline Freeman replied, Ma Bradshaw. 1 have not yet spoken ; but I have not attempted to stop my friends, for it has always appeared to me that the reproach of the good was but the just penalty for this violation of the laws of virtue. Sophy s error has not brought upon her poverty, pain, or any diminution of the physical enjoyments of life. If her friends must still, from motives of compassion or philanthropy, countenance her, where is the punishment society should inflict for contempt of its opinions? " "I asked you not to countenance her, or associate with her, not to speak lightly of her sin, or accustom yourselves to think of it as a venial error; but, my dear girls, I only beg of you to deal gently. Let com passion, rather than resentment, influence your thoughts of her. I have seen anger where I would have beheld grief. Moreover, may there not be too much self-con fidence exhibited in such remarks ? You place your- OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 91 selves among the good. Sophy has perhaps once thought herself as good, as safe as either of you. She was the most beautiful, the most fascinating of you all, therefore the most tried and tempted. Be not angry with me, when I bid you ask yourselves whether there is not a little gratified envy in all these aspersions of your fallen sister ; whether there is not a slight feeling of triumph, that the first has now become the last; that she who was greatest is now the least among you ? " " O, Ma Bradshaw ! deal gently with us. We nev er envied her ; we were proud that one so beautiful, and, as we thought, so good, was of our little band. We do not rejoice, we mourn that the most beautiful star is lost from our little constellation. But, how are we to show our hatred of wickedness, unless we speak severely of sin? Were we to speak mildly of this fault, might we not be misunderstood? You must re member that our principles have not been tested by a long life, as our dear Ma Bradshaw s have been." " My dear girls," said Madam, " do not think there is no better way of showing your detestation of sin than by reproach or vituperation of the fellow-being who has fallen into it, Keep your own garments spot less, your own hearts clean, your own hands unstained, and then fear not that your commiseration of the sin ful and guilty will ever be misunderstood that pity will be mistaken for sympathy, that kindness will be thought weakness. Never fear, with a clear conscience and a firm heart, to deal gently. 92 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND THE PHILOSOPHER. ONE evening, after leaving the tea-table, I repaired to my chamber, to prepare to go out. As I was engaged in some of the preliminary exercises of the toilet, I thought that, amidst the confused chorus of female voices, which reached me from the lower rooms, I could discern the more gutteral tones of a specimen of the other gender ; and as it continued to increase in force, and emphasis, my curiosity was aroused to know from whom proceeded this admirable flow of harmony and eloquence. "Pray, who is down stairs, talking so earnestly?" said I, as my fellow-boarder opened my door. " It s old ," replied she, naming a notorious pro fessor; " he s trying to get some of the girls to attend his lectures. Run down now, if you want to see him, for I suppose he 11 go away soon/ I had heard considerable about the gentleman, and felt quite a portion of Mother Eve s frailty prompting me to "go and see for myself; " and so, as did the Queen of iSheba, when she wished to satisfy her own eyes respecting the wise monarch of old, I resolved to enter the august presence. There was no time to be lost, for judging from thesquick intonations which had assailed my ears, I expected that " business was to be done in short metre;" so, hastily twisting together the locks which were dangling around my face and eyes, and sticking them all together, with a comb, at the top of my cranium, I descended, bare-armed and OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 93 shoeless, to the place of exhibition. I dropped, unob served, into a chair near the door, from which I had an excellent view of the scene and actors. The pro fessor, a tall, stalwart man with a frock-coat, and but I will not stop to describe him, and those who have not seen him, may be assured that he is a sort of a unique, a nondescript, who would require the pencil of a Hogarth, or goose-quill of a Boz, to do him justice; and a sight of whom is certainly worthy of some effort : but I will endeavor to give some slight idea of the deportment of this highly refined, and ex ceedingly intellectual, gentleman, in a factory board ing-house. He was vehemently holding forth to three girls, one of them the inmate of a neighboring tene ment, when I entered. " Now, ladies," said he, showing his teeth, and rubbing his hands together, and then wringing them, and twist ing them all manner of ways; "now, ladies, only think two shillings only two shillings for a ticket, which will admit you to a whole course of my lectures did you ever see any thing so cheap in your life now you will go, won t you now ? " " I have been once to your lectures," replied M., " and I don t care about going again." " When did you go 1 " asked the gentleman. " When you lectured in the Methodist meeting house," was her reply. " Oh, that was just after I had been burned out ; I had lost almost all my things then had n t half so many as I ve got now. Now I know you d like to go, and see my new pictures. Now should n t you 1 " and he showed his teeth again, in what he intended should 94 be a most winning manner, and wrung his hands with renewed energy. "I do not care about going," returned M. "Well, these ladies will go, now I know they will," said he, turning to the other two, and the ivory was most bountifully displayed; -only think, ladies, only two shillings, for a whole course there could n t be any thing cheaper now, could there? Why, the old witch there, Madame Adolph, asks you half a dollar for telling your fortunes ; doing nothing only jest tell ing your fortunes ; and when you go to the circus, you have to give twenty-five cents. Now you see I don t charge but two shillings for a whole course of six lec tures ; only think now, not fourpence an evening, and you ll get some ideas now that you 11 never get rid of as long as you live. " " Oh dear ! how dry I am, talking so much won t you hand me some sweetened water, ma am ? have it pretty sweet, ma am. I took three dollars over to Mrs. H. s, and didn t have to talk half so long as I have here ; only think now, only jest two shillings, for six lectures, and you 11 get some ideas that will last you always two shillings, that s always my price." " How many are there in your class 1 " asked B. " Four or five hundred, ma am why they come from all the houses along here, the landladies and all, ma am. I have six or eight from some of the houses, and did n t have to talk half so long as I have here. Yes, ma am, I ve got four or five hundred, ma am." " Then you ve got enough without me," replied she, flouncing out of the room. " Oh stop, ma am," cried he, following her so swift- OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 95 ly that he forgot to show his teeth, and rub his hands, " stop, ma am there 11 be plenty of room ; you won t be at all crowded, ma am ; " but she was already out of sight, and hearing. " Well, ladies," said he, as he returned to the room, not in the least disconcerted, and showing his teeth, and rubbing his hands, as amiably as ever, " now you will go, won t you ? you two may go for fifty cents. T put it down so low because you, ma am," said he, turning to M., "have patronized me before. Oh dear, how tired I am, talking, and dry too," he added, drinking a tumbler full of molasses and water, which looked as though, in compliance with his request to have it "pretty sweet," it was about " half and half." " Now, ma am," he recommenced, after drawing a long breath, "you see how cheap 1 put you that s be cause you patronized me before, and I do really want you to see my new scenery, you can t think how splen did it is I know you 11 never repent it as long as you live, and you see how cheap I put you that s because you went before, ma am. You and this lady may go for fifty cents ; only twenty-five cents apiece did you ever see anything cheaper, ma am ? " " I do not care about going," replied M. "Well now, ma am, you d better go. I know you will like you can t help it every body likes my lectures that go to hear em," and he grinned again, and rubbed his hands, and poured out some more mo lasses and water. " Oh dear, my lungs are sore talking so long. I 11 tell you what I 11 do, ma am ; if you 11 get three of your friends to come with you any three you choose 96 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND I 11 let you have a ticket that will admit four per sons for a dollar ; that 11 let you in for nothing, ma am. I 11 call you nobody, ma am that s because you patro nized me before, ma am and I do want you to see my new pictures ; did you ever have a better offer than that, ma am ? Only think, you 11 get all yours for nothing did you ever see any thing cheaper in your life now you will go won t you now ? " and he grinned again, and sipped some more molasses and water. " Why now, madam," said he, turning from M. to the stranger girl/ " if you 11 only come, you 11 see things that you never saw in all you life before ; the sun, and moon, and planets, and eclipses and the little insects magnified as big as a hoss, ma am, and you 11 see the great comet, with a great tail to it and the eclipses come on, and go off, jest as if you was away up in the sky and you 11 see the moon, with her sharp horns, and how she looks when she is magni fied and you 11 see the sun to be inhabited jest like this earth folks there fifty miles high and the dark spots them are the shadders, and you 11 see the mountains and a little grain of sand magnified as big as a goose egg now you will go this lady 11 tell you that I speak the truth she s patronized me before, and I m well known here, ma am ; you will go, won t you now ? " and he grinned again, and twisted his hands together, and then drank some more molasses and water. "I will go, if M. will go with me," she replied. "Oh, she will go, won t you now?" said he, turn ing to M., " only fifty cents for you two, and if you 11 OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 97 get two more, you may all go for a dollar I 11 call you nobody, ma am, that s because you patronized me before, when I lectured at the Methodist meeting-house did you ever see any thing cheaper and here s my books only a ninepence a piece, if you 11 all go to the lectures full of pictures only look here and here s the very things that you will see all in a book, that you can carry home to show to your friends, and then keep it forever see here s a drop of water mag nified got twelve thousand living creatures in it, and all of em different twelve thousand, ma am, and I don t know how many more and here s a fly with five hundred eyes, all over his body and here s the animals in vinegar, ma am, as big as a goat, with horns to em, and you 11 see em sticking their horns into one another and here s the little things that bite and torment you so," said he, turning to a flea, I presume, and he rubbed his hands, and showed his teeth, and drank some more molasses and water. " My lungs are really sore talking so much. I did not talk quar ter so long at Mrs. H. s. and I took three dollars there now you will go, won t you ? what s two shillings? jest nothing at all. I know you make good wages, ma am, and fifty cents if you will both go, and only a dollar if you will get three more that s because you patronized me before and I do really want you to see my pictures, ma am now you may get any one to go with you that you re a mind to a beau, if you have one have you got one ? if you have, just bring him with you, and you can set there together and you 11 see the eclipses the eclipse of the moon and the great shadder will come on to it, that s the shadder 9 98 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND of the sun ; now you will go, won t you ? You got any beau to bring with you, hey? " and he displayed the ivory more lavishly than ever, and rubbed his hands with tenfold ardor, and then he drank again at the molasses and water. Just then he happened to espy me, and, with a fell swoop, he pounced upon what he thought would be a new disciple. "Now you will go, won t you, ma am ?"and he grinned till his mouth extended from one ear to the other " only think it will be only two shillings for six lectures, most entertaining things you ever heard of. you could n t spend your time more agreeably. Now there s Mr. W. come here to lecture, but he s got to go away again, because my lectures have put his completely down. I haven t a word to say against him; he s a clever man enough, but he ha n t got any tact now you will go and hear mine, won t you, ma am ? " " I cannot," was the decided reply. Why, what is the reason ? " said he. " I have got four looms to attend to," said I, after endeavoring to think of some other reason. "Well, ma am, these lectures will be in the evening you know," and he grinned most graciously upon me, and then he rubbed his hands again, and sipped some more molasses and water. " I have many engagements for the evening," I re plied, " besides being usually very much fatigued." " What do you do, ma am? do you write? Do you write for the Lowell Offering? " " Sometimes." was the cool reply. " Well how much do they give you ? how much do you make ? as much as two hundred dollars a year OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 99 and you ve got now a thousand dollars in the bank as likely as not and you ve got a mind, ma am. Now it s of no use for those folks that have n t any minds, to try to learn any thing but you ve got a mind, ma am, (in a whining sing-song tone.) God has given us faculties, which we ought to improve immortal souls which will never die, and we should cultivate our minds by becoming acquainted with the wonderful works of na ture, spread every where around us," but just then he caught a glimpse of another transient visitor, who had entered the door, and, darting at her, he again went through with his evolutions. But I will weary my reader no longer it may suf fice to say that M. and one more of our boarders con sented to go, to get rid of him. But he entreated of her to use her influence with her other fellow-boarders, whom he deeply regretted that he could not see, and then after promising no threatening to make us another visitation at some meal time, when we should be in, he drained the pitcher of the molasses and water, put on his farewell grin, pocketed his cash, and rubbed his hands together till he was out of the house. SHELLS FROM THE STRAND FACTORY ROMANCE. FACTORY GIRLS. A rich southern man, on a visit to this city, happened to find at work in one of the factories, a beautiful girl, the perfection of his ideal, to whom he at length was introduced, and finding her all he desired, by the consent of her friends, and amid the congratulations of many, she became his blushing bride, and has gone to preside over his home at the sunny South. The realities and romances of the factories are many and interesting. Lowell Vox Populi. The Lowell Factory Girls afford a pretty constant theme of discourse for certain newspaper paragraph makers. The public are quite frequently favored with remarkable statements and romantic stories concerning them. A few days ago we had an account of a famous joint-stock company, which was about to be formed among them, to carry on a great female cotton fac tory, by and between themselves ; all probably to be heads, presidents, di rectors and company, agents, operatives, &c. That story and the one above, after having gone the rounds of the papers, will turn out to be, one just as true as the other. Boston Traveller. Miss Irene Nichols, daughter of Mr. Nathaniel Nichols, of Monmouth, Kennebec county, while at work in a factory in Dorchester, Ms., some few years since, was offered very liberal wages to go to Mexico, and engage in a factory just established there. She, with eight others, accepted the offer. While there, she became acquainted with Herrera, the present revolting and successful general, with whom she contracted marriage. She made a visit to her friends in Maine, last summer, during which, she received fre quent letters from Herrera. She left here in July or August last, for Mex ico, via New York, where she obtained a license, and was united in mar riage to Gen. Herrera, by his representative, the general not being able to leave Mexico a step rendered necessary, as the parties were both Protes tants, and could not be married in Mexico, a Catholic country. Herrera is now President of Mexico, having his head-quarters at the national palace in the city, and this Kennebec " factory girl " now " revels in the halls of the Montezumas." Gen. Herrera is of German extraction, and we are given to understand is an ardent admirer of the institutions of this country, and would not be opposed to the union of Mexico with the United States. A society, extensive in its ramifications, already exists in Mexico, with a view to the accomplishment of such a project. Kennebec Journal. The Presidentess of the Mexican Republic, by which we mean the wife of Gen. Herrera, now President, was once a factory girl at an establishment OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 101 in Mexico, where the General saw and loved her. Her name is Irene Nichols, daughter of Mr. Nathaniel Nichols, of Monmouth, Kennebec county, Me. This news will create a prodigious sensation at Lowell. Exchange paper. THESE stories, as the Boston Traveller asserts, are going the rounds of the papers ; but we do not fall in with his insinuation, that they are not true. Now we happen to sit every day at table beside Madam Herre- ra s cousin Charley, and he sold us the very gown that we now wear, and we know that he is a reality, a stubborn fact ; and Irene is a reality as well as a romance. She may be fairy-like, but she is not a fairy. She may be moonshiny, but she is not moon shine. She may have bewitched, but she is not a witch we mean that she is not one of the old-fash ioned sort, and does not ride a broomstick. She is not a sorceress, and has excited no sorcery but that by which thousands of our New England girls could raise themselves to the " climax of woman s glory," if they only could bring the grandees of other nations within the influence of their magic. Who supposes that Irene is not superior to any other woman who ever trod the halls of the Montezumas those blood-craving monsters, whose most enduring monuments are piles of tens of thousands of human skulls. We will not except even her, the beautiful and beloved preserver of Fer nando Cortez. And who envies Irene ? Is the palace of Mexico a more comfortable home than she might easily have found in Yankee-land? Does, she find there the thousand little comforts which here she thought necessaries ] Do they have commodes, and 9* 102 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND workstands, and spoolstands, and tape-measures, and finger-nail brushes ? And do they have sleigh-rides, " with a band of music sounding through the air? " And is it as secure a home ? Do not the ghosts of the Aztecs and the Toltecs visit the halls of their fathers ? And if not, are there not dungeons beneath the halls of those splendid mansions, where Irene and her beloved general may yet drink the cup of bitter ness? for "a breath may fell them as a breath has raised." And that other Southron, who found here the "bean ideal" of his fancy, why should we doubt it with the Boston Traveller ? Yerily, he never has travelled through the mills of Lowell, or he would know that here every man might be suited to his taste, provided he were willing to see the same beauties and excellen ces in a Lowell factory girl that he could espy in another lady of more fortunate circumstances. And this prodigious sensation that the last editor anticipates in Lowell, has not been the result of these astonishing marriages. Indeed we see less astonish ment expressed than in the papers of other places. Perhaps a few romantic misses in their teens may dream of being queens in Oregon, princesses in Wis consin, and chieftainesses in Texas, but the light of a few bright snow-blinding days will banish these vis ions, and they will dream again, as Irene dreamed before she went to Mexico, of a home where " The banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep ; The grottoes are shaded with trees, And the hills are white over with sheep ; OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 103 From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, What strains of wild melody flow, How the nightingales warble their loves From the thickets of roses that, blow." Let us, in imagination, now go back to the youthful home of Irene, and follow her thence until her depart ure for Mexico. It is a large brown house, poking its front into the very highway, and has a long sloping roof behind, which almost touches the ground, and does in fact de scend to the hogshead of ley. It has a little forest of hen-coops, and granaries, and pig-pens, hay-stacks, and well-sweeps, behind and beside it, and directly in front, " the other side o the way," is a huge barn, with all the appurtenances of cow-yard, watering-trough, cattle-shed, chaise-house, "and all." But though this is not the abode of taste, it is most certainly that of comfort, plenty, and no small degree of intelligence. Irene is the pet, the beauty, the favorite of the house hold, and all its advantages and privileges are hers. But thoughts of another home will frequently steal into her mind, cherished and consulted as she is in this. And now let us go, with all the audacity we can as sume, into the home of Irene s imagination that where she shall queen over him who loves to own her sway, and where she in return gladly submits to one whom she loves. Well, here we go, like a nervous maiden under the manipulations of a Mesmerist, and here is Irene s own homestead. We are "away down East, in the State of Maine." Around us are forests of pines, who lift up their evergreen heads in silent and constant worship. 104 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND There is not a house in view, except Irene s, but in the distance is a small building, looking, for all the world, like a sentry-box, and which is, in fact, one of those railroad depots which Dickens describes, express ing the wonder where the folks came from who got in, and went to who got out. If those pine trees to the left were not quite so thick we could see the spires of a village, but as it is we must be content with Irene s domicil. It is painted as white as as a sheet of paper, and the door is as green as she was when she dreamed of it. There is a little front yard, about six teen by twenty, for our country folks always econo mize land in front of their dwellings. It is fenced in by pine palisades, painted white and green, and put together in triangles and all sorts of diagrams. The gate is just large enough to admit you, and a Daniel Lambert would have to leap the wicket, or go round to the end door. You walk into the little path, and, like a magnanimous foe, you press your clothes to your sides that you may not brush the heads off the mari golds, " lady s delights," and bachelor s buttons, who seem inclined to dispute your way. You look up, and the five windows two for the parlor, two for the parlor-chamber, and one for the en try over the door these five windows, with their five white curtains, all drawn down to the very sill, look as if they were in their shrouds. But we will pluck up courage, and ascend the pine doorsteps. There is no bell Irene never even dreamed of that ; and she thinks, as her grandmother does, that knuckles were made before knockers, if not for knockers, and here we stand thumping fifteen or twenty minutes, and just OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 105 as we are about to give up the front entrance, and, like Banyan s bad folks, get in some other way, Irene comes and opens to us, apologizing with all her might because the door was locked and did not open of itself; and telling how busy she has been cutting out her hus band s pantaloons, up in the back chamber, for she never learned the trade, and is not accustomed to the work. Her cheeks are as red. her eyes as bright, and her step as light and true as in the first days of girl hood. If it is a warm day she wears a pink calico dress, with a white cape and black silk apron. If cold, her gown is of -green Circassian with the same appendages; for, if we are at all reasonable in our hour, Irene s housework is all done up. Well, here we are in the front entry, with the best stairs right in our face and eyes no, before them, with a little narrow strip of red and green carpeting in the middle, reminding us of the striped ribbon which she puts straight over the crown of her nicely kept straw bonnet, for its winter trimming. Irene shows us into the parlor, and ties up the white curtains with little red woollen tassels, and now we can see what is evidently and nicely " kept for show. " There is a strip carpet to examine. It is made of the best remnants of old coats, and overcoats, and waistcoats, and the dark groundwork is relieved by strips of red and green and yellow flannel. That bright scarlet strip, which enlivens each stripe, cannot be mistaken for anything but the old red broadcloth cloak which her great-grandmother used to wear. And now for the rug : it matches well with the carpet, and well it may, for both are the production of the 106 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND same fair hand. It is made of thrumbs has a dark- brown ground, a black fringe, and the figure is a we can t tell what bnt it looks like a huge red strawberry blossom, for it has five leaves with a yellow spot in the centre. On each side is a monstrous green burdock leaf, and in the four corners are four blue stars. The chairs are of wood, painted black, and highly varnished, with a thin flowering of gilt at the top. In the corner is a rocking-chair, with a cushion made of odd bits of ribbon, and these are all visible mementoes of Irene s taste and industry. The room is hung with paper, which might well pass for small-figured bright- colored calico; and over the fireplace is a "mourning piece," representing a short chubby redcheeked girl, in a short black gown, with a black shawl over her head, and holding in one hand a large white handkerchief as a symbol of grief. The other arm is resting upon an Egyptian sarcophagus, on which are inscribed the names of all Irene s departed relatives, and written with the schoolmaster s best pen. There is no retirement, and from a hundred windows in the background intruding or protruding heads might witness the pharisaical grief of the mourner. Opposite this is the mirror, which con sists of a small glass, with a picture above it of a fine lady and a superfine gentleman, and a magnificent house, both connected by one frame, which consists of alternate semi-cubes of black and gilt. On another side of the room are all the Presidents of these Uni ted States" hung in a row, and Daniel Webster hangs with them, for Irene s husband thinks if he is not President, he ought to be. In the fireplace are some bright brass andirons, covered with white muslin, and OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 107 so are the tops of the shovel and tongs. And on the mantel-shelf is a row of those good folks who rest in the Egyptian sarcophagus that is, their "shades," which shades are cut from white paper like children s horses, and put in relief against a bit of black paste board. These are interspersed with small shells which Irene collected when she rode to the beach with her beau ; and in the very middle of the shelf is a wax wonder with a glass over it. Will Irene let us go into the kitchen ? Yea ; for she prideth herself much upon its neatness and good man agement. It is neatly papered and painted, has half- curtains to the windows made of the relics of an Eng lish gingham gown, and is plentifully supplied with braided mats. Here, also, is the black monument of Irene s only voluntary transgression against her fa thers will, in the shape of one of "James s patent stoves," for there are but three things in the world at which the old gentleman has sworn enmity, and these are, Universal] sts, Federalists, and cooking-stoves. Still the old gentleman cannot deny that Irene has a comfortable room, notwithstanding no pleasant blaze greets him from an open hearth. At the end of the kitchen is Irene s sleeping-room, but so many gentlemen are with us that we will not go in still we cannot help seeing through the open door a cradle, painted red without and blue within, with a little patchwork covering, made of that piece of " Job s troubles" which she never had patience to en large to its originally destined dimensions. Irene is more than willing that we should descend into her cellar, and we do not wonder after we get 108 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND there. It is so cool, so clean and orderly, (a thousand times pleasanter than the dungeons of the Montezu- mas ; ) and if it were only a little lighter, we would willingly spend the whole of a summer s day in it. Here is a nice arch for potatoes and all other freezea- ble commodities, and a score of exhausted flour bar rels, filled with apples, and pears, and what not, and there is a beef barrel and a pork barrel, and a soap barrel, and a quintal of codfish, and a tin cake-chest, in which is still a large proportion of the dress loaf of bridal cake. Now that we have been down stairs, we are not contented without also going up stairs. So we ascend, over that same strip of narrow carpeting, and now we are in the upper entry. The most conspicuous thing here is the fancy curtain hung at the window made of the sprigged muslin dress in which her mother was married, and it is gathered and fringed and looped in all manner of fantastic directions. In the front cham ber is all that is necessary. Here is a white toilette, with a pink cushion upon it, and there is a mat before it, made of black cloth figured over with little pieces of all sorts of things, looking like a mob of Arabic, Sanscrit, and Chinese characters mingled together in confusion worse confounded. And here is the nice soft feather-bed which Irene had earned at sixteen, and which was then sewed up in a pair of strong sheets that it might be kept unsoiled for this place and occa sion. And Irene blushes when we open the door where she is making her first attempt to become "the ninth part of a man/ but we think, as we look at the things OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 109 which lie there, that it is not so bad for a wife to make them as to wear them. And now we must go ; but Irene must show her flowers. Her rose geranium in a great blue waterpail, and her bridal rose in a cracked beanpot, and her cal low in a broken pitcher, and this great thing she says is her " chrystianthum." Divers little applicants for a kind look and word lift up their green heads from tumblers and mugs, but we must go. As we pass out, Irene calls our attention to the great lilac, and the rose- tree, and the mammoth peony which suffered so in the last thunder-storm, and we must not forget the sun flowers, and the prince s feathers, to say nothing of the tansy in the corners of the yard, with its neighbors of catnip, spearmint, peppermint, and a dozen other mints. And which of Irene s beaux do we suppose her bright dreams metamorphosed into a husband ? Let us take the same liberty with her heart that we have with her house, and see in Memory s gallery what portraits Fancy painted there. Although Irene has been a rustic belle, yet we shall have time to go through with the list of her lovers, for they are never " Legion " in the breast of any true-hearted woman. The first is that awkward ungainly boy, with limbs like a long-armed ape, and a face which has a mam moth handle. The sallow, sunken cheek and thin compressed lips indicate thought and determination, but present no fascinations to a young, light-hearted girl. The high, projecting brow is the only feature which has claims to beauty, for the bright eye is sunken in his head, and oft cast down to the ground. He is 10 110 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND usually silent and reserved, but the beauty of Irene has wrought a magic spell upon him, and one day, as she opens her grammar in the first school hour, she finds a poetical effusion, commencing " In thine eye is beauty bright, Revellings of magic light," and so on through twelve lines, which not only have the merit of rhyming harmoniously, but the initials of them compose an acrostic upon her own true name. Irene looks at it again and again, and at the name in scribed in full length at the bottom, for there are none less sly than your really bashful boys when they have once screwed their courage to the acting point. The verses have all the appliances of fair paper, beautiful chirography, and, though Irene is not much of a critic, she knows that orthography and punctuation are well attended to. A shy feeling, like the curlings of a gen tle mist, steals over the heart of Irene, and she looks upon the paper as a magic scroll. In her presence the awkward boy becomes still more ungainly; he blushes if she smiles upon him, and his brow lowers if she smiles upon another. She finds it more of an effort to be merry when he is by, and wishes she could feel as much at ease with him as with handsome Bill P., or gallant Jim S., or witty Tom K. The boys all like Irene; they are all willing to wait upon her to huskings, and see her safe home from spelling-schools all but the awkward boy. She might stay at home all her life for want of his invita tions, and the bears might catch her any dark night spite of his assistance. Still that subtle freemasonry. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. Ill which makes lovers known to each other, tells Irene that he loves her far better than do Tom, or Jim, or Bill, and she knows that thus far she loves him better than them. But then all the girls laugh at him, and the boys say he is a noddy, and he cannot run, nor dance, nor skate, nor play ball, nor do any thing so well as they, if indeed he can do them at all ; but then he can parse, and do sums as well as the master, and write acrostics, which even the master cannot do, and Irene is fully aware of his intellectual superiority. But head and heart are not all the requisites for winning the sum total of a young girl s love, and after a few seasons of wavering between hope and fear, the awk ward boy is resolved to end his suspense by a positive declaration to Irene, and he is refused. She has too little love, or independence, or both, and when she has cast away the truest heart that ever beat for her, she is aware of its value. Henceforth the boy s heart is steeled against the tender passion all women are self ish, heartless flirts and fools. He devotes himself to his books, and as time passes on, his name is enrolled among the distinguished of his country, and Irene could boast that she once refused the learned man. But these things usually bring a meet retaliation. Irene does not find that she is regarded with any marked preference by the beaux who once admired her, and her own experience is too recent to allow of a sec ond entrance to her heart. She becomes choice and fastidious, and is called proud and unfeeling. At length a new minister comes to the place, a young, graceful and interesting man. Irene s beauty, anima tion, and indifference to the beaux, attracts his atten- 112 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND tion. If he exhibits any preference, it is for her. His attentions are only those of a perfect gentleman, but Irene receives them with a demureness which implies a fear of an affection of the heart. She admires the pastor, but then she thinks she is not accomplished and religious enough to suit him exactly ; and when the impression of her beauty has passed away, he will see it too, and it would be better that she should know it first. She congratulates herself upon her coyness when the minister brings his new bride to the parish, a very learned lady, to whom he has been engaged many years ; one who, it is rumored, reads in Latin, and talks in Latin, and, it is supposed, thinks in Latin, and Irene shrewdly guesses that she will keep house in Latin too. Again time passes on, and Irene is not married. At length a railroad is to be surveyed ; and what fine city gentlemen come down into the woods to lay it out. There is one among them a perfect Apollo in figure, an Adonis in attractions, and a Beau Brummel in manner and dress at least, so he appears to Irene. He wears such nice gloves, such polished boots, such a gold chain, such superfine broadcloth ; and then his shaggy great coat is only to be matched by his whiskers, and then his dogskin cap, with tassels hanging down oh, who can tell how many hearts are hanging at the end of them. With the most graceful manners his particu lar attentions are devoted to Irene, and Rumor soon reports that he is "courting " the rustic beauty. Irene pouts prettily, and denies it, for the elegant surveyor has never " committed himself " in words, but when a woman fully trusts she is willing to exchange hearts OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 113 without the word and the bond. Those are for matches where love is not at the foundation of the union for the worldly, calculating and suspicious. And, if peo ple suspect that he is courting her from his open atten tions, what would they think if they knew of all the secret, subtle influences by which he has impressed her with the belief. Then the envious girls begin to won der that Irene will place so much confidence in a stran ger, and demure, prudish old ladies give her their excellent advice, and this brings out Irene as the earnest public advocate of the stranger. If doubts will sometimes steal across her own mind, they only serve to impress his image more intensely on her heart, and she still goes on in the full confidence of faith un spoken." But the surveying is over the gentlemen depart. Irene is tendered a beautiful annual in the most gracious manner by her attentive friend, which she refuses sulkily, with the sarcastic assurance that she needs no memento of him ; and then he goes to some other village, to amuse himself with some other "ladie fair," and go headfirst, that is, capfirst, into the sanctuary of her affections. But a change has now come over the spirit of Irene. She mourns; not for the lover, but " for the love which has passed like the dew from the new-blown rose," and she feels conscious that few hearts mourn with her for her folly. The girls are glad, and the beaux not sorry, and poor Irene tries hard to hold up her head beneath the mortification which weighs it down. She is glad to embrace an opportunity which offers to leave home, and go to the factory, for she cares not whether she ever sees a half-a-dozen men again or not. But 10* 114 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND the young and healthy cannot always droop. She re covers in a new place her spirits, her sprightliness and buoyancy, and none is so much admired for animation, beauty and energy as Irene. She would be a belle, but there are no beaux. The first overseer is a married man, the second one engaged, and the third but a boy. It is said that prisoners, who have nothing else to inter est their feelings, will learn to love the spiders which spin cobwebs in their cells. And superior girls, when debarred all other society, will sometimes place their affections upon clowns and ninnies. Irene almost gets in love with the third hand, and he is somewhat fascinated with her, but he finally gives her the cold shoulder, and returns to a pretty little girl who is his first love. Irene treats it all as a gay joke, for her heart was not really in the affair. She has some designs of supplanting the favorite of the second-hand, but when she really seest hat her sly coquetry is taking effect, and that she may be successful, honorable and praiseworthy motives induce her to undo what she has already done. But a mill life seems inane and tedious to her ; she does not wish to return home, and is it strange that she embraced the opportunity which offered, when they were recruiting for emigrant factory girls, of changing Yankee-land for Mexico ? OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 115 WOMAN. WOMAN S Mission. Woman s Sphere, Woman s Rights, Woman as she should be and many similar phrases, are titles of books which have within a few years is sued from the press. I have read none of them ; for I am one of those who have more time for reflection, than for the perusal of books ; but the feeling which has prompted so many of our own, and of the other sex, to write and speak of woman s duty and influ ence, cannot but be shared by all of us who have heads to think, and hearts to feel. It cannot be thought strange, that in this country, where the rights of man are so vehemently asserted, those of woman should also receive some attention; and that the questions should arise, whether her mis sion is duly performed her sphere the only one for which she is fitted her rights appreciated and whether she is indeed " as she should be." Man is every where lord of creation : here, he is lord also of himself: and while he now takes a higher stand than he has ever claimed before, woman has not risen in a corresponding degree. Here, every man may share in the government of his country ; but woman is here, as elsewhere, the governed ; and if her natural rights and duties are the same as his, she is also the oppressed. She has here no privilege which she might not enjoy under the enlightened monarch s of Europe, and no distinction but that of being the mothers and daughters, the wives and sisters, of freemen. Several kingdoms 116 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND are now governed by females ; and probably as well governed as they would be by those of the other sex ; and thus it is evident, that woman is capable of being trained to reason, and to rule : but it is an important query, whether this is her most appropriate and con genial sphere ? Mrs. Sigourney has most beautifully expressed an opinion, which I believe to be true. I repeat not her words but her sentiment is this ; that while the sexes might exchange occupations while man might be taught to steal around the chamber of the sick, and perform the quiet duties of domestic life, woman might also be taught to sway the senate, and lead her coun try s armies to battle ; but violence would be done to the nature of each. Yes, man might be taught to bend his energies to the still duties of household life ; but his spirit would pant for a wider sphere, and his mind would writhe and chafe beneath its shackles ; and woman might engage in noise and strife, but the over tasked heart would yearn for a humbler lot, and pre maturely exhaust itself in the violence of self-contest. The Bible, and every ancient tradition, has awarded to man the honor of being first created ; but a compan ion and help-meet was needed ; and as he had been gifted with an immortal mind, so none but a being des tined to share with him a glorious immortality, could call out his affections, and share his sympathies. In those feelings and moral sentiments, the exercise of which is to constitute his future happiness, she is fully his equal apparently his superior; for in her they exist uncontrolled by those selfish and intellectual qualities which fit him to go forward in this earthly OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 117 existence. But if there be no difference of mind, there is a difference of body which must compel her to yield to him the palm of superiority. He is made more strong, that he may protect and defend; she more lovely, that he may be willing to shield and guard her ; and that physical difference which, in one state of society, makes woman the slave of man, in another makes him her worshipper. Woman has always been obliged to take that station in life which man has been pleased to allot her. Among savage nations, where those faculties of mind in which she equals him have little exercise in either sex, she is but little more than a beast of burden ; but in those stages of society where refinement, and the love of the beautiful, were predominant, she has been the object of chivalrous adoration. She has been knelt to, and worshipped, with all the enthusiasm of gal lantry ; but the same hand which raised her to the throne, had power to overturn it, and while she sat upon it, it was at his caprice. It has been truly said, that Christianity alone has truly elevated woman. And how has it done it ? Not by infusing any new power into man s mind; but by awakening in him the love of the true, the good and the just ; by making him sensible of the superiority of right over might ; by arousing those holier sympathies and desires in which he feels that woman is not indeed his inferior ; and should the time come when earth is to bear some resemblance of heaven, woman s influ ence will be found to mingle equally with man s, in hastening on the era of happiness and love. But though in many respects his equal, she will 118 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND never be like him. Her duties and pleasures must always be different. Were the sexes willing to exchange places, they could not do it ; and each has been so formed, as to enjoy most in a separate sphere. She can never obtain his strength and vigor, and some of her duties he could not perform, if he wished. Woman must be the mother, and that fount of "deep, strong, deathless love," has been implanted in her breast, which can turn a mother s cares to pleasures. In that station where woman is most herself, where her pre dominating qualities have the fullest scope, there she is most influential, and most truly worthy of respect. But when she steps from her allotted path into that of the other sex, she betrays her inferiority, and in a struggle would inevitably be subdued. It is now asserted, by some, that woman should here share in the toils, duties and honors of government ; that it is her right ; and that it is contrary to the first principles of our constitution to deprive her of this privilege. That woman, if not now capable of doing this, might be rendered so by education, cannot be doubted; and should our sex rise en masse, and claim the right, I see not how it could be denied. But this will never be. To be happy, and to contribute to the happiness of others, is woman s aim ; and neither of these objects would be attained by engaging in party politics. The general principles of government, and the welfare of her country, should always be subjects of interest to her. They may occupy part of her thoughts and con versation; but to become a voter, would be contrary to the feelings which she ought principally to cherish, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 119 and the duties she should never neglect those of home. Man, says Lady M. W. Montague, by engrossing to himself the honors of government, "has saved us from many cares, from many dangers, and perhaps from many crimes." Let woman, with her warm sympa thies, engage in the political wrangle, and the strife will not be less bitter. If she go at all upon the battle field, it should be "as (to use an expression of William Penn s) the physician goes among the sick not to catch the disease, but to cure it." But to do this she must go, not as a partizan, but as a mediator. She should endeavor to speak words which would allay the wrath of the combatants, and to say to all who will listen, "Sirs, ye are brethren." She must stand on neutral ground, with the white flag in her hand ; for if she show herself upon either side, she may be come the victim of her own violent feelings, if not the slave of the perfidious and designing of the other sex. Women once madly and unrestrainedly engaged in political strife ; and while some, with the most ardent patriotism, preserved their purity and tenderness, others became the " Furies of the Guillotine." Even then, though nominally as free as the other sex, the stronger spirit ruled. They were urged on for a time, and when that time was over, they were obliged to yield a power which they could not maintain, and which the other sex wished to resume. But though woman may not personally approach the ballot box, or mingle in the caucus, yet she can there be represented. Men consider their interests as identified with those of their families. They do not 120 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND vote for themselves alone, but for their mothers, wives, and daughters. Females who think at all upon poli tics, usually think as the males of their families do ; their sympathies lead them to adopt the opinions of those they love best, and the result of elections would probably be the same if they were voters. But if they are not always represented if their opinions do sometimes differ from those of their male relatives, it is well that this difference cannot create more trouble. It is well that the bickerings and contentions of the club-room and tavern-house, are not to be brought into the family circle. It is well that the sounds of "home, sweet home," are not to be displaced by bitter words and party disputations. Differences of religious opinion create enough of discord and misery in family circles ; but religion, though mingled with superstition, and darkened by bigotry, is religion still. It is the exer cise of the heart s best affections, and no persons can embitter the fire-side with religious quarrels, and con ceive themselves following in sincerity the example of Him whose mission was peace and love. Political feuds would not have as a counteracting influence this glaring inconsistency of principles and practice ; and may we never take a more active part in them. Let woman keep in her own sphere, and she can do much for herself, and much for society ; but her influ ence is weakened in proportion as she deviates from the true path. Her domestic duties should claim her first thoughts ; and then society should receive her un wearied efforts to elevate, to gladden, and to beautify. If social evils are to be remedied by reforming public opinion, woman s influence, when properly exerted, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 121 may do much ; and thus they will be remedied, if she is true to the nature God has given her, and the station he has assigned her. She may do this by her influ ence over the rising generation, especially that portion of it who will one day be voters, and perhaps rulers of their country. Her exertions should be to throw around her the sunshine of gentleness and affection, and her aim should be "To solace, to soften, to cheer, and to bless, With the streams of her gushing tenderness." But many who think that woman should never in terfere in political affairs, assert that in religious and benevolent enterprises she should act publicly and un restrained. If woman had been intended to grace the pulpit or the lecturer s desk, I think she would have been gifted with a voice more suitable for them, and been endowed with less of that delicacy which she must now struggle to overcome. Women have ha rangued public audiences, who are to be respected for their faithfulness to the dictates of conscience; but while my ideas of female duty differ so widely from theirs, I cannot admire them, and would not imitate them, if I could. If a woman is sensible that she has talents which might be of service to her country, let her exercise them ; but in a quiet way. Madame Roland says, that in the seclusion of her own chamber were written documents which entered into all the cabinets of Eu rope ; and far more influence had those opinions, while passing under the sanction of her husband s name, and far more noble does Madame Roland appear, than if 11 122 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND she had entered the National Assembly, and expressed them vocally. There are exceptions to all rules, and there may be times when woman will do what man could not per form. She may depart from her appropriate sphere, and the very novelty of her position will create enthu siasm in her behalf; and the fervency of her feelings will excite her on, to deeds requiring the utmost moral energy. Yet happy is she, if the thunderbolts she launches around, return not upon her own head. Wit ness, for example, Joanne of Arc. Many who think woman inferior in every other mental capacity, maintain that in literary talent she is man s equal. She may be, in some respects, and in others his inferior ; but in those departments of litera ture, which have usually been considered highest, she appears to be his inferior. We cannot well judge from what woman has done, what she is capable of doing. Under happier auspices, much might have been performed of which she has been deemed incapa ble ; still I do not think that if the literary arena had been always as open as it now is, that woman would ever have written an Iliad, or a Paradise Lost. When an anonymous work appeared, called " Sartor Resartus," which evinced much originality and talent, there were many conjectures concerning the authorship ; but it was never suspected to be the production of a woman ; and had the sweet " Songs of the affections " come forth into the world unsanctioned by the name of He- mans, they would never have been attributed to a man. Women who now write upon subjects which have OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 123 heretofore been the exclusive subjects of man s talents, do it usually in a more familiar, and sometimes in a more beautiful manner. As, for instance, Miss Marti- neau upon Political Economy ; and Sir Walter Scott declares, that it was Miss Edgeworth who taught him to write novels. But how great the difference between the sexes, with regard to literary talent, can be better decided at some future time. It cannot, at all events, be said of a woman, that in this respect " she hath done what she could." Those females who have been blessed with beauty of form and face, need not fear that their graces will be lessened by mental cultivation. The natural desire in our sex to please the other, has often led them to adorn their persons at the expense of their minds ; and if they have succeeded, they must have pleased men who were not worth pleasing. Much of the prejudice which even now exists against educated females, has probably been caused by the fact, that too many literary women have been pedantic, assuming, and arrogant. They have laid aside the graces of their own sex, without attaining the vigor of the other ; but they cannot become men let them therefore not cease to be women. They should cherish those feelings, and virtues, which alone can render them pleasing, and cultivate those faculties which will command respect. Yes, woman can climb the Hill of Science, and let her go ; let her bind the laurel and the myrtle with the roses which already bloom around her brow, and the wreath will be more beautiful ; but she should guard 124 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND well the flowers, lest the evergreens crush or over shadow them, and they wither away, and die. ARISTOCRACY OF EMPLOYMENT. As I was walking a few days since through one of our principal streets, my attention was attracted by the size and beauty of some of its principal edifices. Within a short distance were several spacious houses for public worship, and taste and wealth had been dis played in the erection of buildings of a more private character. And then I thought of the vast amount of labor which had been employed in the construction of that single street. How much of human strength had there been worn away, how many sinews there been strained to the utmost exertion, and arms been almost palsied by excess of toil. Yet this was but one of the streets in our city, and this city but one of the smaller ones in our Union. I thought of this, and I thought no longer of the beauty, taste, or wealth which had been manifested, but of the labor. " The law of labor ! " O how prolific a theme of thought, and how many the reflections to which it probably gives rise in the minds of those incapable of expressing their thoughts through the medium of the pen. The laborer and who is he? A man, made a OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 125 little lower than the angels, and stamped with the impress of his heavenly Father ; a man and brother to him who will not soil, with slightest manual employ ment, his snowy hand, or costly vestment; a man, and though too often degraded to a station but little above the brute, yet may be, in some future time, the com panion of angels. The laborer and where is he ? Wherever the beauteous mansion of the rich man greets the admir ing gaze of passing travellers ; wherever the splendid temple s lofty dome is reared, and its tapering spire springs upward to the sky ; wherever the giant mill- wheel groans on its axle, and myriads of wheels, and springs, and bands revolve in their lesser circles, there has the laborer been. Wherever the amateur displays his costly collection of beauties, or the virtuoso the curious productions of gifted ones in other lands ; wherever the artist displays the inspired creations of the pencil or the chisel ; or the poet s strains subdue by pathos or excite to rapturous enthusiasm there again, yes, even there, amidst that thrilling beauty, has the laborer been. Wherever some lovely paradise, some modern Garden of Eden, with its labyrinthine walks, its jutting founts, its rare exotics, its sweet per fumes, and costly flowers, are to be seen, there also, amidst that choicest haunt of the lover of refined amusements, has the dirt-soiled laborer been. Wherever the organ s "loud-resounding notes" swell upward from the worshipping choir, or the flute s soft tones steal gently on the evening breeze, or the harp-strings vibrate beneath the touch of the favored child of For tune, there also is the handiwork of the laborer. Not 11* 126 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND more surely is his presence indicated by the humble cot which shelters his head from the cold and the storm, or the rude couch on which he rests his weary limbs, than by the fretted dome of the vast cathedral, or the gorgeous splendor of the palace. We cannot go where man has created beauty, splen dor, or convenience, but we also find the tokens of toil. There is around us proof upon proof in attestation of that sentence pronounced upon man; "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread." Yet men strive to evade this law ; they put shackles on their brother ; they place over him the task-master, then fold their arms and say, " There must be toil, and thou shalt be the laborer. My share and thine shall both be done by thee, and I will give thee bread, that life may not perish in thy sordid frame : and clothing, that thy limbs may not be shrunk by the cold, or parched by the heat : and peradventure I will give thee meat that thy strength may continue the longer ; and thou mayest have some mean hut, that thou mayest rear a grovelling band to toil for my oifspring, as thou shalt toil for me." And when the laborer says, " Who made thee a ruler over me?" Egyptian-like, he smites him to the earth. Yes, has it not been too often thus the laborer, like one who struggles in some troubled sea, while he for whom each nerve is strained stands idly on the shore; and when he would leap from those dark waters, a blow is given to send him back, and the smiter smiles at his own mercy, because he did not dash his brains. Such has been, in other times and distant places, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 127 the operation of this universal law ; I say universal, for everywhere that man has shown himself a being of high endowments, of superior skill, power, and sagacity, it has been by labor ; yes, wherever man has been himself a creature above the brutes around him, and aspiring to a higher dwelling-place than the earth which is their home, it is because he has been there the laborer. Employment is the lot awaiting us all, as we come forth into this busy world. The earth is to be tilled ; cities, towns and villages to be built ; strong ships are to be made, and guided across the deep sea ; there must be a ceaseless preparation of food and clothing for the unceasing demand for them ; there is ever a new generation springing up to be nurtured, and taught, and watched, and an old one to be nursed, and sheltered, and cared for, till they are laid in the house appointed for all and the living must make that last tenement; all this is to be done, and to be always doing, and man must be the laborer. There must be ministers, also, to the desire for the grand, the holy, arid the beautiful ; and the gifted ones must go forth amid the less favored crowd, and bear a light to gladden their other brethren. And he who resists this law, who would make of himself and his, exceptions to this rule he who would go through this world without conferring one benefit upon those who have ministered to his wants, and sup plied his necessities, those who have cherished his in fancy, and preserved his maturer life be who would lay down a useless existence in an unhonored grave he who would do this, would fain believe himself a j0 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND being to whom the faithful observers of Heaven s mandate should bow, and cringe, and fawn, and kneel, and thank for the listless smile, and pray for the privi lege to watch and wait around him ! Such has been, and such still is, in some places, the observance of the law of labor. True, there are other spots on this wide earth where men meet, as in that long past time, but with a holier purpose, and join with one heart and tongue to build their tower, or do whatever else necessity or choice may dictate. But ere long the aristocracy will arise ; those will spring from the mass, who would look on and see the vast machine in motion, and enjoy the benefits of its revo lution, yet never put their own shoulder to the wheel; and who think, by this disregard of the great law im posed upon all, to purchase an immunity of privileges, of which they would also deprive the laborer. VVr; do not see so much of this as many do. There is here but little of the aristocracy, but few of those for whom all must be done, but who will do nothing in n turn; we have but little of this aristocracy, but we have the aristocracy of employment. It is perhaps a new phrase, but is it not an expressive one ? We know of the aristocracy of other countries. We know that with all its evils it has some redeeming influences. Wo r:;jn fonreive of the stimulating power which the aristocracy of birth can produce. The desire to be queath untarnished the glorious name inherited from his ancestors, may deter from many a deed of sin and meanness the proud owner of this inheritance ; or the wish to add one other leaf to the laurel wreath which has been placed by fate upon his brow, may spur the OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 129 wearer to some glorious act of bravery, of generosity, or mental exertion. All this may result from the aris tocracy of birth. We have it not here : from its ex cusable traits, and its inexcusable principles, we are happily free. But ire have aristocracy. That of wealth, though more excusable here than that of birth is elsewhere, is not all we have. I say more excusable, because here wealth must be the toil- won portion of its possessor. No law of entail ensures estates to a privileged few ; but all must work, or fail to enjoy. But we have what is more tyrannical, more foolish if possible, than any other aristocracy that of employment. " What does he or she do for a living 7 ? is almost the first question usually asked of a person, after an introduction. Whenever the employment is indicative of superior talent, merit or industry in the operative, of whatever class, there is good reason why honor should be the willing tribute paid to the individual. Whenever " that large boon, a nation s care," is en trusted to the man whom his countrymen have deemed most worthy of the charge, the deference due to the sta tion, and the merit and talent which have procured him that station, should accompany the emoluments, trials, cares and pleasures which must also be his. There is, there ever must be, some aristocracy. Where all can never be alike, some must of course be inferior to ethers ; but let there be no other than this. Let superiority of talent or merit receive the deference which to these is usually accorded with pleasure : but let not man be degraded by the necessity of doing out ward homage to those whom in his inmost heart he 130 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND despises or detests ; or to the still lower degradation of sincerely honoring that which more enlightened and juster views would teach him is dishonorable; and to admire and strive to imitate that which he would then abhor. We would that honor should be always ren dered to him to whom honor is due ; but we would that those, and only those, should receive it. But there are so many false ideas of honor in the conventional relations of society, so much of respect exacted by, and accorded to, station, that every true principle of respect is crushed, or at least benumbed. He who wields the cloth-yard measure, deems him self far more worthy of respect than him who tills the ground ; he who girds himself for war, and makes it the occupation of his life to slay his brethren, thinks himself an object of far greater value than him whose days are spent in the manufacture of the necessities or conveniences of life. She who sits at ease in her par lor, would fain think herself a better and nobler being than is she whose every thought, and act, and moment are devoted to her family ; she who sits and fashions nice attire, believes herself of greater consequence than the individual who manufactured the article of which those garments are made ; and thus, through all the gradations of employment, is this aristocracy. Is it not foolish, nay, worse than foolish, to trample upon, and jeer, and scorn those who are bound by ne cessity s stern laws to some harder service, some less profitable toil than ourselves ? Why should it be that those who do most, are so often thought to be deserving of the least ? The hardest working man is usually the poorest man. He who builds a palace, must himself be content with a cottage. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 131 But times and opinions are gradually changing. Old abuses are slowly reforming, and a juster perception of our neighbor s rights mingles with more correct ideas of our own duty. The laborer gradually rises higher. As years pass by, some portion of the burden is cast upon the shoulders of those who have hitherto been favored ones, and they dare not endeavor to cast it aside. All must share it, though each should take that part which is best adapted to his strength and capaci ties. If all did this, and all will some day do it, how easy would that burden be ! Nay, it would hardly be a burden. Labor, it is true, has been always thought a curse. It is in sacred writ pronounced as such ; but HE who declared that sentence, is one who has merci fully linked it with blessings ; and those who would wholly evade it, but bring upon themselves new judg ments. But as mankind progress in knowledge and in holi ness as they approach that state of perfection which has been foretold as one of happiness and peace the curse is gradually removed at least all of the sen tence which can be pronounced a curse ; for as new discoveries are continually made, as new inventions are constantly announced, as new complications of ma chinery are rapidly and faithfully assuming the labor er s office, as matter is ever becoming more surely and completely under the dominion of mind, even so is the curse removed. Nay. I will not call it a curse. All that prevents it from being an unmingled blessing, is taken away, and man in peaceful brotherhood enjoys the bounties and obeys the mandates of his Father. 132 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND There is, as all believe, a brighter day to dawn on earth a day when peace, equality and love shall form the grand features of the social plan ; when the laborer shall not bow to him who would bear undue authority for all shall then be laborers ; and while "each in his proper station moves," all will be impelled by truth and love. THE UNSETTING SUN. IT was nearly sunset ; and seldom did a more richly- tinted sky glow in the Occident, than on that fatal evening. As the sun sank lower in the gorgeous clouds, their brilliant hues of crimson, scarlet, and the impe rial dye, assumed a more vivid tint ; and the bright golden vesture beneath, rolled out and upward, as if to envelope those varied beauties in one unbroken sheet of flame. A mother sat, with her hushed child upon her knee ; and as she looked upon the splendors of the natural world, whether revealed in the bright firmament above, or as reflected upon the broad earth beneath, her heart was subdued to holy thought ; and the cares and trials which erst had weighed so darkly upon her spirit, as sumed a radiant light, as the Divinity found access to her heart; for she felt that they were but clouds veil ing the face of HIM who "is a Sun" and to the eye of OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 133 faith presenting a softened and more glorious mani festation of the Divine presence. A maiden looked upon that setting sun ; but she thought not of its glories for her imagination leaped forward to the hour when those gay colors should have faded from the sky, and she. with one who was very dear to her young heart, should stand beneath the light of stars, as they glimmered through the boughs of the trysting tree. The poet looked upon that sunset sky ; and, as he thought how much of brilliant though fleeting loveli ness was concentrated in the scene, there was a yearn ing desire in his breast to give vent in gushing song to his admiration of the beautiful. But oh ! what could he say that had not been often said before 1 He who first poured upon the swelling tide of harmony the feelings kindled by the glow of sunset, could not have more keenly appreciated its revelations of beauty, but. he had been allowed the blessed privilege of being first to give them utterance. There were many passages awakened to remembrance, which almost seemed his own, so spontaneously did they respond to his observa tion of the immediately visible. One occurred, thus : " Bright clouds ! ye are gathering one by one, Ye sweep in pomp round the dying sun, With crimson banner, and golden pall, Like a host to their chieftain s funeral. But methinks that ye tower with a lordlier crest, And a gorgeous flush as he sinks to rest." Another t was thus : " I met thee in the western sky, In pomp of evening cloud ; 134 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND That while with varying form it rolled, Some wizard s castle seemed of gold, And now a crimsoned knight of old, Or king in purple proud." The long and beautiful description of a September sun set, by another poet, came, unbidden of memory, to his lips ; and he felt that none now were needed to embody the radiant beauties of such an hour, in the form of poesy. But blessed indeed were those permit ted to behold them ; yet little felt he, even then, of the blessing of a sunset hour. A maiden raised her damp head from a dying pillow, and they drew aside the window drapery that those sunken eyes might look once more upon this earthly glory. "Are they not heavenly ?" she asked, as the spirit s fires glowed with rekindling lustre in her dark orbs : "all broken in a thousand parts, yet one, " One as the ocean, broken into waves, And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces, dyed Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark, As they are thick or thin, or near, or more remote ; then, sinking back, she whispered to the watchers near, " May be, ere morning s light shall come, They 11 bear me on their bosoms home. * * * Might there not be darker minds looking with as much of earnestness upon that sun, and wish ing that the hour might come when deeds could be performed, whose actors shun the light of day ? And were there not those who love better the glare OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 135 of brilliant chandelier, than the purer light of day; and whose bosoms throbbed with anticipation of mid night mirth and revelry? But through those diifering hearts shot one wild thrill, as the sinking sun paused for an instant upon the verge of the horizon, then turned upon "his axle red." Those who first noticed it, spake not it was no time for words. There were no screams, nor shouts, nor groans : these are the articulations of natural feel ings, not such as then were first created in the heart, and could not find an utterance. But there was that deep, awful, more than deadly silence, which loudly speaks of the terrible. The sun was going back! Yet, without a word, how soon was it known to each individual of an awe struck world ! Men closed their eyes, and then looked up again, with the hope that a glimmer had passed from their sight then they hoped it was an optical delusion and then that it was some wild freak of the laws of light, some vagary, caused by an unaccounta ble accident in the process of refraction. And there they stood, all pale and speechless, in their stolid silence, till they knew it was no delusion. The crimson blush had faded from the western sky, the golden fringe had dropped from every low-hung cloud, and there they stood in mourning robes for of the scarlet and the purple hue they had been fearfully disrobed. And there was the sun traversing a back ward path, in the clear expanse above, and men stood and gazed in silent fear. Then they looked upon one another, but with hasty glances, for they could see in the countenances of others but the reflection of the 136 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND anguish depicted on their own. Then they drew nearer to each other, that they might watch together but still they spake not. * * * All hands were still all eyes were raised but every heart was throbbing fast : for the sun was near the zenith. Would he not then turn and descend, as in days of yore, to his place in the west ? This was the question asked by all, yet asked by none of each other, nor spoken in words. And now, for a moment, all hearts had ceased to beat for the sun was on the meridian. But on he went, down to an eastern sky. Then they threw themselves upon their faces, and groaned in their deep despair. But terrible as was the sight, there was that fascination which still attracted their gaze, and they raised themselves from the earth, to watch again his course. Lower he sank he was almost down and the eastern sky blushed at the approach of the visitant, and raised towards him, as with a welcoming embrace, her thin, misty arms, and was clad in gorgeous sheen for the new comer. For a moment, as he seemed to nestle in the radiant cloud-robes which enveloped him, the watchers saw not whether he would tarry. But like a monarch, who rests him for an instant on a throne of state, then throws aside the splendid robes whose pomp had dazzled the gazers, so did he leave his radiant couch, and re-commence his glad career into a clearer heaven. And there men stood, and watched, throughout that live-long day, his journey to the west. And now, he was there ; and that western sky was awaiting his approach, even as a mother might watch the return of OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 137 her child from some mad prank ; and the clouds arrayed themselves in their most gorgeous drapery, as if they would entice him to his couch below. But like a way ward boy, who might not be subdued, he gaily went back, and left them again, to pursue his wild and ter rible career. Then men laid their hands upon their mouths, and their mouths in the dust, and prostrated themselves in prayer before their Maker ; and fathers gathered their household bands around them, and raised an altar where there had been heretofore no worship ; and those who had scoffed at all prayer, as but vain repe tition, now sent up the audible supplication, " Lord, have mercy upon us ! " And through the next day, and the next long, sun shine night which followed, they neither ate, nor drank, nor slept ; but watched the sun in his back and forward course, till their strength failed, from excess of fear. The mother pressed her moaning babe to her aching heart, and went to her inner chamber, and shut out that terrible light, that it might think there was dark ness without ; and while she prayed, till her brow was wet with the dews of agony, the babe "slumbered and slept." The maiden who had looked forward to the evening hour of tryst, now thought not of joy or love of mar rying or giving in marriage : and though she stood beside her betrothed, yet they thought not and spoke not of each other, but an unselfish prayer went up for all else for they felt that in this sacrifice of their dearest hopes and affections, a value would be given to the uprising incense. 12* 138 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND There was now a new theme for the poet one which well might stir the deep fount of feeling; but truly might he have thought that language could never embody the emotions for which it had never been framed. He might have thought this but he did not. He thought not then of the poem which he might afterwards have produced. It is not in the mo ment of deepest feeling that we seek to give it form in words. It is after emotion has subsided, when the sun-light of Genius falls upon the deep, calm well- spring of memory, that the reflection is seen, which the quick and skilful hand may then transfer. Neither the sun, nor the mist, alotte, can make the rainbow ; but when they are rightly joined, the gay arch spans the heavens. The invalid had gone to her long rest, and the bright flush of excitement faded not from her cheek till it was pale in death ; and the spirit winged its flight, bearing this query as a burden before the throne, "Why hast Thou dealt thus bitterly with Thy creatures, O my God?" The votaries of vice and of pleasure were subdued, awed and purified by this chastisement. Willingly would they have devoted their lives to the service of their Creator, might life but once more be a season for action, toil, and service in His cause. But what could they do now ? They walked the earth in hopeless agony; they wrung their hands, and groaned in spirit; and then they flung themselves upon their beds, that they might once more sleep, even if there, were to be no more night. And, if, perchance, their fevered frames sunk into an uneasy slumber, from excess of Or THE SEA OF GENIUS. 139 excitement, they dreamed that they were out beneath a clear, deep evening sky, and that stars were sending down their pale beams upon a silent world, or that the moon was silvering the earth with radiance, save where the shadows stood, like dark transfixtures in the brightness. And even while they deemed that the cool breath of eve was upon them, they awakened to that horrid glare, and looked out upon a scorched earth or a misty sky, through which the red sun, like a de stroying dragon, was wending still his strange and mystic way. * * * It was the Sabbath ; and the first loud sound of life was the chime of the church-going bells, as they called together the worshippers. There was no need of the loud call for they thronged to their temples, as though they hoped the prayer, which had gone up singly from each one present, would be answered now, if sent in one united petition. There was also that desire for social worship which we feel when we would receive or communicate the glowing flame; and stronger than this was the wish to make a public manifestation of their feeling of subjection to THE SUPREME. They said not now, " We can worship in our hearts, and in our homes for God is everywhere present;" but there was the yearning desire to show unto all men that they could bow in humility and penitence before their Creator. How few were sick, or tired, or necessarily detained that day ! All seats were filled, and aisles were thronged ; the proud man opened the door of his cush ioned pew, that the swarth son of Afric might find a place at his right hand, and the gay belle, undecked 1/10 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND for this day s worship, knelt down beside her rival s waiting-maid. A change had also come upon the pastors. He who had stood before his charge, and spoken of God, of heaven, and immortality, as though they were but words to round a period who had coldly given them his ethical discourses, or, if he sought to move, had done it by exciting admiration of his well-chosen words and glowing imagery that man stood that day with tears in his eyes, and cried with a loud voice, "Spare Thou us, O our God ! and turn away from Thy fierce anger." The man who had stood before his flock as though they were a faultless throng, and cried, "Peace! peace ! " as though there were no tempters [from within, he stood that day and called out in his agony, " Unclean ! unclean ! before heaven and in Thy sight." The man who had stood in the preacher s desk, as though he were a delegate from the Almighty, and in him had been vested the power of eternal life or death who had said as he chose, " Thy sins be forgiven thee," or "Be thou henceforth accursed by me " who had bestowed benedictions or anathemas, at the suggestion of his own overbearing will who had blessed what God had not blessed, and cursed what He had never cursed, he, too, knelt down among his fellows, and cried, " Lord, be merciful unto me, a sinner ! " In the great square of a crowded city, there was gathered a throng, who could not find admittance to any consecrated sanctuary ; and one came forward to OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 141 lead their devotions, who had been derided and scoffed at, and even imprisoned for fanaticism. It might be that the fire of zeal had burned too fiercely on his brain, and his wild exhortations had often seemed but blasphemy. But he was solemn now; and stood be fore them with downcast eyes and upraised hands, his white locks streaming over his long black robe, and the fire of insanity subdued beneath the more awful light of that unsetting sun ; and as he uttered forth the spontaneous prayer, he felt that it was but the expres sion of all who were present. "And now, O Lord ! " continued he, "we have as sembled ourselves together, we have gathered about the altar we dedicated to Thee, and we have come to ask a strange petition, even that darkness again might cover the earth, and thick darkness the heavens. The land trembleth and sorroweth, and one cry goeth up to Thee, that the earth may be darkened, and the sun withdraw his shining. We ask it in faith; for we know that if Thou wilt, this thing can be, for our Redeemer is strong ; the Lord of Hosts is His name : He it is who can take away our fears, and turn our sighs into shouts of rejoicing. "And now, our God, was there ever sorrow like unto our sorrow?, was there ever affliction like unto that with which we are afflicted? We have trespassed and rebelled, and Thou hast not pardoned. Thou hast covered thyself with wrath, and persecuted. Thou hast slain, and hast not pitied. Yet they that be slain with the sword are better than they who per ish from hunger, and they that starve are better than they who pine and are stricken with deadly fear. We 142 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND are wasting away in Thy sight, for our eyes have failed in looking for relief; yea, they are blinded he- cause of the terrible brightness. Yet forget us not for ever, though Thou hast now forsaken us ; but turn unto us, and renew Thy kindness, as in days of old. Let not this wonderful and horrible thing continue, as a memento of Thy wrath ; but bless us again with the evening and the morning which make the day. " We feel that we are not worthy of this favor. We ask it not as one might ask justice of his fellow men ; but we come before Thee as sinful children, appealing to the undeserved tenderness of an oft-forgotten parent. And now take from us our iniquity, and the punish ment it has brought upon us, and receive us graciously; so will we render unto Thee the homage of our lips. And let not the oblations of our spirits be in vain ; but accept of the broken hearts which we lay low in the dust before Thee. We lift the voice, and bend the knee ; and beseech that Thou wilt lay by the terrors of Thy brightness, and shroud Thee in darkness for in Thy great glory Thou art very terrible ; but let the lid fall upon that dazzling eye which has been stationed over us, and veil Thee in shadows of the night, that we may come into Thy presence without fear and trembling. "We know that we are vile before Thee. Thou hast searched our hearts with Thy radiance, till their deepest recesses can no longer hide the secret sins. We lay them all before Thee ; the forbidden things which we have cherished in the darkness, are brought to the light ; and spurn not the petition of those who would make themselves clean in Thy sight, though unworthy, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 143 even in our best estate, of the favor we would ask. Yea, deal not Thou with us according to the counsels of Thy justice, but according to the dictates of Thy mercy and loving kindness, that we may feel that a reconciling and tender Parent is still our Guardian and God, and we may stand before Thee as children, and lift up our voices to our Father who is in heaven. "The earth mourneth, O Lord! the land is desolate, because the heavens above are not black. We pray again for darkness, that it might cover the earth, and thick darkness the heavens. Thou hast dealt strangely with us, in Thy providence. Thou hast marked the courses of the sun, and it turneth back. Thou hast commanded a backward way, and it walketh therein. Thou didst stay its going down for Thy servant of old, and now wilt Thou not hear our petition, and bid it seek again its place of rest, and let once more the evening and the morning make the day ? "We feel that we are unworthy of this blessing. Yea, it is thus Thou hast taught us that it is a bless ing ; for we were wont to lie down and rest, when Thou didst draw around us the curtains of the night, and forget that the darkness, even as the light, was also the banner of Thy love. "And now, O Lord! the prayer which goeth up from many hearts before Thee, wilt thou hear in heaven, Thy dwelling-place, and when thou hearest, answer and forgive." And all the people said, "Amen." Yet that Sabbath night, when a humbled world looked in trembling hope to the sun, as he was sinking in the west, they groaned in irrepressible anguish, when they saw that he again turned back. 144 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND But during this long sunshine, there had been fre quent and copious showers, for the process of evapo ration had been rapid. These were now succeeded by terrible tempests. There were hurricanes upon the land, and storms upon the ocean. There were whirl winds, water-spouts, thunderings above, and quakings beneath ; there were avalanches, slides, eruptions, and mad confusion of " the lightning and the gale." Then, when for a time there was a cessation of the terrible commotion, they thought of nought but the devastation which had been made. The ocean strand was but a wall of wrecks, and upon those ever-restless, upheaving billows, none now would have thought to venture. Forests had been prostrated, fields destroyed, valleys overflowed, sea-ports submerged, and inland cities overthrown. Strong towers toppled, and fell ; bulwarks were laid prostrate ; temples were crumbled into fragments ; and the earth was one wide scene of ruin. From the first, there had been strange commotion, distress, madness, and then death, among the animal creation. Birds had soared shrieking in the heavens, then fluttered back to their nests, but never ceased from their restless screaming. Beasts had roamed howling over the plains, and then returned to the hab itations of man, and crouched moaning at the feet of humanity, with that instinct which bids them look to man for aid, when there is evil they can neither avoid nor comprehend. But when granaries were destroyed, and fields blasted, then came famine for them : and their fierce madness was soon terminated by an agoniz ing death. From their smoking carcasses went up the OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 145 pestilence, which was to sweep the earth with a new besom of destruction. And the gaunt spectre traversed the land, like a warrior who has but to come and see, to conquer. In the intervals of calmness, men sought not to repair the desolation, or provide against the future. There was that hopeless, settled despair brooding upon them, which forbids all exertion. At first they had gathered together the crushed and mangled dead, and buried them with those who had died from fear and excite ment ; but soon even the rites of sepulture were aban doned. Mothers sucked in the putrid breath of their fevered infants, or held their cold corpses in their arms, with the hope that thus they too might depart the sooner. Fathers stood over the stiff forms of sons, of whom they erst had been so proud, and smiled to view their latest gasp. Yet few could be found to care for others, each was so wholly absorbed in his own terrors. The last thing which had been done in unison, was to assemble together, upon a day appointed for Fast ing, Humiliation, and Prayer. That day was well observed. There were none heard to say, "It is but a day of man s appointment, and we regard it not;" but there was a solemn joy that they could thus pub licly consecrate to God a day which He had not re served as his own. There was a feeling of hope that this observance might not be disregarded, and that prayer offered then might find acceptance at the mercy- seat. They neither ate, nor drank, nor spake one to another ; but cleansed their garments, and bowed to gether in deep solemnity before their Maker. But when, on that eve, the sun again went back, 13 146 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND the watchers in their anguish cried out, " How long ? O Lord! How long?" But after this, all prayers went up, in dread and hopelessness, from solitary hearts ; and the dying wasted silently from the earth. * * * On a broad expanse of table-land were collected the survivors of a world. Thither had they come to avoid the flood, the fire, the crash of rocks, and fall of for ests ; and there they awaited the approach of Death. Calmly and fearlessly was he received, as he came to one and another, till the band were almost gone. There were two there together a husband and .wife ; and even through that long agony, her love had failed him not ; and now his delirious head was repos ing on her faithful breast. She bent low to hear the words which faltered on his parched lips, and shrank again when she found that it was an unwitting impre cation and blasphemy. But when the expiring light of the soul flickered once more in the sunken eye, she .gently murmured in his ear, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." The tone, the words, and the manner, soothed his vain murmurings, and reclin ing on that unwearied bosom, he breathed his last. At length the last man was alone. He had seen the woman, his latest companion, stretch her cold limbs by her husband s form, and close her own eyes, when she knew that the hour was come : and he had seen it all unmoved. Sympathy had long been dead, and con sciousness was numb. Once he raised his lithe, dark, shrivelled form from the earth, and looked above, and around. There were the bleaching bones of those who first had come, and nearer still were the thin, black, parchment forms of the later dead. And over them OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 147 was that unsetting sun, wending his way in a clear sky, which that day was of a pale, brassy hue. He sank back, but withdrew not his keen, dark eye from the course of that bright orb, for it was sinking in the west, and he wished once more to see it turn back, with the feeling of triumphant victory, that he could view it now unmoved. Lower it sank, and still he watched in feverish exul tation. " Now turn thee back, that I may behold it this once." But no ! the edge had dipped below the horizon. He started up drew his hands across his brow, as if to brush away the brain-phantom which had crossed his vision then looked again, to know that it was no illusion that it was partly gone. He sent forth one loud shout of mingled hope, joy, exulta tion, and despair then wildly tossed his arms above his head, "and, when the sun went down, he died." THE PORTRAIT GALLERY. No. I. POCAHONTAS. I LOVE to be here, and muse amidst these lineaments of the departed; and to see how brightly these forms stand forth from the dim obscurity of the past, though here but by Memory and Imagination are they por trayed yet they have done well; and where the one hath found the task too hard, the other hath been ever 148 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND ready, with her magic brush, and brilliant lights, and never hath she wrought in vain. Here are the good, the lovely, and the noble-hearted ; those to whom life was ever as a gladsome dream, and those to whom it was a scene of sorrow. Here is the queen, and here the subject: here the saint, and here the savage ; here the woman of olden time, and here the maiden of later days. Here are those of many different lands, and climes ; the children of the long forgotten, and also of the recent, Past. It is good to be here ; and I will sometimes lay aside all thoughts of the living, and the present, and come, as now, to hold communion with the dead. But when I speak, they answer me not those rosy lips are never parted; those sparkling eyes can never vary in their glance ; and I must commune with myself, and cherish every thought which may come to me amidst the stillness. Here is a strange, and yet a fascinating scene ; the portrait of one who was noble in birth, in mind, and in her destiny. There are but few of the royal in our new-found world ; and thou, sweet daughter of Pow- hatan, shalt here precede all queens, and subjects of the East. How many characters were once combined in thee ! The child of an emperor, and yet of a sav age ; a heathen, and then a Christian ; the daughter of an Indian, the wife of a Briton ; the foster-mother of an infant nation, and yet how soon its captured vic tim ; the savior of one who could grieve, if not abandon thee; Matoaka,* Pocahontas, and Rebecca how many wild associations are mingled with those names; thoughts of man s dark deeds, and passions; of woman s * Matoaka was her real Imlian name ; Pocahontas, the name liy which she was known to the whites. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 149 firmness, love, and trust; of the lights and shades which play over that era in our country s story ; and of the romance which may be woven into the fate of a forest maiden. Pocahontas is here delineated in the attitude which to us appears most interesting. Here is Powhatan s wigwam, and the chieftain is seated, in savage state, amidst his warriors, arrayed in belt, and mantle, and feathery crown. The light of the blazing pine flickers upon the roof, sides, and floor of the sylvan dwelling. Its dusky inmates preserve a stern, unbroken silence ; and every face is blank, but for the expression of strong, unwavering, purpose. In the centre of the group is the block, and victim ; for the white man has bowed himself to die. But whose is this slight, child ish form, which bursts upon the group, and lies itself, as a shield, to receive the destined blow ? A murmur bursts from the compressed lips of each wild man, and there is a thrill throughout the stolid group. They could have seen the blow fall upon that devoted one, and watched his writhings in the agonies of death, and still have sat, as did that old assembly before their Gothic conquerors, and which could scarcely be distin guished from the statues which surrounded them. But for this they are unprepared, and for this they must arouse, and act. To some of them the girl ap pears as have the phantoms which flitted by their path in stealthy midnight march, or when, at twilight, they had roamed through the depths of the thick forest. There was more of fear than hatred in their hearts when they decreed that that strange man should die. But does not the Great Spirit send guardian ones to 13* 150 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND shield him) or has he not "a medicine" which can summon the supernatural to his aid? or is that figure but the wreathing smoke, which curls in wild fantastic forms around them all ? These are the thoughts with which they quickly start, for soon they all know, as Powhatan knew at first, that it is his best loved child, the little Matoaka. They try to force, to coax her away, but with her arms twined round the stranger s neck, she tells them, that if a blow is dealt on him, it first shall cut through her. There is something strange, almost mysterious, in this. The chieftain s heart is touched not solely by the tears and prayers of that young girl, but by the fear that harm will come upon himself, if wrong is done the pale-face. Has not the Great Spirit been whispering to his child ? Did not HE bid her thwart her father s will? Tis very strange but her peti tion is granted, and the emperor bids the white man live. Such is the scene. It is Pocahontas, as she first appears upon the page of story ; and she starts upon the historian, much as her own red warriors were wont to burst upon our exiled fathers. There is darkness, midnight, and storms. The records of history have been those of struggles, vexa tions, disappointments, privations, selfishness, and sometimes follies, and crimes. How beautifully does this young girl come, like a visitant from the ethereal world, in her innocence, trust, and self-forgetfulness ; but she does not, like a phantom, pass "in light away." From this moment she is the friend, guardian, and savior of that little stranger band. It is through her OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 151 instrumentality that they have land, food, friends, and peace. She hears of treachery, and goes through " the deep-tangled wild wood," alone, and in " the darksome night," to tell them of their foes. She dares not take one token of gratitude or love, for fear that her father will see it, "and kill her." He whose life has more than once been saved by her, would give her jewels in which she may shine among her fellow- maidens, but she can accept of nothing now. There is nothing in the character of Pocahontas, which appeals for sympathy to the clannish instincts of our nature. She does not concentrate in her own heart the loves, hates, hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows, of her people. On the contrary, there is something like false hood to her father, her kindred, and her race. But we love and esteem her the more for this. It was not that aught was wanting in her heart which dwelt in theirs, of social and domestic affection, or even of pa triotism ; but that she had that which they did not possess innocence, which could suspect no evil ; conscientiousness, which could permit no wrong ; be nevolence, which yearned to do good to the pilgrim and stranger; and disinterestedness, which could forget all thought of self in her exertions for the benefit of others. We never feel that her opposition to her father, and her race, was from lack of aught that is noble or kindly in our nature ; and we wonder no more that she could never sympathize with her dark-browed kindred, than that the daughter of Shylock was false to him, and to her Hebrew faith. Pocahontas is sep arate from all her tribe, because there are none else pure, soul-like, gentle, and affectionate, like her. A 152 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND lonely life must hers have been in early days, yearning for communion with those she could not find ; sending forth the warm aspirations of her heart into the void around her, to be ever reminded that they are but wasted breath. How she struggled to love that which was not lovely ; to mingle with that with which she had no affinity ; to learn that of which no one could teach her; to worship where she could not believe. But when the white man came to her, as if from the Spirit Land, with his magic powers, his mysterious arts, his strange yet beauteous frame, for little could she know that his clothing was not the gift of Nature, and the huge winged monsters which bore him o er the deep, there was a trembling hope that here might be arrested the vague aspirings of her heart. His deeds of prowess are the theme of every tongue ; and when they come and tell her of his words how that the stars are far-off suns, and the moon a shining world ; how that the earth is round, and people dwell beneath their feet; how there are lands beyond the great waters, where the people are thick as leaves upon the trees, the hairs upon the head, the stars in the sky, and the sands upon the sea-shore, and " how the sun did chase the night around the earth" there is a trembling hope that in these may be found companions who can satisfy her questioning spirit. Hitherto her life has been an isolated one father, mother, friends, are all as though another race of beings " A lily in the wilderness, lifting its pure white brow Amidst the weeds and thorns around, such, Indian maid, wert thou." But she is never aloof from them she mingles in every scene of rude festivity, she wails when they send forth OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 153 the funeral cry, she dances with her maidens in the moonlight, on the forest green, but she is not satisfied ; when alone she is still and sorrowful. Nay, she never is alone she stands by the waters, and they send forth their rough chorus ; she sits upon the hill-side, and the winds chant their loud anthem ; she lies down in the wild- wood shade, and the leaf-harps send forth a sweet music, unheard by other ears. Nature is ever around her, and never mute ; but she speaketh with a strange tongue. The girl has been taught to worship Okee, but still her altar has ever been erected to an Unknown God. Pocahontas is no angel, but she is a gentle, sensitive, reflective being, where all are rude, gross, and sensual. She feels painfully that ignorance of those laws of Nature, and of our being, which is ever so oppressive to the meditative mind. And when she knows that another and nobler race of beings have come to live among them, how quickly comes the thought that of them she can learn, in these confide, and to these assimilate. The white men were not what she had thought them, but they were a superior race of beings. She was not mistaken there. They could teach her much which she fain would know ; they declare unto her the UNKNOWN GOD, and she could not then understand their selfishness, avarice, contempt of heathens, and the wrongs they meditated upon her race. "Blessed are always the .pure in heart" and blessed was this heathen girl in the possession of a heart so open to all holy truth, so repel lant of all of evil with which she found it mingled. It was always difficult for the Indian to understand 154 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND > why the white man came upon his lands. He questioned of it as did the ancient Briton, when the Roman came to his island home, and Pocahontas must have lent a credulous ear to the plausible reasons which they gave, for leaving splendor, comfort, home, and friends, to come among her benighted people. They \vould give these heathen a better religion, and how instinctively her spirit receives the Holy Word as truth. To her they are not colonists, but pilgrims ; not adventurers, but missionaries ; and they are dependent upon her favor. She watches around them as a spirit of the upper world might hover over us beautiful, benign, and melancholy Pocahontas lovely, virtuous, dig nified, and happy Rebecca. Were a band of visitants to come to us, from another sphere, a race superior in mind, and far more beautiful in person than we, whose hearts would yearn towards them from quickest sympathy 1 whose feelings would most readily respond to theirs ? and by whom would their wants and wishes first be met ? By the pure, the imaginative, the spiritually-minded. Those whose souls have oftenest wandered in the highest regions of the ideal. And those who would shrink, would quail, would turn indifferent away, would be the irreligious, heartless, and earthly-minded. These strange visitants might have powers of harm, and thoughts of wrong, but if they were different from ours, we should not, if innocent ourselves, be ready to suspect them of evil. It was thus that, in both North and South America, those who were most prompt in their appreciation of the powers, and most ready to extend their sympathies to the white man, were superior to their fellows, as OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 155 surely as they were afterwards the first to foresee, and the most strenuous in their efforts to prevent, the evil which impended over their people. There is an interest almost sublime in contemplating the character and fate of these red-browed men, as connected with our pale-faced ancestors these children of Nature, contrasted with the children of Civilization. When they came in little bands, "a feeble folk," with out provision, shelter, or lands, they were welcomed, supported, and cherished, till fears were excited for their own safety, and preservation. Then came the deadly struggle then stood they foe to foe the one strong in civilized art and stratagem ; the other mad dened by the sense of treachery, and outrage, and nerved by a sense of the justice of his cause. It reminds one of the fable of the woodman, who took the chilled and helpless serpent to his heart and bosom, but to revive a strength which was to be ex erted for his destruction. Even thus the Indian took into the bosom of his home a creature, which was to rise with fresh and mighty power, to coil round him its swelling folds, and thrust at him its hydra head ; to crush, mangle, and destroy. It was a fearful struggle the struggle of the Laocoon most noble though it was useless and fatal. There is something, I repeat, most touching in the manner in which they depart. They find themselves powerless utterly unable to cope with their enemies. To remain to hover, ghostlike, over the remains of their kindred to live in bondage, aye, in communi cation with their conquerors, is degradation, misery, and worse than death. But they must go the pale- 156 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND face shall not see them live he shall not see them when they waste and die. Then comes the mournful question, " Can the bones of our fathers arise, and fol low us into a strange land ? " And when they go, the most sorrowful farewell is to those burial-grounds. There is a Roman greatness in this the greatness of the Caesar who mantled his face that none might see when first it blenched, and when the last convulsions passed away. Perhaps there is something very favor able to the red man in the distance from which he must be viewed his Spartan virtues, his wrongs, his fate, the beautifully figurative style in which his sentiments are uttered, his sense of his injuries, and indignation at his enemies in all of this there is something wildly fascinating in the page of history. Whatever would to us be most repulsive his domestic habits, his social economy is seldom detailed there. Yet he can throw a thrilling interest sometimes, even here. An Indian, seating himself upon the ground, has little in his po sition to command our respect ; but how are our feel ings changed when he says, " The Sun is my father the Earth is my mother I will recline upon her bosom." The departure of that dark race is like that of clouds, which pass away before the morning sun. As they rise and recede, the blackness lessens ; they catch new glories from the orb at which they flee ; they glow in purple, pink, and crimson ; they are tinged with gold ; and when they melt in the far horizon, they vanish in beauty. And is it not a touching sight when some faint rem nant of that cloud comes hovering backward, over the OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 157 scene from which it rose? "I know," says Campbell, the poet, "of no sight more touching than that of the Indian, who returns to break his bow-string over the graves of his fathers." But our portrait has been suggestive of other, though kindred pictures and, Pocahontas, have we been true in what is here ascribed to thee? A historian says of her, " Our whole knowledge of her is confined to a few brilliant and striking incidents, yet there is in them so complete a consistency, that reason, as well as imagination, permits us to construct the whole charac ter from these occasional manifestations." Even in that first scene when she is introduced to us, there is a manifestation of her past as well as present character. How was it that she, a girl among a people where woman was despised how became she the favorite of that mighty king ? that savage Bonaparte and a favorite possessing so great an influence ? It must have been the magic of worth, intellect, and affection, work ing on that stern man s heart, through her whole short life, which could obtain the boon he granted her. They did not trifle with Pocahontas they did not promise the white man s life, and thus seduce her away, that they might work his death with no more molestation. Powhatan treated her not as a child but as a woman. Aye, there, and then, she was treated as a man. And she never lessens in the esteem and love which she at first inspired. Her sincerity, firmness, and cour age will always command the former ; her gentleness, compassion, modesty, and strong affection will ever win the latter. Her devotion to Christianity, her strong affection for Capt. Smith, her love for John Rolfe, are 14 158 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND claims upon our sympathies as Christians, and Yen- gese. But she was not false to her own race. They needed not her efforts, her charities they were then the aggressors the murderers. She left her father because she could not witness his cruelty and treachery towards that feeble band ; and when she was taken, as their captive, her tears could only be restrained by the thought that thus she might again be serviceable to them. That little spot, where the English first settled, will ever be hallowed by thoughts of her. The moss-roofed church, and grass-grown walls of that old fort, will be remembered long after " there shall not be left one stone upon another," as the place where Rebecca was baptized ; where, with her husband, she drank from the fountain of life : and where her love, for him and his people, was hallowed by that piety which led her to choose his people for her people, his God for her God ; to live, die, and be buried among his kindred. The departure of Pocahontas for England was to her a most interesting event. That country was the El Dorado, which Fancy loved, yet almost failed to portray. How strange and magical must that old world have seemed to her ; but strangest of all, most mysterious of all, that ties of love must there he sun dered by courtly etiquette. She must not call Cap\ Smith her father here, be cause, forsooth, she is the child of a monarch, and he is but " a subject of that realm." The Lady Rebecca could understand the superiority of the English, she could perceive the resources and advantages of civili zation, she must have painfully felt her ignorance of OF THE SEA OF GEN lUS. 159 what they so much valued, but she could not under stand their mere formalities ; she could not perceive the advantages of Capt. Smith s cold bearing. She had thought him dead she knew not otherwise until she met him, when she was " a stranger in a strange land," even as he had been in the home of her fathers. And here the man, whose life she saved, must meet her with a formal grace, and will not let her call him " father." " You were not afraid," said she to him, " to come in to my country, and strike fear into every one but me, but here you are afraid to let me call you father but I tell you that I will call you father, and you shall call me child ; and so I will be your countryman for ever and ever." The man who had gained the affections of women of many lands, of the Russian, the Turk, and the French, had a strong hold upon the heart of the poor Indian. Her feelings must have been deeply wounded, and Capt. Smith did not repay her disinterested love as it should have been returned. True, he wrote a letter to Queen Anne, commending to her notice and charity this lovely daughter of the forest. But, even in this, the selfishness and avarice of the white man is depicted. He speaks, it is true, of "this tender virgin, whose compassionate, pitiful hand had oft appeased their jars, and supplied their wants;" of her rejection of heathenism, "being the first Christian of that nation, the first Virginian that ever spoke English, or had a child in marriage with an Englishman; a matter worthy of a prince s under standing." He also speaks of her exceeding desert her birth, virtue, and simplicity, and of "her great spirit, however her stature." 160 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND But this is not why he particularly recommends her to the notice of the queen. It is because, by a right conduct, " this kingdom may have a kingdom, by her means ; " whereas, by a contrary course, " her present love might be turned to scorn and fury, and divert all this good to the worst of evil ; but if she should find so great a queen do her more honor than she could imagine, it would so ravish her with content as to effect that which her majesty and her subjects most earnestly desire." And this was the reward of the generous, unselfish^ heroic exertions of Pocahontas. But in the midst of these disinterested attentions, the Lady Rebecca died died as she was about to return to the land of her fathers ; to exchange the wearisome formalities of courtly life for the unrestrained enjoy ment of a humble home ; as she was hoping to look upon her father s face once more, and to lay before the aged man the child of his beloved Rebecca. Perhaps it is well that she died then ; that she never lived to see the ascendancy of the white man in that western home ; that she never saw the kindred of her husband ruling where once her father held sole sway. There must have been struggles, heart-aches, and self- questionings which would, at least, have marred her happiness. In that island, far over the great waters, where lie entombed so many of the good, the brave, and royal, rest also the remains of the first, and, as yet, the last, distinguished princess of America. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 161 Nos. II. & III. CLEOPATRA, AND ZENOBIA. TURNING from the slender form of the Indian princess, all destitute as it appears of any exterior mark of roy alty, it is dazzling to look upon these queens of the East. Cleopatra and Zenobia, though differing in their character, nation, and exploits, yet seem united in our sympathies by some similarity of personal graces, and by their tragical fate. In the persons of these beauti ful, and accomplished, oriental females, have been con centrated more of wealth, splendor, pomp, and ele gance, of all that can seduce the senses, than will ever be witnessed again. They may be considered the im personations of femab sovereignty ; the proof of what woman will do when she is ivoman, and uninfluenced by any circumstances but those of her own creation. They looked not back upon the past, for precedents, for they were among the first to rule their kingdoms with a woman s sway; they looked not around them for example, support, or sympathy, for they were too far removed from all contemporaries to avail themselves of auglit of these ; and mayhap they looked not for ward, to the future, for applause, approval, and a post humous fame. The institutions, and religions of their clime, and age, were rather adverse than favorable to the developement of characters like theirs, and could not exert an influence corresponding to the modifications they received in return. They were women ; acting with woman s impulses, and strengthened by a wo man s will. Hence their reigns, while they were rulers, were 14* 162 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND like a splendid triumph; one long-extended show of riches, pomp, and grace ; a dazzling display of the wealth of the Orient, as exhibited with the utmost ele gance and taste. They lived in the present, surround ing themselves with the rare, the costly, and the beautiful, and it is the remembrance of what they were then, rather than an indelible impression stamped upon their kind, that wins a place in every portrait gallery, whether of painter, sculptor, poet, or historian. It is in early morning that the clouds are pink, and purple, and gold ; that earth puts on her diamond robe, and flowers send up their sweetest incense, and every shrub, and tree, and grove, is studded with its varied jewelry : but it is not then that the shrub sends forth its shoots ; that the grass is preparing its blade for the mower, or the seed-vessel ripening for the harvest. The glittering and beautiful are sometimes allied with the enduring and useful, but seldom in the history of nations, or their rulers. Here is the Egyptian Queen, as portrayed by the master-poet ; and was there ever, before, so enchanting a union of splendor and grace ? Royalty is behind her ; a ruler awaits her coming ; and idolatrous wor ship is all around her. " The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water : the stern was beaten gold : Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were lovesick with them ; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggared all description : she did lie In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue) OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 163 O er-picturing that Venus, where we see, The fancy out-work nature : on each side her, Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With diverse-colored fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheek which they did cool, Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides. So many mermaids, tended her i the eyes, And made their bends adorning : at the helm A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yaiely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharves. The city cast Her people out upon her ; and Antony, Enthroned in the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature." Such was this fascinating sovereign, this syren queen, conquering by subduing ; appealing wholly to the sen ses ; binding, with her magic spell, the reason, awaken ing the fancy, and enlivening the imagination, by her consummate arts and graces. Such was she, as she took such pains to appear to "Noble Antony," the triumvir of Rome, and, by such arts, to be converted to a slave of " Egypt." There never yet was queen who effected so much by female tact, and blandishment, as Cleopatra. It was not alone by her superior intellect, but by her captiva ting powers, that she won that then unwonted place for one of her weak sex, a seat upon her father s throne ; a divided power with Ptolemy, her brother. With any other partner his deficiencies might not have ever glar ingly appeared ; but with the lovely girl, who, even 164 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND then, was versed in all of feminine accomplishments, who was also learned in Grecian lore, who could hold audience, herself, with the representatives of ten dif ferent countries, who so charmingly united vivacity and grace, mental activity with girlish languishment, who had a talent, all her own, to mould so many to her will, contrasted with his sister, young Ptolemy was not a monarch. The pageant and insignia of royalty were too pleas ing, too necessary to Cleopatra, for the developement of her peculiar powers, for her to remain a second to one so much inferior. That she was devoid of sisterly affection, is not probable, when she would so readily yield to other" love, but no passion in her was superior to ambition. There are always friends to justice, and foes to beauty, intellect, and fortune. Cleopatra did not usurp ascendency without opposition. She was always brave when mental courage only was required, and resolved to submit to no dictation. Then, when her country was convulsed with factions, and Rome was called upon to decide between the rival kindred, then, for the first time, did she show to what she could descend, as she had shown before to what she would aspire. Gaining by stratagem an audience with Csesar, she disarmed him of all the qualifications of an impar tial judge, by transforming him into a lover. From that time until the murmurs of his indignant soldiery, penetrating even the palace of the luxurious queen, aroused him from the enchanting dream, was the great Roman the slave of the Egyptian girl. It was by con tributing to his pleasure that she preserved her own power, and gained a mastery over the master of the world. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 165 But when he was gone, and there was nought for her to do but to "rule over Egypt," she did it wisely and well. Her country prospered, and she could read in the magnificence to which she trusted, much to pre serve her influence over her people. With the diadem of Isis on her brow, and the robe of the goddess encircling her form, it is not wonderful that, with her grace, and accomplishments, she should retain the adoration of subjects, whose regard was never excited by sterner attributes. Then came Pom- pey, and then another brave Roman owned the magic of the Egyptian s sway. But we have portrayed her as she first was seen by stern Mark Antony, the rough warrior, the hard Roman, and truly did it need seduc tions, such as hers, to subdue the man, whose pulses long had ceased to beat to the quick impulses of youth. Cleopatra did not exert her powers in vain, and again was a Roman leader bewitched by the sorceries of this syren. The spell was long and strong upon him, and never broken; but once Mark Antony aroused from slumber. The dream was lurking in his brain, even when, in distant Rome, he made the lovely, modest and virtuous Octavia his bride. One would think that, with so pure a cup of happiness at his lips, he would never have turned again to the intoxicating draught. And one might think it strange that she could conde scend to drink again at the bowl of pleasure, with him. From the time of their union, when he forgot his duty to himself, to his country, his noble brother-in-law, and wife, to revel in luxury with her, who forgot the dig nity of a woman and queen, to join with him in revelry from that moment there are darker shadows, 166 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND on the shifting scenes, than heretofore have mingled with the dazzling lights. But when Mark Antony rose from his syren s arms, to meet the just avenger, when Octavius and Antony were to decide, in blood and bat tle, whether his duties were to be abandoned, and the rights of others outraged, with impunity : then Cleo patra showed, as she had shown before, that she could share the trial with those who shared her pleasure ; that she would not abandon in the storm those with whom she had basked in the sunshine. She brought forces to her lover ; she brought him ships and men ; for she could remember that he had given her kingdoms and crowns. If she had kept aloof from the combat her cause must have been the gainer, if not Mark An tony the victor. It was not courage that led her to the battle-ship. It was dread it was that craven fear which could not allow her protector from her sight ; which could not wait, and meet her fate alone. But her physical timidity overcame her mental powers, and " in the midst of the fight, when vantage, like a pair of twins, appeared," she fled, and "Antony flies after her," " Experience, manhood, honor, ne er before Did violate so itself." Cleopatra loved Mark Antony, with all the love her heart could feel ; and even in the midst t)f her shame, anguish, and fear of impending ruin, there was some little consolation in the assurance that he too loved her, as well as he could love that though Octavia lived, and one was in her grave, his " serpent of. old Nile" could spread her wile around him still. Now she knew that there was strength in her flower- wreathed OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 167 chains, and that it was not all hyperbole when he said " Thou knewest too well My heart was to thy rudder tied, by the strings, And thou should st tow me after ; o er my spirit Thy full supremacy thou knewest : and that Thy beck might, from the bidding of the gods, Command me." Cleopatra never could win respect, even in her days of comparative innocence, but in these last sad scenes we cannot wholly refuse our admiring sympathy. True, as danger thickened, and ruin pressed upon them, she gave herself up to excess of pleasure; but she was not wholly selfish, and she and Antony were two of a band u united in death." True, there was loud mirth, and gay revelry, at Antony s birthday feast, but her own she kept in silence and sadness true, as the fatal tragedy drew near its close, she fled to an asylum, which she knew could afford no safety to him ; but when the doom, he could not long avert, was hastened by his own hand, and in the belief of her death, she did not refuse him the privilege of dying near her. With her own hands, the "hands which kings had trembled kissing," all distended, and con vulsed with the exertion, she helped to draw the dying man into her tower ; she wiped the death-damp from his brow, and kissed his quivering lips, and received his latest breath upon her own. True, she conde scended to ask favors of Octavius, but it was that she might bury Antony with honor, and that Egypt, the patrimony of her father, might be given to her children. True, she sought death, but it was as a relief from 168 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND ignominy. She, who had hoped to reign in Rome, and be acknowledged mistress of the world, may be ex cused if she shrank from being there exhibited as a captive. The asp had done its poisonous work, when the Ro man burst into the chamber of death ; but the crown was then upon her head, and the royal robes lay in rich folds upon her stiffening form. One handmaid lay already dead at her feet another was dying, while arranging the diadem upon her brow. Can we not agree with her in her answer to the Roman s ques tion. " Charmian, was this well done?" "Yes, Roman ! it was well for such a death was meet for such a queen." We should not judge this ancient heathen queen by those pure rules, that high standard, which should govern the actions of a Christian matron. We always do injustice to any person, by taking them from their age and country, and judging them by the rules of right and wrong which are the standard of another. Cleopatra was one of the most fascinating of women, and she did what women are always wont to do she exerted the power she possessed. She was the unwedded wife of Caesar, Pompey, and Mark Antony, but her favors were not bestowed upon inferiors, and to two, at least, she was faithful till death to all she awarded the constancy they deserved. Educated, as she was, in a corrupt court, with no good guide, and no true faith, who can tell to what, under other influences, her superior talents, and fas cinating powers, might have been directed ? As she is, she stands one by herself and to be OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 109 judged by no laws, but those which are common to all mankind. In the long line of Egyptian sovereigns she is as a fairy in some old gallery of armored statues, fixing the attention of all by her bewitching loveli ness ; though among them seeming to be not of them, and leading the beholder to doubt whether she be, in deed, a vision, or reality. It is pleasant to turn, from Cleopatra, to Zenobia, the Queen of Palmyra. Her character is of a higher order, and, though she may not interest us more, yet she interests our better feelings ; there is more to ad mire, and our admiration is not mingled with so much of disapprobation, and with nought of contempt. In her there was less of sorcery, but more, far more, of true talent, genius, and energy. If she did not capti vate so readily, it must have been because she dis dained exertions to win. With more of personal beauty than the Egyptian, with more accomplishments, and true refinement, she lacked no less native grace and fascination. But she could not stoop to artifice ; she could not bend herself to the tastes of the rude and sensual. She was severely virtuous, in the limited sense of the term, if not in every sense. She was magnificent, dazzling, and ambitious; she wished not only to be a queen, but to do something, which might make good her claim to royalty. If portrayed as she oft appeared to her contemporaries, and would wish to appear to posterity, it would not be reclining in volup tuous ease, with the chaplet of a goddess on her brow, with Cupids, Nereides, and Sylphides at her side, with the melody of flutes, and the ripple of waters stealing 15 170 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND on the perfumed breezes O, no here she is with a helmet on her head, with burnished armor glittering o er her frame, with the battle-lance poised gracefully in her hand, and her stately war-horse prancing proudly beneath his royal burden ; while the fires of a daring spirit, and the softer emotions of an affection ate heart, are mingled in her " divinely expressive eyes." Her soft dark locks, escaping from the iron circlet, are floating on the breeze ; and the enchanting smile, which parts her mouth, shows the teeth which were almost believed to be pearls. Around her are the Syrian, the Greek, the Roman, the Egyptian, the Arab, and the native Palmyrene ; and these discordant troops are resolved into one mighty indivisible force by the magic of her smiles and frowns. In the distance is faintly discerned an advancing foe. Afar, through the thin blue haze, which lightly rests upon the desert, is seen the mighty caravan, which breaks the monotonous profile of the level waste. As the long columns emerge from the boundary of land and sky, each warrior s form increases in size, and as sumes a more formidable aspect. At their head is Aurelian, the stern and mighty Emperor of Rome, the conqueror of savage Goths, and ruler of tumultuous Italians. There is the strong, vindictive Aurelian, op posing his talents and energies to an Oriental female. No wonder that, spite of the terror of his name, the prowess of his arm, the vastness of his resources, and the almost hopelessness of the struggle no wonder that thousands resolved to confront with her the com mander of Roman legions. That sweet, though pow erful voice, falls on their ears like the notes of the OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 171 silver clarion, and every heart beats high with fearless enthusiasm. And there is Palmyra, " the city of Palms," reflect ing from its long lines of pure white columns the fiery rays of an Eastern sun, while the thousand shadows of bending trees, and the glittering spray from hun dreds of jutting fountains, mingle in strong contrast with the rich soft flood of sunshine. There are graceful forms, arrayed in rich costume, threading those straight and wide-paved streets fe males, in gay aerial drapery, are stealing through the miles of sculptured colonnade there is beauty, wealth, and every where the visible effects of a wonderful taste, which could change the details of every-day life into the semblance of a fete-day gala. O, why can they not be permitted to remain in peace, in the magnificent city which -they have raised from the arid desert ; and to luxuriate in the wealth and loveliness which they have created, from resources which interfered not with the rights and privileges of any nation, unless it were, indeed, the right and privilege of Rome to rule the world. Light hearts grew heavy, and bright eyes grew dim, as the fierce siege was pressed but still those eyes could flash with brilliance, and those hearts were relieved of much of their sadness when near their queen. Fierce spirits softened, as her tones of gentle ness fell on their ears, but their wild enthusiasm could not be repressed when that sweet voice aroused them to vengeance, patriotism, and strife. Her Arab bands, like the fierce tornado of their own deserts, swept by the foemen s camp, and swift and sure as the light ning s scathe was the mark they left behind. But 172 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND though Palmyra had bravery, enthusiasm, and a queen who could mould all passions to her will, and avail herself of every resource she possessed, yet her re sources were not comparable to those of the Emperor. Every energy of that great warrior was bent upon the subjugation of Zenobia. He was resolved that there should be no "Augusta of the East," that the purple robe should not envelope the limbs of a Palmyrene. And though the satirists of Rome laughed their Em peror to scorn, as one who waged ignoble war, yet he was a far better judge of the military genius of Zeno bia, and the glory to be won by a trial at arms with her, than were the poets. To him it seemed far more ignominious to permit one independent sovereign to rule her kingdom, unawed, and unopposed, than to crush it by brutal force. She had defied him also ; she had questioned his ability to take what he had been so arrogant as to demand. " Those who laugh at me," said he, " know little of this woman; they speak too as though Zenobia opposed me with her single arm." Though the arm of Zenobia could never have di rected those awful engines, with which, from the walls of Palmyra, were scattered death and destruction, yet it was she who nerved the arms which might wield them for her. Though her jewelled armor, and glit tering helmet, could slightly protect her from the Ro man, yet the lights which glittered over them were reflected back from thousands of burning eyes, and the sight of her infused new strength into her deter mined supporters. But all their zeal, courage, and loyalty to her were OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 173 of little avail against the determined and vindictive Emperor. And when Zenobia s last noble and heroic effort, in behalf of Palmyra, resulted in her own cap tivity, the knowledge of that event fell like a paralysis upon her noble-hearted people. Had she possessed the artful qualities of Cleopatra- could she have descended to the degrading efforts by which the Egyptian Queen seduced a Roman Emperor, no doubt the savage Aurelian could as easily have been transformed into a gallant lover, as Csesar, or Mark Antony. But though a conquered sovereign, she was still a Queen not one born beneath the shadow of a throne, and nurtured in a palace, but one to whom the true insignia of royalty had been granted by Nature; and to her alone she was indebted. "Thou, who hast conquered, do I acknowledge my sovereign," said she with a subdued dignity which could ennoble a captive. Her modest, though self-respectful deport ment, could even impress the enraged Aurelian. The blood for which his worn soldiers thirsted and suppli cated, he permitted not to stain his sword. The life, which had caused the death of many of his tried war riors, was not taken as a ransom for theirs. Zenobia was permitted to live. Alas ! that one other as dear to posterity should have been sacrificed for his devotion to her. But Palmyra must feel the vengeance of the aggressor. That city of enchantment, which had almost sprung into existence at her command, and blossomed, even in the desert, beneath her smile: that city must be doomed to expiate, in blood and ashes, the sin of opposing Rome. 15* 174 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Hundreds of years have passed away, but they have found and left it desolate. The sirocco of Arabia has borne its sand clouds over it, or buried its columns beneath their shifting shroud. The sun has poured his unbroken rays upon its ruined temple, for thousands of cloudless days, but no incense has gone up from the deserted altars ; from thence no voice of praise shall ever greet his rising. The long unbroken lines of snowy colonnade still lift their slender pillars to the skies, but every shaft is now an obelisk. Desolation triumphs, where once Zenobia reigned Zenobia, which then was but another name for graceful mirth, for refined magnificence, for warm affections, and noble aspirations. Yet Zenobia was but an Arab her father the chief of a desert tribe ; and her lofty spirit was nurtured amid the free winds, beneath the cloudless skies, and under the fearless influences of Arabia. To be "a patient household drudge " had been her lot, if even her transcendant beauty had been unmingled with a worthy spirit. But, for once, the casket was but a fitting shrine for the priceless jewel, and, for once, an Oriental maid is to assert even her claims to mental superiority. When death had freed her from the master to whom her girlhood had been sold, she became the wife of Odenatus, a chief of Palmyra then but a mighty caravanserai, the resort of the merchant and pilgrim, though still hallowed by the remembrance of him who first dedicated its pure springs to the service of the stranger, and trafficker. Hallowed it now is, throughout the East, by the recollection of him who is still remembered as the wisest /nan, and who built Tadmor in the desert." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 175 But though Zenobia could ride to battle by her hus band s side though she could even instruct him how to war with the old monarchies of that old world, yet she had tastes for higher and more congenial pursuits ; tastes which needed but opportunities for develop ment, and the wealth which conquests could bestow which needed but these to change the brilliant dreams of a lovely woman to beautiful and enduring realities. The transient encampment become a city of temples, palaces, fountains, gardens, and porticoes, which war and time have not been able wholly to destroy. The nations of the Orient bowed to the sceptre of Palmyra, and hailed its mistress as their Queen. And when she raised, alone, the standard of the murdered Odenatus, it needed but that single arm to move them on to victory. Different nations resolved into one mighty people beneath her rule, and warriors of many climes pressed under her banners. The Greek came with poetry, philosophy, and the arts ; the Arab came with burning zeal, with eloquence, fiction, and song; the Roman, with his stern bravery, and severe taste ; the Syrian, with his love of splendor, show, and Ori ental ceremonial ; all united with the graceful, light- hearted, genuine Palmyrene in affection, patriotism, and devotion. Her sceptre seemed a magic wand, which transformed these discordant bands into a united family of brothers. And she too was changing she sat at the feet of the noblest spirit of the age, and drank at the purest fount of intellect. From the Roman she learned to discipline her armies ; from the Egyptian, to mingle solidity with the airy fancies of her architects ; from 176 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND the Persian, to dazzle with gorgeous show, and banquet with queenly pomp : but of the Greek she learned to enrich the mind, of Longinus she learned to rule her spirit, to support prosperity, and prepare for adversity. She learned to avail herself of sources of happiness, and true grandeur, of which even that terrible reverse could not deprive her. And over all these accomplish ments, these lofty attainments, were ever resting those native and peculiar graces, which signalized her from all others, and constituted the charm of the Palmyrene. And all she did was done so quickly not more than half a score of years elapsed, from the time she was sole sovereign, ere she was a captive. What noble trophies might she have left behind, had life and peace been hers. u I would. :; said she. as she sat with her purple robe clasped with brilliants to her \vaist. and her bare arm raised, with the innate consciousness of mental strength U I would, indeed, that the world were mine, and feel within the power to bless it were it so. But even her world was not to be spared the little world which she had created, and which proudly owned her as its sovereign. It may be that in her researches into the history of nations, and rulers who were gone, she had prepared for a downfall, which was possible that she had schooled her own proud spirit to bear calmly with injury and oppression. Even in her days of joyous pride and strength, she had studied the past : she had drawn up, for her own use and advantage, a history of the times which had gone; and could those annals have survived to coming generations, perhaps, as a literary work, this specimen. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 177 of the first female historian, might not have compared unworthily, with the memento of that latest one, who was laid the first to rest in our own Mount Auburn. And yet the attainments of a faithful narrator, seem almost at variance with the othef accomplishments and occupations of Zenobia. But when we leave her as a fallen Queen, we also resign the lovely woman, and talented historian. Her last appearance on the page of history, when, with unsandalled feet, and fettered limbs, she walked before that splendid chariot, in which she had vaunted she would enter Rome ; when she was exhibited in that long procession, which might, perhaps, have been ll a triumph " to Aurelian this last sad scene is the close of the fitful drama. Though, in the brilliant constella tion of the past, she is more like a meteor, than " a bright enduring star," yet she hath left a remembrance which cannot vanish from the earth. " Queen of the Desert ! in that name there seems a thrilling spell ; It floats across the poet s heart, like a mighty trumpet s swell : I see a countless multitude in flowing robes arrayed ; I see the glittering scimetars, and the banners broad displayed ; I see the horses, black as death, with long manes flowing wide, And hoofs that spurn the burning sand, in their tameless power and pride ; I hear the wild horn shrilly blown, I hear the cymbals clash, And, with a shout, I see the troops to the fearful conflict dash, Each horseman striving for the prize, smiles and approval won From her who bade the pageant be, a peerless Amazon. " Queen of the Desert! at the words another dream is framed, A stately woman sits enthroned, Queen of the waste proclaimed ; Her palace riseth proudly up midst deserts bare and old, And her presence chamber doth display barbaric pearl and gold ; Her maidens, gathered from the world, like flowers from many a land, With silver-woven veils, behind and round her footstool stand ; 178 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND She only with uncovered brow, and an unquailing eye, Beholds when loyal subjects wave the flashing sabre high ; She only sits, unlrembling, with calm majestic mien, While turban d thousands bend the knee to hail the Desert Queen." Zenobia long survived the wreck of her kingdom, and power. Had she yielded life, when all else was taken, this total dissolution of the majesty of Palmyra must have claimed the notice of the historian. But his unbroken silence is like a deep earnest voice in her favor. Though she walked a living monument of Aurelian s prowess, with golden chains upon her arms, where Cleopatra, her predecessor, if not her ancestor, was carried in effigy, with the golden asp upon her breast, yet even his vindictive triumph could not de grade her. It was a saying of Longinus, that "noth ing is truly great which it is noble to despise," and when his teachings came back to her, like a solemn echo from the tombs, when the light, which had shone upon her in the palace, streamed full into her prison, divested of its former dazzling glare, then she would see how great was its brightness. Her proud spirit was never crushed, or she would have striven for a secondary reputation, in " The Eternal City: " but in the sanctity of her deep retirement, she must have cherished truer and nobler views, of the true destiny of man, of the worthlessness of wealth and power, of the superior grandeur of mental attainments, of the ever-increasing value of philosophical acquirements and capacities, than she could have done ere " Palmyra, central in the desert, fell." Perhaps it would be wrong to leave this glorious woman without a tribute to her superiority over other sov- OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 179 ereigns of that age, and even most of those of any age, in freedom of mind, in toleration. Hers was ever an inquiring mind, seeking truth in the past, the distant, and the mysterious. But all who wished could wor ship in an inherited and settled faith. She listened to the Gentile, as he taught her of the deities of wood, of mount, and stream, but she also hearkened to the Jew, as he told her of the One only GOD. There were teachers in Rome of a new and despised religion when Zenobia was taken there a prisoner, and it was a religion peculiarly adapted to a lofty mind, and wounded heart. It was a religion which brought joy to the mourner, and a promise of deliverance to the captive. It may be that she heard of it in her seclusion, that she learned to obey its precepts, and receive its consolations; that something better than mere philosophy became her support, that she ceased to sigh over her " marble waste" when her thoughts were fixed upon a more truly Eternal City ; and that she ceased to regret an earthly diadem in her anticipa tions of a crown which should never pass away. 180 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND THE COUNTRY LAWYER ENGAGED IN HIS OWN SUIT A CHAPTER FROM AN UNPUBLISHED TALE. THE remembrance of Elliott Belsham s misadventure lingered much longer in the minds of the witnesses than of the actor. His mind was of that class which thinks lightly of mistakes in dress, speech and demean or, or rather which scarcely thinks of them at all. But whatever did affect his feelings, or impress his intellect, was almost always permanent. And what was there, at Mrs. Standrin s party, which conveyed a more last ing impression than even his own luckless accident ? It was the beauty, sprightliness and splendid dress of Cornelia Willard. Yes ; she had not arrayed herself in the new and elegant challe for nought ; though the simple student was entirely unaware of the influence of the latter over his fancy. Cornelia had gained her end, and been acknowledged the belle of the party ; and the brilliance of her appearance had made captive one heart which could only be retained by an equal superiority of mind and heart. Elliott thought of Cornelia till it appeared to him that the possession of such loveliness was essential to his happiness ; and so he resolved to obtain possession, which is " nine tenths of the law," and the tenth he doubted not would follow as a matter of course. Do not let us sneer at the lawyer older and wiser OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 181 men than he was have been led astray by the charms of beauty ; and cold indeed must be the heart which is insensible to its influence, ere it has learned the lesson that -all is not gold that glitters." To Elliott Belsham all women were alike, that is, all were truth, confidence and affection ; and differed but in their exterior. In this Cornelia excelled, and therefore to him was the queen of all the rest. Elliott also was a reasoning man. With him all sub jects of importance were resolved into axioms, proposi tions, syllogisms, &c. ; and he reasoned thus about his love, and its object : Firstly, Women like husbands ; Secondly, Cornelia Willard is a woman ; Therefore, Thirdly, she would like a husband. Then again he reasoned thus : Firstly, Men make husbands ; Secondly, Elliott Belsham is a man ; Therefore, Thirdly, he would make a husband. Taking the conclusions of the two syllogisms for the premises of a third, it followed thus : Firstly, Cornelia Willard would like a husband ; Secondly. Elliott Belsham would make a husband; Therefore, Thirdly, Cornelia Willard would like Elliott Belsham. We may smile at the logic of the rustic lawyer, but do not half our young beaux reason thus? " I am a man, and she is a woman ;" and this thought is the foundation of their assurance. Elliott thought he had no more to do than to ask, and it should be given ; to seek, and he should find; and to knock, and he could "come in." 16 182 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND The next consideration was How to make the first advances. Lawyers consult precedents. Elliott did this ; and found it an established rule in all stat utes, and love stories where the actors were discreet, sensible, prudent young men and women, that the lady should be first requested of her father, and then her own consent be solicited. With no preliminaries, ex cepting the usual remarks about the weather and the last election, he broached his subject to deacon Willard. "Deacon, is your daughter engaged?" " Not as 1 knows on." " Are her affections free ? " " Why, she don t never tell me nothing about her love-scrapes ; though I guess she has as many fellers as any on em." "Well, if her feelings were deeply interested you would know of it ; and if any one had conceived a particular regard for her, they would, if honorable men, declare it through the medium of her father." " That s what you ve come for now? " "Yes, deacon! and if you have no objections to receiving me for a son-in-law, I hope for your kind services in my behalf." "Well, I m sure I ve nothing to say agin it; for everybody tells as how you re a real first-rate scholar, and always got up to the head in college ; and Squire Allerton thinks that none of em 11 ever go ahead on you in these parts, and mebbe you 11 be President one o these long sunshiny days. Should nt wonder myself!" " I have no such hopes, deacon ; though, for your daughter s sake, I will exert every power. I will call this evening for her answer. Good morning." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 183 " Morning, sir ! " and the deacon turned from the breakfast room to his daughter s parlor. She had wit nessed the departure of her wooer from the window. "Nealy, the young squire wants to come here courtin ." "Who does he want to court, father, me, or Kate OBrien? " the kitchen girl. " I should think you would be ashamed, when he s the likeliest feller in the States, to talk about him at this rate." THE PATCHWORK QUILT. THERE it is! in the inner sanctum of my "old-maid s hall" as cosy a little room as any lady need wish to see attached to her boudoir, and gloomy only from the name attached to it for there is much in a name ; and the merriest peal of laughter, if echoed from an "old-maid s hall," seems like the knell of girlhood s hopes. Yes, there is the PATCHAVORK QUILT ! looking to the uninterested observer but a miscellaneous collection of odd bits and ends of calico, but to me it is a precious reliquary of past treasures ; a storehouse of valuables, almost destitute of intrinsic worth ; a herbarium of withered flowers; a bound volume of hieroglyphics, each of which is a key to some painful or pleasant re- 184 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND membrance, a symbol of but, ah, I am poetizing and spiritualizing over my " patch work quilt." Gentle friends ! it contains a piece of each of my childhood s calico gowns, and of my mother s and sisters ; and that is not all. I must tell you more, and then you will not wonder that I have chosen for this entertain ment my patchwork quilt. It is one of my earliest recollections, and that of the memorable period when I emerged from babyhood to childhood the commencement of this patchwork quilt. I was learning to sew ! O, the exultations, the aspira tions, the hopes, the fears, the mortifications, the per severance in short, all moral emotions and valuable qualities and powers, were brought out in this grand achievement the union of some little shreds of calico. And can I ever forget the long-suffering, patience, and forbearance of my kind mother? her smiles and words of encouragement and sympathy; her generosity in the donation of calico bits ; her marvellous ingenuity in joining together pieces of all shapes, so that they Avould result in a perfect square ! Parents, never purchase for your children mathematical puzzles you can teach them and amuse them by making patchwork. Nor must I forget the beautiful brass thimble that my father gave me, with the assurance that if I never would lose it he would one day give me one of silver! Nor the present of the kind old lady who expressed her gratification over my small stitches by a red broadcloth strawberry, which was introduced to me as an emery- bag. An emery-bag! its office and functions were all to be learned! How much there was that I did not know. But when I had so far learned to sew that five OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 185 minutes interval of rest and triumph did not occur between every two stitches, the strenuous application, by which I drove the perspiration from every pore of the hand, soon taught me the value of the emery-bag. what a heroine was I in driving the stitches! What a martyr under the pricks and inflictions of the needle, which often sent the blood from my fingers, but could not force a tear from my eyes! These were the first lessons in heroism and fortitude. How much, too, I learned of the world s generosity in rewarding the efforts of the industrious and enterprising. How many pieces in that quilt were presented because I " could sew," and did sew, and was such an adept in sewing. What predictions that I should be a noted sempstress ; that I should soon be able to make shirts for my father, sheets for my mother, and nobody knows what not for little brothers and sisters. What legends were told me of little girls who had learned patchwork at three years of age, and could put a shirt together at six. W hat magical words were gusset, felling, buttonhole- stitch, and so forth, each a Sesame, opening into arcana of workmanship through and beyond which 1 could see embroidery, hem-stitch, open-work, tam bour, and a host of magical beauties. What predic tions that I could some day earn my living by my needle predictions, alas! that have most signally failed. Here, also, are the remembrances of another memo rable period the days when the child emerged into girlhood ! when the mind expanded beyond the influ ence of calico patchwork, and it was laid aside for more important occupations. O what a change was 16* 186 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND there ! Once there could have "been nothing more im portant now the patchwork was almost heneath my notice. But there was another change. Muslin and lace, with cloths of more common texture, had long occupied my attention when my thoughts and efforts were returned to my patchwork quilt. Well do I re member the boy who waited upon me home from sing ing-school "six times running." I do not mean that he waited " running." but that he escorted me home six times in succession. What girl would not. under such circumstances, have resumed her patchwork quilt? But how stealthily it was done. Hitherto the patchwork joys had been enhanced by the sympathy, praises and assistance of others ; but now they were cherished "in secrecy and silence." But the patch work quilt bears witness to one of the first lessons upon the vanity of youthful hopes the mutability of earthly wishes; and and any body might accom pany me home six hundred times now. and such atten tions would never be succeeded by a renewal of those patchwork hopes. Well do I remember the blushes of painful consciousness with which I met my sister s eye, when she broke into my sanctuary, and discovered my employment. By these alone might my secret have been discovered. But how many passages of my life seem to be epito mized in this patchwork quilt. Here is the piece in tended for the centre : a star as I called it ; the rays of which are remnants of that bright copperplate cushion which graced my mother s easy chair. And here is a piece of that radiant cotton gingham dress which was purchased to wear to the dancing school. I have not OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 187 forgotten the almost supernatural exertions by which I attempted to finish it in due season for the first night ; nor how my mantua-maker, with pious horror, en deavored as strenuously to disappoint me ; but spite of her it was finished, and she was guiltless finished, all but the neck-binding, and I covered that with my little embroidered cape. Here is a piece of the first dress I ever saw, cut with what were called -mutton-leg" sleeves. It was my sister s, and what a marvellous fine fashion we all thought that was. Here, too, is a remnant of the first "bishop sleeve" my mother wore ; arid here is a frag ment of the first gown that \yas ever cut for me with a bodice waist. Was there ever so graceful, beautiful- pointed a fashion for ladies waists before ? Never, in my estimation. By this fragment I remember the gown with wings on the shoulders, in which I supposed myself to look truly angelic; and, oh, down in this comer a piece of that in which I first felt myself a woman that is, when I first discarded pantalettes. Here is a fragment of the beautiful gingham of which I had so scanty a pattern, and thus taxed my dress -maker s wits ; and here a piece of that of which mother and all my sisters had one with me. Wonder ful coincidence of taste, and opportunity to gratify it ! Here is a piece of that mourning dress in which I thought my mother looked so genteel ; and here one of that which should have been warranted "not to wash," or to wash all white. Here is a fragment of the pink apron which I ornamented so tastefully with "tape trimming;" and here a piece of that which was pointed all around. Here is a token of kindness in the shape 188 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND of a square of the old brocade-looking calico, presented by a venerable friend ; and here a piece given by the naughty little girl with whom I broke friendship, and then wished to take it out of its place, an act of ven geance opposed by my then forbearing mother on this occasion I thought too forbearing. Here is a frag ment of the first dress which baby brother wore when he left off long clothes ; and here are relics of the long clothes themselves. Here a piece of that pink gingham frock, which for him was so splendidly decked with pearl buttons : and here a piece of that for which he was so unthankful, for he thought he was big enough to wear something more substantial than calico frocks. Here is a piece of that calico which so admirably imi tated vesting, and my mother economical from neces sity bought it to make -waistcoats" for the boys. Here are pieces of that I thought so bright and beauti ful to set oft my quilt with, and bought strips of it by the cent s worth strips more in accordance with the good dealer s benevolence than her usual price for the calico. Here is a piece of the first dress which was ever earned by my own exertions ! What a feeling of exultation, of self-dependence, of self-reliance,- was created by this effort. W hat expansion of mind ! what awakening of dormant powers ! Wellington was not prouder, when he gained the field of Waterloo, than I was with that gown. The belle, who purchases her dresses with the purse her father has always filled, knows not of the triumphant beatings of my heart upon this occasion ; and I might now select the richest silk without that honest heart-felt joy. To do for my self to earn my own living to meet my daily OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 189 expenses by my own daily toil, is now a task quite deprived of its novelty, and Time has robbed it of some of its pleasure. And here are patterns presented by kind friends, and illustrative of their tastes ; but enough for you. Then was another era in the history of my quilt. My sister three years younger than myself was in want of patchwork, while mine lay undisturbed, with no prospect of being ever called from its repository. Yes, she was to be married ; and I not spoken for ! She was to be taken, and I left, I gave her the patch work. It seemed like a transference of girlish hopes and aspirations, or rather a finale to them all. Girl hood had gone, and I was a woman. I felt this more than I had ever felt it before, for my baby sister was to be a wife. We arranged it into a quilt. Those were pleasant hours in which I sympathized so strongly in all her hopes that I made them mine. Then came the quilting : a party not soon to be forgotten, with its jokes and merriment. Here is the memento of a mis chievous brother, who was determined to assist, other wise than by his legitimate occupation of rolling up the quilt as it was finished, snapping the chalk-line, passing thread, wax and scissors, and shaking hands across the quilt for all girls with short arms. He must take the thread and needle. Well, we gave him white thread, and appointed him to a very dark piece of calico, so that we might pick it out the easier; but there ! to spite us, he did it so nicely that it still remains, a me mento of his skill with the needle there in that comer of the patchwork quilt. And why did the young bride exchange her snowy 190 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND counterpane for the patchwork quilt ? These dark stains at the top of it will tell stains left by the night medicines, taken in silence and darkness, as though to let another know of her pains and remedies would make her sickness more real. As though Dis ease would stay his hand if met so quietly, and re pulsed so gently. The patchwork quilt rose and fell with the heavings of her breast as she sighed in the still night over the departing joys of youth, of health, of newly wedded life. Through the bridal chamber rang the knell-like cough, which told us all that we must prepare for her an early grave. The patchwork quilt shrouded her wasted form as she sweetly resigned herself to the arms of Death, and fell with the last low sigh which breathed forth her gentle spirit. Then set tled upon the lovely form, now stiffening, cold and lifeless. And back to me, with all its memories of childhood, youth, and maturer years ; its associations of joy and sorrow ; of smiles arid tears ; of life and death, has re turned THE PATCHWORK Q.UILT. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 191 VILLAGE PASTORS. THE old village-pastor of New England, was " a man having authority." His deacons were under him, and not, as is now often the case, his tyrannical rulers ; and whenever his parishioners met him, they doffed their hats, and said, " Your reverence." Whatever passed his lips was both law and gospel ; and when too old and infirm to ministerto his charge, he was not turned away, like a worn-out beast, to die of hunger, or gather up, with failing strength, the coarse bit which might eke out a little longer his remaining days ; but he was still treated with all the deference, and support ed with all the munificence which was believed due to him whom they regarded as " God s vicegerent upon earth." He deemed himself, and was considered by his parishioners, if not infallible, yet something ap proaching it. Those were indeed the days of glory for New England clergymen. Perhaps I am wrong. The present pastor of New England, with his more humble mien and conciliatory tone, his closer application and untiring activity, may be, in a wider sphere, as interesting an object of con templation. Many are the toils, plans and enterprises entrusted to him, which in former days were not per mitted to interfere with the duties exclusively apper taining to the holy vocation ; yet with added labors, the modern pastor receives neither added honors, nor added remuneration. Perhaps it is well nay, perhaps it is better ; but I am confident that if the old pastor 192 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND could return, and take a bird s-eye view of the situa tions of his successors, he would exclaim, "How has the glory departed from Israel, and how have they cast down the sons of Levi ! " I have been led to these reflections by a contempla tion of the characters of the first three occupants of the pulpit in my native village. Our old pastor was settled, as all then were, for life. I can remember him but in his declining years, yet even then was he a hale and vigorous old man. Hon ored and beloved by all his flock, his days passed un disturbed by the storms and tempests which have since then so often darkened and disturbed the theological world. The opinions and creeds, handed down by his Pilgrim Fathers, he carefully cherished, neither adding thereto, nor taking therefrom ; and he indoctrinated the young in all the mysteries of the true faith, with an un- doubting belief in its infallibility. There was much of the patriarch in his look and manner ; and this was heightened by the nature of his avocations, in which pastoral labors were mingled with clerical duties. No farm was in better order than that at the parsonage ; no fields looked more thriving, and no flocks were more profitable, than were those of the good clergyman. Indeed, he sometimes almost forgot his spiritual field, in the culture of that which was more earthy. One Saturday afternoon, the minister was very busily engaged in hay-making. His good wife had observed that during the week he had been unusually engrossed in temporal affairs, and feared for the well-being of his flock, as she saw that he could not break the earthly spell, even upon this last day of the week. She looked, Or THE SEA OF GENIUS. 193 and looked in vain, for his return ; until, finding him wholly lost to a sense of his higher duties, she deemed it her duty to remind him of them. So away she went to the haying field, and when she was in sight of the Reverend haymaker, she screamed out, " Mr. W. ! Mr. W. ! " " What, my dear? " shouted Mr. W. in return. " Do you intend to feed your people with hay, to morrow V This was a poser and Mr. W. dropped his rake, and, repairing to his study, spent the rest of the day in the preparation of food more meet for those who looked so trustfully to him for the bread of life. His faithful companion was taken from him, and those who knew of his strong and refined attachment to her, said truly, when they prophesied, that he would never marry again. She left one son their only child a boy of noble feelings and superior intellect ; and his father carefully educated him with the fond wish that he would one day succeed him in the sacred office of a minister of God. He hoped indeed that he might even fill the very pulpit which he must at some time vacate ; and he prayed that his own life might be spared until this hope had been realized. Endicott W. was also looked upon as their future pastor by many of the good parishioners ; and never did a more pure and gentle spirit take upon himself the task of preparing to minister to a people in holy things. He was the beloved of his father, the only child who had ever blessed him for he had not mar ried till late in life, and the warm affections which had 17 194 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND been so tardily bestowed upon one of the gentler sex, were now with an unusual fervor lavished upon this image of her who was gone. When Endicott W. returned home, having completed his studies at the University, he was requested by our parish to settle as associate pastor with his father, whose failing strength was unequal to the regular dis charge of his parochial duties. It was indeed a beau tiful sight to see that old man, with bending form and silvery locks, joining in the public ministrations with his young and gifted son the one with a calm expres sion of trusting faith ; the countenance of the other beaming with that of enthusiasm and hope. Endicott was ambitious. He longed to see his own name placed in the bright constellation of famed the ologians ; and though he knew that years must be spent in toil for the attainment of that object, he was willing that they should be thus devoted. The mid night lamp constantly witnessed the devotions of En dicott W. at the shrine of science; and the wasting form and fading cheek told what would be the fate of the infatuated worshipper. It was long before our young pastor, his aged father, and the idolizing people who were so proud of his tal ents, and such admirers of his virtues, it was long ere these could be made to believe he was dying ; but Endicott W. departed from life, as a bright cloud fades away in a noon-day sky for his calm exit was sur rounded by all which makes a death-bed glorious. His aged father said, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord." And then he went again before his flock, and endeavored OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 195 to reconcile them to their loss, and dispense again the comforts and blessings of the gospel, trusting that his strength would still be spared, until one, who was even then preparing, should be ready to take his place. Shall I tell you now of my own old home ? It was a rude farm-house, almost embowered by ancient trees, which covered the sloping hill-side on which it was situated ; and it looked like an old pilgrim, who had crawled into the thicket to rest his limbs, and hide his poverty. My parents were poor, toiling, care-worn beings, and in a hard struggle for the comforts of this life, had almost forgotten to prepare for that which is to come. It is true, the outward ordinances of reli gion were never neglected ; but the spirit, the feeling, the interest, in short, all that is truly deserving the name of piety, was wanting. My father toiled, through the burning heat of summer, and the biting frost of winter, for his loved ones ; and my mother also labored from the first dawn of day till a late hour at night, in behalf of her family. She was true to her duties as wife and mother, but it was from no higher motive than the instincts which prompt the fowls of the air to cherish their brood ; and though she perhaps did not believe that " labor was the end of life," still her con duct would have given birth to that supposition. I had been for some time the youngest of the family, when a little brother was born. He was warmly wel comed by us, though we had long believed the family circle complete. We were not then aware at how dear 196 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND. a price the little stranger was to be purchased. From the moment of his birth, my mother never knew an hour of perfect health. She had previously injured her constitution by unmitigated toil, and now were the eifects to be more sensibly felt. She lived very many years ; but it was the life of an invalid. Reader, did you ever hear of the " thirty years con sumption ? " a disease at present unknown in New England for that scourge of our climate will now complete in a few months the destruction which it took years of desperate struggle to perform, upon the con stitutions of our more hardy ancestors. My mother was in such a consumption that disor der which comes upon its victim like the Aurorean flashes in an Arctic sky, now vivid in its pure loveli ness, and then shrouded in a sombre gloom. Now we hoped, nay, almost believed, she was to be again quite well, and anon we watched around a bed from which we feared she would never arise. It was strange to us, who had always seen her so unremitting in her toilsome labors, and so careless in her exposure to the elements, to watch around her now to shield her from the lightest breeze, or the slightest dampness of the air to guard her from all intrusion, and relieve her from all care to be always reserving for her the warmest place by the fire-side, and pre paring the choicest bit of food to be ever ready to pillow her head and bathe her brow in short, to be never unconscious of the presence of disease. Our steps grew softer, and our voices lower, and the still ness ef our manners had its influence upon our minds. The hush was upon our spirits ; and there can surely OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 197 be nothing so effectual in carrying the soul before its Maker, as disease ; and it may truly be said to every one who enters the chamber of sickness, " The place whereon thou standest is holy ground." My little brother was to us an angel sent from heaven. He possessed a far more delicate frame and lofty intellect than any other member of the family ; and his high, pale brow, and brilliant eyes, were deemed sure tokens of uncommon genius. My mother, herself, watched with pleasure these indications of talent, although the time had been when a predilection for literary pursuits would have been thought incon sistent with the common duties which we were all born to fulfil. We had always respected the learned and talented, but it was with a feeling akin to the veneration we felt for the inhabitants of the spiritual world. They were far above us, and we were content to bow in reverence. Our thoughts had been restricted to the narrow circle of every-day duties, and our highest aspirations were, to be admitted at length, as specta tors, to the glory of a material heaven, where streets of gold, and thrones of ivory, form the magnificence of the place. It was different now. With a nearer view of that better world, to which my mother had received her summons, came also more elevated spirit ual and blissful views of its glory and perfection. It was another heaven, for she was another being; and she would have been willing at any moment to have resigned the existence which she held by so frail a ten ure, had it not been for the sweet child, which seemed 17* 198 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND to have been sent from that brighter world to hasten and prepare her for departure. Our pastor was now a constant visitant. Hitherto he had found but little to invite him to our humble habitation. He had been received with awe and con straint, and the topics upon which he loved to dwell touched no chord in the hearts of those whom he ad dressed. But now my mother was anxious to pour into his ears all the new-felt sentiments and emotions with which her heart was filled. She wished to share his sympathy, and receive his instructions ; for she felt painfully conscious of her extreme ignorance. It was our pastor who first noticed in my little brother the indications of mental superiority, and we felt them as though the magical powers of some fa vored order of beings had been transferred to one in our own home-circle ; and we loved the little Winthrop (for father had named him for the old Governor) with a stronger and holier love than we had previously felt for each other. And in these new feelings how much was there of happiness ! Though there was now less health, and of course less wealth, in our home, yet there was also more pure joy. T have sometimes been out upon the barren hill-side, and thought that there was no pleasure in standing on a spot so desolate. I have been again in the same bare place, and there was a balmy odor in the delicious air, which made it bliss but to inhale the fragrance. Some spicy herb had carpeted the ground, and though too lowly and simple to attract the eye, yet the charm it threw around the scene was not less entrancing be cause so viewless and unobtrusive. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 199 Such was the spell shed around our lowly home by the presence of religion. It was with us the exhala tion from lowly plants, and the pure fragrance went up the more freely because they had been bruised. In our sickness and poverty we had joy in the present, and bright hopes for the future. It was early decided that Winthrop should be a scholar. Our pastor said it must be so, and Endicott, who was but a few years older, assisted him in his studies. They were very much together, and, except ing in their own families, had no other companion. But when my brother returned from the pastor s study with a face radiant with the glow of newly acquired knowledge, and a heart overflowing in its desire to im part to others, he usually went to his pale, emaciated mother, to give vent to his sensations of joy, and came to me to bestow the boon of knowledge. I was the nearest in age. I had assisted to rear his infancy, and been his constant companion in childhood ; and now our intercouse was to be continued and strengthened, amidst higher purpdses and loftier feelings. I was the depositary of all his hopes and fears, the sharer of all his plans for the future ; and his aim was then to follow in the footsteps of Endicott W. If he could only be as good, as kind and learned, he should think himself one of the best of mankind. When Endicott became our pastor, my brother was ready to enter College, with the determination to con secrate himself to the same high calling. It seemed hardly like reality to us, that one of our own poor household was to be an educated man. We felt lifted up not with pride for the feeling which elevated 200 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND us was too pure for that ; but we esteemed ourselves better than we had ever been before, and strove to be more worthy of the high gift which had been bestowed upon us. When my brother left home, it was with the knowledge that self-denial was to be practised, for his sake, by those who remained ; but he also knew that it was to be willingly, nay, joyously performed. Still he did not know all. Even things, which here tofore, in our poverty, we had deemed essential to com fort, were now resigned. We did not even permit my mother to know how differently the table was spread for her than for our own frugal repast. Neither was she aware how late and painfully I toiled to prevent the hire of additional service upon our little farm. The joy in the secret depths of my heart was its own reward ; and never yet have I regretted an effort or a sacrifice made then. It was a discipline like the re finer s fire, and but for my brother, I should never have been even as, with all my imperfections, I trust I am now. My brother returned from College as the bright sun of Endicott W. s brief career was low in a western sky. He had intended to study with him for the same vocation and with him he did prepare. O, there could have been no more fitting place to imbue the mind with that wisdom which cometh from above, than the sick room at our pastor s. " The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Is privileged beyond the common walks of life," and Endicott s was like the shelter of some bright spirit from the other world, who, for the sake of those OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 201 about him, was delaying for a while his return to the home above. My brother was with him in his latest hours, and received as a dying bequest the charge of his people. The parish also were anxious that he should be Endicott s successor ; and in the space re quested for farther preparation, our old pastor returned to his pulpit. But he had overrated his own powers ; and besides, he was growing blind. There were indeed those who said that, notwithstanding his calmness in the presence of others, he had in secret wept his sight away ; and that while a glimmer of it remained, the curtain of his window, which overlooked the grave-yard, had never been drawn. He ceased his labors, but a tem porary substitute was easily found for. as old Deacon S. remarked, " There are many ministers noiv, who are glad to go out to day s labor." My mother had prayed that strength, might be im parted to her feeble frame, to retain its rejoicing inhab itant until she could see her son a more active laborer in the Lord s vineyard ; " and then," said she, "I can depart in peace." For years she had hoped the time would come, but dared not hope to see it. But life was graciously spared, and the day which was to see him set apart as peculiarly a servant of his God, dawned upon her in better health than she had known for years. Perhaps it was the glad spirit which im parted its renewing glow to the worn body, but she went with us that day to the service of ordination. The old church was thronged; and as the expressions of thankfulness went up from the preacher s lips, that one so worthy was then to be dedicated to this service, 202 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND my own heart was subdued by the solemn joy that he was one of us. My own soul was poured out in all the exercises ; but when the charge was given, there was also an awe upon all the rest. Our aged pastor had been led into his pulpit, that he might perform this ceremony ; and when he arose with his silvery locks, thinned even since he stood there last, and raised his sightless eyes to heaven, I freely wept. He was in that pulpit where he had stood so many years, to warn, to guide and to console : and probably each familiar face was then presented to his imagination. He was where his dear departed son had exercised the ministerial functions, and the same part of the service which he had performed at his ordina tion, he was to enact again for his successor. The blind old man raised his trembling hand, and laid it upon the head of the young candidate; and as the memories of the past came rushing over him, he burst forth in a strain of heart-stirring eloquence. There was not a tearless eye in the vast congregation ; and the remembrance of that hour had doubtless a hallowing influence upon the young pastor s life. My brother was settled for five years, and as we de parted from the church, I heard Deacon S. exclaim, in his bitterness against modern degeneracy in spiritual things, that the old pastor was sealed for life." "So is the new one," said a low voice in reply ; and for the first time the idea was presented to my mind that Winthrop was to be, like Endicott W., one of the early called. But the impression departed in my constant inter course with him in his home for our lowly dwelling OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 203 was still the abode of the new pastor. He would never remove from it while his mother lived, and an apartment was prepared for him adjoining hers. They were pleasant rooms, for during the few past years he had done much to beautify the place, and the shrubs which he had planted were already at their growth. The thick vines also which had struggled over the building, were now gracefully twined around the win dows, and some of the old trees cut down, that we might be allowed a prospect. Still all that could con duce to beauty was retained ; and I have often thought how easily and cheaply the votary of true taste can enjoy its pleasures. Winthrop was now so constantly active and cheerful, that I could not think of death as connected with him. But I knew that he was feeble, and watched and cher ished him, as I had done when he was but a little child. Though in these respects his guardian, in others I was his pupil. I sat before him, as Mary did at the Messiah s feet, and gladly received his instruc tions. My heart went out with him in all the various functions of his calling. I often went with him to the bed-side of the sick, and to the habitations of the wretched. None knew better than he did, how to still the throbbiugs of the wrung heart, and administer con solation. I was present also when, for the first time, he sprinkled an infant s brow with the waters of conse cration ; and when he had blessed the babe, he also prayed that we might all become even as that little child. I was with him, too, when for the first time he joined in holy bands those whom none but God should 204 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND ever put asunder ; and if the remembrance of the fer vent petition which went up for them, lias dwelt as vividly in their hearts as it has in mine, that prayer must have had a holy influence upon their lives. I have said that I remember his first baptism and wedding ; but none who were present will forget his first funeral. It was our mother s. She had lived so much beyond our expectations, and been so graciously permitted to witness the fulfilment of her dearest hope, that when at length the spirit winged its flight, we all joined in the thanksgiving which went up from the lips of her latest-born, that she had been spared so long. It was a beautiful Sabbath that day appointed for her funeral but in the morning, a messenger came to tell us that the clergyman whom we expected was taken suddenly ill. What could be done? Our old pastor was then confined, -to his bed, and on this day all else were engaged. " 1 will perform the services myself," said Winthrop. "I shall even be happy to do it." "Nay," said I, "you are feeble, and already spent with study and watching. It must not be so." " Do not attempt to dissuade me, sister," he replied. " There will be many to witness the interment of her who has hovered upon the brink of the grave so long; and has not almost every incident of her life, from my very birth, been a text from which important lessons may be drawn ? " And then, fixing his large mild eyes full upon me, as though he would utter a truth which duty forbade him longer to suppress, he added, " I dare not misimprove this opportunity. This first OF THE SKA OF GENIUS. 205 death in my parish may also be the last. Nay, weep not, my sister, because I may go next. The time at best is short, and I must work while the day lasts." I did not answer. My heart was full, and I turned away. That day my brother ascended his pulpit to conduct the funeral services, and in them he did make of her life a lesson to all present. But when he ad dressed himself particularly to the young, the middle- aged, and the old, his eyes kindled, and his cheeks glowed, as he varied the subject to present the "king of terrors " in a different light to each. Then he turned to the mourners. And who were they ? His own aged father, the companion of many years of her who was before them in her shroud. His own brothers and sisters, and the little ones of the third generation, whose childish memories had not even yet forgotten her dying blessing. He essayed to speak, but in vain. The flash faded from his cheek till he was deadly pale. Again he attempted to address us, and again in vain. He raised his hand, and buried his face in the folds of his white handkerchief. I also covered my eyes, and there was a deep stillness throughout the assembly. At that moment I thought more of the living than of the dead ; and then there was a rush among the great con gregation, like the sudden bursting forth of a mighty torrent. I raised my eyes, but could see no one in the pulpit. The next instant, it was filled. I also pressed forward, and unimpeded ascended the steps, for all stood back that I might pass. I reached him as he lay upon the seat where he had fallen, and the handkerchief, which was still pressed to his lips, was wet with blood. They 18 206 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND bore him down, and through the aisle ; and when he passed the coffin, he raised his head, and gazed a mo ment upon that calm, pale face. Then casting upon all around, a farewell glance, he sunk gently back, and closed his eyes. A few evenings after, I was sitting by his bed-side. The bright glow of a setting sun penetrated the white curtains of his windows, and fell with softened lustre upon his face. The shadows of the contiguous foliage were dancing upon the curtains, the floor, and the snowy drapery of his bed ; and as he looked faintly up, he murmured, "It is a beautiful world: but the other is glorious, O very glorious ! and my mother is there, and Endicott. See ! they are beckoning to me, and smiling joyfully ! Mother, dear mother, and Endicott, I am coming ! " His voice and looks expressed such conviction of the reality of what he saw, that I also looked up to see those beautiful spirits. My glance of disappointment recalled him; and he smiled as he said, "I think it was a dream ; but it will be reality soon. Do not go," said he, as I arose to call for others. "Do not fear, sister. The bands are very loose, and the spirit will go gently, and perhaps even before you could return." I re-seated myself, and pressing his wasted hand in mine, I watched, "As through his breast, the wave of life Heaved gently to and fro." A few moments more, and I was alone with the dead. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 207 We buried Winthrop by the side of Endicott W., and the old pastor was soon laid beside them. * * * Years have passed since then, and I still love to visit those three graves. But other feelings mingle with those which once possessed my soul. I hear those whose high vocation was once deemed a sure guarantee for their purity, either basely calumniated, or terribly condemned. Their morality is questioned, their sin cerity doubted, their usefulness denied, and their pre tensions scoffed at. It may be that unholy hands are sometimes laid upon the ark, and that change of times forbids such extensive usefulness as was in the power of the clergyman of New England in former days. But when there comes a muttering cry of "Down with the priesthood!" and a denial of the good which they have effected, my soul repels the insinuation, as though it were blasphemy. I think of the first three pastors of our village, and I reverence the ministerial office and its labors, " If I but remember only, That such as these have lived, and died." THE FURBELOW ED BONNET. " GRACIOUS me ! Do look at that girl with the furbe- lowed bonnet! exclaims an elegant young miss, as she meets upon the promenade a country maiden who is sporting with eyes, smile, and step exultant a neio bonnet. 208 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND The city maiden titters, ogles her gallant, curls her lips scornfully, as the furbelowed bonnet passes by, and, by her exclamations of surprise and contempt succeeds in riveting the attention of her companion upon her own more tasteful head-gear. Now let us go back to the country girl, and to the bonnet from the time it first existed in her fancy. It is the first bonnet Miss Rustic has ever selected for her self. Her mother, with an eye rather to comfort and economy than taste and beauty, made all the hoods and bonnets which she wore in childhood, to school and to meeting. Since then, the cast-off bonnets of some wealthier cousins have, after a little alteration, served all needful purposes ; but when she arrives, if not at years of discretion, yet at those of girlish ambition, and the woman awakens within her, the desire to gra tify her own taste and secure the approbation or admi ration of others, leads to the contemplation of a new bonnet of her own choice. How shall she get it 7 Why, her good mother has promised her all the yarn she will knit, and her kind cousin in the city will pay her cash for all the footings she will bring or send to his store. So she knits during the long winter evenings, and even by a pine-torch light during the short winter mornings, and in the dis tant school-house at the noon-tide hour. While the needles are plying so dexterously she thinks of many things that she will purchase, but above all of the new bonnet. In imagination it is selected, trimmed, paid for, and worn. She sees the old ladies look through their spectacles at her as she exhibits it in the meeting house, and even the grey-headed men cannot forbear a OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 209 passing glance at such a new bonnet. The young women and the girls gaze intently with envy, or admi ration, or both, and the young men look curiously at her, all but one, whose hasty glance betrays a far deeper interest than mere curiosity; and she wonders whether he will look with perfect satisfaction upon the new bonnet. But in her " maiden meditation" the bonnet is many times altered, retrimmed, and otherwise varied; and indeed there are times when she is wholly at a loss about it. Sometimes it is of straw, sometimes of silk, and anon it is of colored cambric. Sometimes a frame bonnet, and then she prefers a drawn bonnet. Then again she thinks she will not decide upon it until she goes to purchase, for there may be something in the city more beautiful than she can devise. The winter passes, and then comes spring. But she will not be in too great a hurry about the new bonnet. The footings are not all sold, and she has not received the proceeds of the last package. And when that is settled the weather is not established, and who would spoil a new bonnet such damp, drizzly spring Sabbaths. And when pleasant weather comes it is so late that she will not buy until the summer fashions have arrived. And when that time comes something happens every day that she fixes for a ride to the city. Father wants the horse and wagon one day, and mother has the headache or unexpected company another, it is rainy, or she is invited from home herself, or some other casu alty prevents, and it seems as though she were never to go. But patience overcome th all obstacles, and all in 18* 210 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND good time she finds herself consulting the milliners windows and bonnet racks. But after so long self- consultation she has grown chusy and " hard to please." One is pretty enough, but the price is too high, another would do nicely for summer only, but hers must serve in all seasons, excepting the stormiest winter time, when it will do to wear a hood. She fancies another, but her judgment tells her that it will not be profitable, for it will soil too quickly, and another is too frail, and will not last the years that she must make one bonnet serve. A milliner, who is very anxious to please her. at length offers to make one to order, upon the spot. So she chooses the frame after much deliberation upon its probable strength and durability, and long wondering whether it had really better be of "foundation" or not; and even after the milliner has commenced operations, she stops her to inquire whether she had not, after all, better purchase a " straw " ! But the lady will not re cede from the prices fixed upon her good straw bonnets, and she returns at length to her " foundation muslin frame." Then succeeds a long consultation over the different colored silks, with which to cover it, but finally, all are discarded as too expensive, and she fixes her choice upon a light brown cambric muslin, which will be so good and cheap and durable, and withal can be taken off. washed, starched and ironed when it is soiled. Then comes the trimming. That shall be of the same and edged with "narrow blonde." But this does not look gay enough after it is done. AV ho would be attracted by such a sober-looking bonnet ? Indeed OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 211 some might not notice that it was a new bonnet after all. There must be some ribbon intermingled. Shall it be pink or blue or pale yellow ? She cannot decide. The milliner encourages her to take two ribbons, for blue and straw color will blend together so prettily. So she defers to her adviser, but when it is nearly finished her eye is attracted to a box of cheap flowers just opened. O how she wishes it were trimmed with flowers ! She did think how much prettier it would look, but their flowers in the show case were so expen sive ! What a pity ! Will not the lady take off the ribbon and let her have the flowers ? The milliner declines taking off the ribbon, but a mischievous little apprentice, with a very demure face, tells her that this slender wreath will look beautifully, intermingled with the other trimming. Our rustic is over-persuaded by her own ardent fancy, and the artful suggestions of the little gipsey, who is stealth ily making fun for all her companions and for future days. The wreath, after much chaffering about the price which is greatly reduced after the apprentice has whis pered in the ear of her employer, is purchased and added to the other trimming. And then comes the "inside trimming." There must be narrow blonde about the edge of the front, and a lace cappee with flowers, and there must also be some blue and straw- colored " taste to match with the ribbon on the outside. At length the important business is transacted, the cherished avails of the winter s labors are nearly spent, but she feels that they have been wisely appropriated. The long day is almost gone ; but forgetting her 212 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND fatigue she takes her old bonnet in her hand, covers it with her kerchief, dons the new one, and steps out upon the promenade as proud and happy as any belle in the city. As she proceeds towards the place where her father will meet her with the wagon, she sees many eyes turned towards her, and is not mistaken in think ing that their glances are directed towards her new bonnet. She does not even imagine that those smiles are of covert contempt, surprise and ridicule, and the open laugh she attributes to envy, or to some cause unconnected with herself or her new bonnet. But the loud ejaculation of the Miss, who draws attention upon her own as well as the fnrbelowed bonnet, almost dispels her illusion. She looks hard into the face of the scornful one, and seeing there neither the expres sion of kind nor refined feeling, she concludes that the lady is also destitute of good taste, and that her com ments upon the new bonnet may go for what they are worth. Yet Miss Scornful has exquisite taste in dress so all her admirers say, and they would at this moment point to the bonnet she wears as proof. It is truly and simply beautiful. Her love of rich trimming, plumes and brilliant colors has been gratified in her winter hat. Her spring straw, with its beautiful bright wreath glittering with spanglets, was the envy of all the young misses in their street, and during this very day was the summer bonnet chosen in her morning s shopping excursion. Passing by Mademoiselle De Fleury s, her eyes were riveted by "an elegant affair" a frame as graceful in OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 213 its form as an opening floweret, covered with "rice lace" as delicate as the muslin of the Orient, in which the dotting sprigs and vine-wreathed edge seem to have sprung beneath some light and magic touch, as flowerets ornament the crystal which has just been traced by the spear of the frost spirit. Without asking the price she orders the trimming, of transparent tarle- ton, which is wound around the crown in folds as light and graceful as those which rim the turban of an Emir, while the pale pink, which is intertwined beneath, sends through the silvery gauze, a blush as pure and beautiful as that which gleams from the interior of some delicate shell. A slight rosette, of silvery white overshadowing the hue of the blush rose, rests like a sweet blossom on the left side, and the gauze strings, with their exquisite pink edge, stream on the passing breeze like the pennon of a naiad. The flowers, which, from within, lend their glow to the pure airy lining and the lily cheek on which they rest, can but remind one of those lovely blossoms which raise their heads between rifts of Alpine snow. It is elegant ! but yet the same natural love of the beautiful, the same desire to secure admiration, a more single-hearted endeavor to find much favor in the eyes of " one alone," the gratification of a girlish vanity, more harmless, far more free from bitter and unamiable feeling, have been exhibited by " the girl with the furbelowed bonnet." 214 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND SCENES ON THE MERRIMAC. I HAVE been but a slight traveller, and the beautiful rivers of our country have, with but one or two ex ceptions, rolled their bright waves before " the orbs of fancy" alone, and not to my visual sense. But the few specimens which have been favored me of river scenery, have been very happy in the influence they have exerted upon my mind, in favor of this feature of natural loveliness. I do not wonder that the " stream of his fathers" should be ever so favorite a theme with the poet, and that wherever he has sung its praise, that spot should henceforth be as classic ground. Wherever some "gently rolling river" has whispered its soft murmurs to the recording muse, its name has been linked with his ; and far as that name may extend, is the beauty of that inspiring streamlet appreciated. Helicon and Castalia are more frequently referred to than Parnassus, and even the small streams of hilly Scotland are renowned wherever the songs of her poet "are said or sung." " The banks and braes o bonny Boon," are duly applauded in the drawing-rooms of America; and the Tweed, the "clear winding Devon," the "braes of Ayr," the "banks of Ballockmyle," and the "sweet Afton," so often the theme of his lays, for his " Mary s asleep by its murmuring stream," are names even here quite as familiar, perhaps more so, than our own broad and beauteous rivers. Such is the hallowing power of genius, and upon whatever spot OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 215 she may cast her bright, unfading mantle, there is for ever stamped the impress of beauty. "The Bard of Avon" is an honorary title wherever our language is read ; and though we may have few streams which have as yet been sacred to the muse, yet time will doubtless bring forth those, whose genius shall make the Indian cognomens of our noble rivers, names associated with all that is lofty in intellect and beautiful in poetry. The Merrimac has already received the grateful tribute of praise from the muse of the New England poet ; and well does it merit the encomiums which he has bestowed upon it. It is a beautiful river, from the time when its blue waters start on their joyous course, leaving "the smile of the Great Spirit" to wind through many a vale, and round many a hill, till they mingle " With ocean s dark, eternal tide." I have said that I have seen but few rivers. No ! never have I stood " Where Hudson rolls his lordly flood ; Seen sunrise rest, and sunset fade Along his frowning palisade ; Looked down the Appalachian peak On Juniata s silver streak ; Or seen, along his valley gleam, The Mohawk s softly winding stream ; The setting sun, his axle red Quench darkly in Potomac s bed ; And autumn s rainbow-tinted banner Hang lightly o er the Susquehanna ; " but I still imagine that all their beauties are concen trated in the blue waters of the Merrimac not as it appears here, where almost beneath my factory win- 216 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND dow. its broad tide moves peacefully along ; but where by "Salisbury s beach of shining sand" it rolls amidst far lovelier scenes, and with more rapid flow. Perhaps it is because it is my river that I think it is so beautiful no matter if it is ; there is a great source of gratifi cation in the feeling that whatever is in any way connected with our humble selves, is on that account invested with some distinctive charm, and in some mysterious way rendered peculiarly lovely. But even to the stranger s eye, if he have any taste for the beautiful in Nature, the charms of the banks of the Merrimac would not be disregarded. Can there be a more beautiful bend in a river, than that which it makes at Salisbury Point ? It is one of the most pic turesque scenes, at all events, which I have ever wit nessed. Stand for a moment upon the draw-bridge which spans, with its single arch, the spot where the winding Powow" joins his sparkling waters with the broad tide of the receiving river. We will suppose it is a summer morning. The thin white mist from the Atlantic, which the night-spirit has thrown, like a bridal veil, over the vale and river, is gently lifted by Aurora, and the unshrouded waters blush -celestial, rosy red," at the exposure of their own loveliness. But the bright flush is soon gone, and as the sun rides higher in the heavens, the millions of little wavelets don their diamond crowns, and rise, and sink, and leap, and dance rejoicingly together ; and while their sparkling brilliancy arrests the eye, their murmurs of delight are no less grateful to the ear. The grove upon the Newbury side is already vocal with the morning anthems of the feathered choir, and from the maple, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 217 oak and pine is rising one glad peal of melody. The slight fragrance of the kalmia, or American laurel, which flourishes here in much profusion, is borne upon the morning breeze ; and when their roseate umbels are opened to the sun, they " sing to the eye," as their less stationary companions have done to the ear. The road which accompanies the river in its beau teous curve, is soon alive with the active laborers of "Salisbury shore; " and soon the loud " Heave-ho ! " of the ship-builders is mingled with the more melliflu ous tones which have preceded them. The other busy inhabitants are soon threading the winding street, and as they glance upon their bright and beauteous river, their breasts swell with emotions of pleasure, though in their constant and active bustle they may seldom pause to analyze the cause. The single sail of the sloop which has lain so listless at the little wharf, and the double one of the schooner which is about to traverse its way to the ocean, are unfurled to the morning wind, and the loud orders of the bustling skipper, and the noisy echoes of his bustling men, are borne upon the dewy breeze, and echoed from the Newbury slepes. Soon they are riding upon the bright waters, and the little skiff or wherry is also seen darting about, amidst the rolling diamonds, while here and there a heavy laden "gundelow" moves slowly along, "with sure and steady aim," as though it disdained the pastime of its livelier neighbors. Sucli is many a morning scene on the banks of the Merrimac ; and not less delightful are those of the evening. Perhaps the sunset has passed. The last golden tint has faded from the river, and its waveless 19 218 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND surface reflects the deep blue of heaven, and sends back undimmed the first faint ray of the evening star. The rising tide creeps rippling up the narrow beach, sending along its foremost swell, which, in a sort of drowsy play, leaps forward, and then sinks gently back upon its successors. Now the tide is up the trees upon the wooded banks of Newbury, and the sandy hills upon the Amesbury side, are pencilled with minutest accuracy in the clear waters. Farther down, the dwellings at the Ferry, and those of the Point, which stand upon the banks, are also mirrored in the deep stream. You might almost fancy that beneath its lucid tide there was a duplicate village, so distinct is every shadow. As, one by one, the lights appear in the cottage windows, their reflected fires shoot up from the depths of the Merrimac. But the waters shine with brighter radiance as even ing lengthens ; for Luna grows more lavish of her silvery beams as the crimson tints of her brighter rival die in the western sky. The shore is still and motion less, save where a pair of happy lovers steal slowly along the shadowed walk which leads to Pleasant Val ley. The old weather-worn ship at the Point, which has all day long resounded with the clatter of mischie vous boys, is now wrapped in silence. The new one in the ship-yard, which has also been dinning with the maul and hammer, is equally quiet. But from the broad surface of the stream there comes the song, the shout, and the ringing laugh of the light-hearted. They come from the boats which dot the water, and are filled with the young and gay. Some have just shot from the little wharf, and others have been for OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 219 hours upon the river. What they have been doing, and where they have been, I do not precisely know ; but, from the boughs which have been broken from some body s trees, and the large clusters of laurel which the ladies bear, I think I can "guess." But it grows late. The lights which have glowed in the reflected buildings have one by one been quench ed, and still those light barks remain upon the river. And that large "gundelow," which came down the Powow, from the Mills, with its freight of factory girls," sends forth " the sound of music and dancing." We will leave them for it is possible that they will linger till after midnight, and we have staid quite long enough to obtain an evening s glimpse of the Merri- mac. Such are some of the scenes on the river, and many are also the pleasant spots upon its banks. Beautiful walks and snug little nooks are not unfrequent ; and there are bright green sheltered coves, like Pleasant Valley, where "all save the spirit of man is divine." I remember the first steamboat which ever came hissing and puffing and groaning and sputtering up the calm surface of the Merrimac. I remember also the lovely moonlight evening when I watched her return from Haverhill, and when every wave and rock and tree were lying bathed in a flood of silvery radiance. I shall not soon forget her noisy approach, so strongly contrasted with the stillness around, nor the long, loud, ringing cheers which hailed her arrival and accom panied her departure. I noted every movement, as she hissed and splashed among the bright waters, until she reached the curve in the river, and then was lost 220 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND to view, excepting the thick sparks which rose above the glistening foliage of the wooded banks. I remember also the first time I ever saw the abori gines of our country. They were Penobscots, and then, I believe, upon their way to this city.* They en camped among the woods of the Newbury shore, and crossed the river (there about a mile in width) in their little canoes, whenever they wished to beg or trade. They sadly refuted the romantic ideas which I had formed from the descriptions of Cooper and others ; nevertheless they were to me an interesting people. They appeared so strange, with their birch-bark canoes and wooden paddles, their women with men s hats and such outre dresses, their little boys with their un failing bows and arrows, and the little feet which they all had. Their curious, bright-stained baskets, too, which they sold or gave away. I have one of them now, but it has lost its bright tints. It was given me in return for a slight favor. I remember also one dreadful stormy night while they were amongst us. The rain poured in torrents. The thick darkness was unrelieved by a single lightning-flash, and the hoarse murmurs of the seething river was the only noise which could be distinguished from the pitiless storm. I thought of my new acquaintance, and looked out in the direction of their camp. I could see at one time the lights flickering among the thick trees, and darting rapidly to and fro behind them, and then all would be unbroken gloom. Sometimes I fancied I could distin guish a whoop or yell, and then I heard nought but the pelting of the rain. As I gazed on the wild scene, * Lowell. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 221 I was strongly reminded of scenes which are described in old border tales, of wild banditti, and night revels of lawless hordes of barbarians. These are summer scenes; and in winter there is nothing particularly beautiful in the icy robe with which the Merrimac often enrobes its chilled waters. But the breaking up of the ice is an event of much interest. As spring approaches, and the weather becomes milder, the river, which has been a thoroughfare for loaded teams and lighter sleighs, is gradually shunned, even by the daring skater. Little pools of bluish water, which the sun has melted, stand in slight hollows, dis tinctly contrasted with the clear dark ice in the middle of the stream, or the flaky snow-crust near the shore. At length a loud crack is heard, like the report of a cannon then another and another and finally the loosened mass begins to move towards the ocean. The motion at first is almost imperceptible, but it gradually increases in velocity, as the impetus of the descending ice above propels it along ; and soon the dark blue waters are seen between the huge chasms of the parting ice. By and by. the avalanches come drifting down, tumbling, crashing, and whirling along, with the foaming waves boiling up wherever they can find a crevice; and trunks of trees, fragments of buildings, and ruins of bridges, are driven along with the tumultuous mass. A single night will sometimes clear the river of the main portion of the ice, and then the darkly-tinted waters will roll rapidly on, as though wildly rejoicing at their deliverance from bondage. But for some time the white cakes, or rather ice-islands, will be seen 19* 222 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND floating along, though hourly diminishing in size, and becoming more "like angels visits." But there is another glad scene occasionally upon the Merrimac and that is, when there is a launching. I have already alluded to the ship-builders, and they form quite a proportion of the inhabitants of the shore. And now, by the way, I cannot omit a passing compli ment to the inhabitants of this same shore. It is sel dom that so correct, intelligent, contented, and truly comfortable a class of people is to be found, as in this pretty hamlet. Pretty it most certainly is for nearly all the houses are neatly painted, and some of them indicate much taste in the owners. And then the people are so kind, good, and industrious. A Newbury- port Editor once said of them, "They are nice folks there on Salisbury shore ; they always pay for their newspapers" a trait of excellence which printers can usually appreciate. But now to the ships, whose building I have often watched with interest, from the day when the long keel was laid till it was launched into the river. This is a scene which is likewise calculated to inspire salu tary reflections, from the comparison which is often instituted between ourselves and a wave-tossed bark. How often is the commencement of active life com pared to the launching of a ship ; and even the un imaginative Puritans could sing, "Life s like a ship in constant motion, Sometimes high, and sometimes low, Where every man must plough the ocean, Whatsoever winds may blow." The striking analogy has been more beautifully ex- OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 223 pressed by better poets, though hardly with more of force. And if we are like wind-tossed vessels on a stormy sea, then the gradual formation of our minds may be compared to the building of a ship. And it was this thought which often attracted my notice to the labors of the ship-wright. First, the long keel is laid then the huge ribs go up[the sides then the rail- way runs around the top. Then commences the boarding, or timbering of the sides ; and for weeks, or months, the builder s maul is heard, as he pounds in the huge trunnels which fasten all together. Then there is the finishing inside, and the painting outside, and, after all, the launching. The first that I ever saw was a large and noble ship. It had been long in building, and I had watched its progression with much interest. The morning it was to be launched I played truant to witness the scene. It was a fine, sun-shiny day, September 21, 1832 ; and I almost wished I was a boy, that I might join the throng upon the deck, who were determined upon a ride. The blocks which supported the ship, were sev erally knocked out, until it rested upon but one. When that was gone, the ship would rest upon greased planks, which descended to the water. It must have been a thrilling moment to the man who lay upon his back, beneath the huge vessel, when he knocked away the last prop. But it was done, and swiftly it glided along the planks, then plunged into the river, with an impetus which sank her almost to her deck, and carried her nearly to the middle of the river. Then she slowly rose, rocked back and forth, and finally righted herself, and stood motionless. But while the dashing, foaming 224 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND waters were still clamorously welcoming her to a new element, and the loud cheers from the deck were ring ing up into the blue sky, the bottle was thrown, and she was named the WALTER SCOTT. It will be remem bered that this was the very day on which the Great Magician died a fact noticed in the Saturday Courier about that time. Several years after this, I was attending school in a neighboring town. I happened one evening to take up a newspaper. I think it was a Portsmouth paper; and I saw the statement that a fine new ship had been burnt at sea, called the WALTER SCOTT. The particu lars were so minutely given, as to leave no room for doubt that it was the beautiful vessel which I had seen launched upon the banks of the Merrimac. THE MAN OUT OF THE MOON. PERHAPS an old nursery rhyme occurred to some of the individuals who witnessed the disappearance of the man from the moon one balmy summer evening. There must at least have been one astronomer, post, lunatic, and a pair of lovers ; and how many more may not easily be ascertained. But the moonshine still came down so gently, and the space vacated by that ancient man was filled with such calm brightness, that little was said and no commotion caused by his withdrawal OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 225 from that place where he had been an admired fixture. Had he dropped down among any of the evening watchers doubtless there would have been a great ex citement especially among children arid nurses, with whom this man has been an object of greater interest than any other class. And, as every body was once a boy or a girl, there might have been a revival of affection which would have manifested itself in waving of handkerchiefs, loud huzzas, and clapping of hands ; perhaps in ringing of bells, and firing of cannon ; and who knows what fine dinners might have been given him, and concerts, also, in which a few particular nur sery rhymes might have been set to music by Vieux Temps, or Ole Bull, and the stranger almost paralyzed by the excess of joyous sensibility. But those, who knew that he was gone, could not of course tell wheth er he had started upon a journey to the sun, or to Venus, or Herschel, or some other place amongst the stars ; and perhaps few of them dreamed that he had come on a pilgrimage of love to the Moon s great satellite, EARTH. But, upon the same principle that " little boats should keep near shore," the inexperienced traveller had wisely resolved that his first voyage should terminate at the nearest landing-place. Whether those were moonstruck who first saw him " Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Where a fair lady, throned by the west," held state upon a little island whether they were moonstruck or not, matters little; but certainly no skylark ever fluttered into its nest more unregarded, no eagle ever descended into its eyrie more untroubled, no snow-rlake ever fell into its deep dingle more -un- 226 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND noticed, and no leaflet ever nestled under its shadowing rock more quietly, than the man from the moon came down, when he alighted under the broad shadow of a noble elm, in a ducal park. The deer turned upon him their large lustrous eyes, and darted away to their leafy coverts ; the rooks slowly wheeled around above his head, and sailed upon the breezes to their leafy homes ; and the watch dog met him at the portal with a fawn of affection. At the porter s lodge had gathered some of the juvenile nobility, and with the utmost courtsey they received unquestioned the remarkable stranger, and invited him to their princely home. " How beautiful is Earth," said the Man, as a few days afterwards he rambled to the spot where he had first pressed its soil, " and how happy are her children. Before I came here I thought that peace was more com mon than bliss, that quiet was more frequent than joy ; but hitherto I have investigated at a disadvantageous distance, and I here find that my ignorance is prover bial. Nevertheless, I have the will and capacity to learn, and the duke himself shall not know more of his neighbors than I will ascertain." He bounded over the sweet-briar hedge, and wended his way to a little hamlet, which nestled between the grove and upland at a short distance. He entered the nearest cot, and the first sound which reached his ears was a cry for bread. " Bread BREAD ! " repeated he ; "I saw it given to the dogs this morning. Bread ! there is enough at the castle. Go to the duchess, my child, she will give you enough of bread." The child ceased her cry, but OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 227 looked at him wonderingly, and an elderly sister shook her head, yet said nothing. Then the man heard a moan from a low pallet, and, looking into the dark re cess, -he saw stretched upon it the emaciated form of a woman. She called the girl to her side. " Is there not a little more wine in the phial ? " she asked. " Not one drop," was the reply. The woman moan ed more faintly. "Wine! wine!" repeated the Man; "we drank last night at the castle until our heads ached, and some of the company were carried away, drowned by it. Wine, and bread;" he repeated, as he turned upon his heel, and flew toward the castle. He entered the drawing-room, and a servant passed him with a silver salver, upon which were refreshments for the ladies, and the sideboard was covered with various wines. He grasped a bottle, and, snatching the salver from the waiter, he turned to go. But the astonished do mestic made such an outcry, and vociferated " Thief! Robber ! " so lustily that he was soon overtaken. The duke came to learn the cause of the tumult. " He was stealing your silver," repeated the servant, " after all your kindness to him." The duke looked at his mysterious guest with a pen etrating eye. " I saw a child almost within a stone s throw of your mansion," replied the Man, " who cried for bread. I saw also a woman fainting for a cordial, and here I knew that there was enough of bread and wine. I ran that they might the sooner be relieved from their misery." 228 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND The duke blushed as he heard the simple reply of the Man, and almost doubted for the moment whether he himself were a man. Bread and wine were instantly despatched by the servant, and the duke took the stranger into his closet. What he told him there is what my readers already know that Want and Mis ery stand even within the sunshine of Plenty and Prosperity ; that Sickness, Pain, and Death are in the daily paths of the rich and powerful ; that all these things are looked upon as necessary evils, and not al lowed for a moment to interrupt the usual course of business and amusement. But he could not make it appear to the Man out of the Moon as it did to him self. The more common it is, the more dreadful it seemed to this wanderer from another sphere. The more difficult it appeared to find the remedy, the more earnestly he thought it should be sought. It seemed to him that the great fault was in the government, and at the head of government he learned was a lady as young, as kind, as gentle and compassionate as the duke s eldest daughter. He left the castle, and hastened to the capitol. He lingered not by the way, but sights obtruded themselves upon his notice which gave him much pain. He sought the palace ; he asked audience of the queen. He had brought no references, no introductions, and could not be admitted to the young sovereign ; but his earnestness gained him an interview with one of her counsellors. He had so much to say, and knew so little how to say it, his ideas were all in such confusion, that it was some time be fore the minister could gather aught from him. " To the point," said he at length. " Tell me, stran ger, what you want." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 229 " I want RIGHT," said the Man. " I came a stranger to your land, and, at first, all appeared to me very beautiful. But I soon found hunger, destitution, and death. I inquired the cause, and asked for the remedy. I was told there was none ; but I found that if relief could be obtained, this was the place to look for it. I left for this city. I hurried on my way ; but, unless I shut my eyes, I could not but see wrong. I have seen huge heaps of grain converted into liquid poison, and starving men drunk of it that they might drown all sense of want and misery. I have seen broad fields lie waste as pleasure ground, while squalid crowds were faint for food. I saw a mighty ship filled with brave men ; and their garments glittered with beauty, and gushing strains of music stirred their noble hearts. I thought it a glorious sight, but I learned that they were sent to kill, or be killed by their fellow-men. I saw a high and narrow structure spring upward to the sky ; and they brought out a man, and put him to death between the heavens and the earth. Crowds of men gazed up ward at the sight, and think ye not that GOD looked down? I went into an old and moss-grown church, and there I saw the man who prayed at the gallows; and all the people said with him, Be ye also merciful, even as your Father, in heaven is merciful. For if ye forgive not men their trespasses, how will your Father, which is in heaven, forgive your trespass es ? But the more my spirit was pained within me the more I hurried to this place. And when I was come I saw mighty palaces built for the accommoda tion of a few, and I saw also men herding together in filth and wretchedness ; and those who had not where 20 230 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND to lay their heads. I have seen warehouses filled with cloths for raiment, and stout men passed by them with scarce a rag to cover them ; yet touched they nothing. I have seen bakeries full of bread, and storehouses filled with other food : and savage-looking men proved that they were not yet fiends, for they did not strike dead those who withheld from them these provisions. Even here I have seen dogs and horses receive the care and attention denied to man. You ask me what I want : I want to know if you have known aught of this ; and, if so, why stand ye here idle ? " " Who are you 7 rejoined the astonished courtier. " The Man out of the Moon." " Aha, aha a lunatic ! I thought as much. Now let me see if we have no^a nice place for you which you have not yet espied ;" and calling the servants, he ordered them to take the man to the hospital. But he slipped from their grasp, and was soon out of the way. He strayed along the sea-side, for there was there less of the misery he could not relieve. He found a man sitting upon a solitary rock, and gazing far out upon the waters. There was that in his eye which told the Lunarian that here he might meet with sympathy. So they sat together, while the sea-winds moaned around them, and talked of wrong and op pression. " But why do the people bear all this ? " asked the Man. " Why do they not rise up in their strength, and demand clothing, food, and shelter ? Why do they not stretch out their hands and take it, when almost within their grasp ? Why at least do they not die as men, rather than live like beasts ? " OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 231 " They are enchanted" was the reply of the phi losopher. Then the Man thought how impossible it would be for him to disenchant them, and he sighed ; and when the philosopher had gone he unrobed himself, and spread his wings, and flew across the channel till he came to another land. We will not follow him, as he strayed through va rious cities, towns, and villages, along the Mediterra nean. But he heard of it everywhere he had heard of it before he crossed the channel of a happy land, far across many wide waters a new world, where tyranny, oppression, and corruption, had not found time to generate their train of evils. He yearned for this better land ; and one night, when the sky was dark with sombre clouds, and no one could witness his flight, he left the old for the newer continent. He alighted at the plantation of a wealthy gentle man. With manly courtesy he was received, and en tertained with a chivalrous generosity which asked no questions of the stranger, and knew nothing but that he needed rest. He was truly weary, and spent some quiet days in the family of his host, for whom he formed quite an attachment. But one day, as he was walking in the grounds, he heard the voice of piercing lamentation. He looked around, and saw a negro woman, with her young child pressed to her bosom, and sobbing as though her heart would break. He inquired the cause of her sorrow, and heard that her husband had just been taken away, to be sold to another master. Her children had been taken from her long before, all but the babe upon her breast. 232 SHELLS FROM THE STKAND The Man could not understand this at first, but after long questioning he learned some of the evils of sla very. He returned to his host. He was sitting with his wife at his side, and his child upon his knee. He caressed them both with much affection. The Man looked at him sternly. " How dare you love your child ? " said he. " How dare you adore your wife ? when you have separated mother and child, husband and wife, and consigned them all to misery?" " Who are you ? " replied the host, " that you speak thus in mine own house, where as yet unquestioned you have been honored and cherished as a stranger and a guest." " I am the Man out of the Moon." Then the host laughed heartily. "Ah, moonstruck I see," said he, carelessly ; and touching his head, he nodded to his wife. After this they would neither of them heed what he said, but treated him good humor- edly, as a maniac. In the neighborhood, however, he met not with this consideration, for he would not hold his peace while he believed a great wrong was calling for redress. They called him an Abolitionist, and proposed assisting him in his departure from a place which did not seem to suit him very well. They would provide feathers, if not wings ; and attach them to him with tar, as the best artificial method. They would not furnish him with a horse, but they found a rail, and this, with the aid of their own locomotive powers, would assist him greatly. The Man felt as though he would rather continue free of all such obligations, and, on the very night OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 233 when all things were preparing for his exit, he spread his wings upon the darkness, and flew away. He had heard the negroes speak of a land to the north, where there were no slaves, where oppression, cruelty, and selfishness did not exist ; and he thought that must be the better land of which he had so often heard. He came to its far-famed city; that where morals, intelligence, and prosperity are more nearly identified than in any other. He was pleased at first, but soon became dissatisfied, because it fell far short of his ideas of social perfection. Here also were Wealth and Poverty here were Misery, Selfishness, and Pride. He saw a wealthy lady roll along in her car riage, while a feeble woman could hardly totter across the streets. " The carriage would have held more than two," said he to himself. He followed the faltering footsteps until he came to a cellar. The woman ap proached a bed, upon which two children were gasp ing for breath. " Can nothing be done for them ? " asked the Man. " I have just called a physician," replied the mother. In a few moments he came in. He looked tenderly at his little patients. "They are dying of want," said he. " They want every thing they should now have ; but first of all, is the want, of fresh air." The Man started from the house and ran to a street, in which was the residence of an eminent philanthropist. His questionings had already led him to a knowledge of the good. He came to the house. The master was not at home he had gone to his country-seat, and his mansion was vacant, with the exception of one servant who was left to open the windows each day ; and see 20* 234 that the cool air breathed through the deserted rooms. And, as he looked at the lofty, well-ventilated and va cant apartments, he thought of the children who were dying in a neighboring cellar for want of air. The Man was wearied, disappointed, and vexed. "If this is the happiest spot on Earth," said he, " then let me go back to the Moon." It was a lovely starlight night. The moon, like a silver crescent, hung afar in the blue ether, and there was one bright solitary cloud in the clear sky. The Man spread his wings, and, bidding farewell to Earth, he turned his face upward to a better home. As he passed the bright cloud, he thought he saw, faintly de lineated as though in bright shadow, the outlines of a human form. He approached nearer, and the cloud seemed like a light couch upon which an etherealized being reclined. Lofty intellect and childlike mildness were blended in his spiritual countenance, but there was a glance of sorrow in his deep eyes which told that, if an angel, he had not forgotten the trials of earth. The Man said to him, "I have just left Earth for the Moon, but I would gladly leave it for any other world. You seem to have returned to it from Heaven." " It was my home," replied the spirit. " There I first received existence ; there I first drew the breath of life. It was my first home ; and, though I know it is full of sin and sorrow, yet at times 1 leave Heaven that I may view it once again." " And did you know, while there, that it was filled with Guilt, Ignorance, and Pain ? or did you neglect the great interests of Humanity for selfish pleasure 7 " "I did not live for myself alone. I endeavored to OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 235 live for my kind, and to find my happiness in striving to promote the well-being of others. I see now that I might have done more, if I saw it not then. GOD had given me a feeble frame, and I might not go forth ac tively among my brethren. But I sent my voice among them. I spoke aloud in behalf of the wronged and downtrodden. I spoke not of one evil, but of that which is the source of all evil. I spoke to the young, knowing that they would soon be the middle-aged to act, and then the aged to die. I sent my voice among the ignorant, and invited them to come to the tree of knowledge. And my bliss is now in the assurance I have received, that my words will not all be forgot ten." " But, if you were doing good," said the Man, sternly, " why did you go thence?" " I was called," replied the spirit, gently. " And is there any one who may take your place ? " " I hope and believe there are many noble spirits, who are as earnest, as able, as faithful, and more ac tive, who are laboring for their brother men. But there is also another agent. Would you witness it?" and, drawing aside a drapery of cloud, he disclosed a shin ing volume. The night breeze gently wafted its leaves, and, in letters of brightness, were written upon them such words as these : " GOD hath made of one blood all nations of the earth." " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." " The laborer is worthy of his hire." " All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." " With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again." 236 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND The Man glanced at them, and then said, " Is this book there? " " It is there," replied the spirit, " and there it will remain until its words are embroidered upon the hems of their garments, engraved upon the bells of their horses, and bound as frontlets between their eyes. Yea, even until they are impressed upon the hearts of all men." The spirit veiled the book again in the aerial drapery, and disappeared himself in the bright cloud. The Man turned away, with a spirit less sad ; and, ere morning dawned, he looked down again from his " old accustomed place," with his usual placid smile ; and none would now know from his benignant expres sion, that we, poor erring mortals, had ever grieved and angered the Man in the Moon. THE WINDOW DARKENED. I HAD a lovely view from my window, but it was not of a level landscape, nor a group of towering hills ; it was neither city nor country exclusively, but a combi nation of both. I looked from the central street of a city across a narrow strip of vacant land, divided by a quiet stream, to a slope, covered with the residences of those who prefer the comparative stillness of the suburb to the bustle of the heart of a city. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 237 It was like a beautiful picture that glittering pan orama when the sunshine flashed back from the whitened dwellings, as they rose one above another upon the green amphitheatre the mansions more dis tinct and more splendid as they approached the sum mit of the hill, and but two or three magnificent dwel lings graced like a radiant crown its verdant brow. Yes, it was beautiful in the glorious sunlight, when countless windows flashed forth a diamond radiance, but just as lovely, though more subdued in the influ ence of its charms, in the gray twilight, or at eve, or moonlit night. I have watched the footsteps of Night, as she crept slowly up the hill, her dark shadow falling before her, until the roof-tree of the highest mansion lay hid beneath her shroud. And then the moon, like a gentle conqueror, stole placidly above the brightening horizon, and Night awoke to smiles and peace. She lifted her shroud from the fair earth, and a gentle day had dawned upon the world. Another day yes, for that was no time to sleep it was no night while so soft, so exquisite a brilliance bathed that congrega ted mass of life and beauty. My window ! it was my only constant companion. It told me of sunshine and of storm ; it heralded the morn, and warned me of the waning light of day. It gave me, gratis, a ticket to that picture gallery, where my eye wandered on an involuntary, though oft-re peated, tour of pleasure. My window ! it has taught me much in quiet pantomime ; and its lessons did not weary, for they were ever varying, and ever new. 238 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND My window ! it gave me light for constant occu pations it gave me daily bread with the pleasure and instruction which it afforded me, and my window was to be darkened. I have alluded to the narrow waste beyond the stream. My window told me that there was to be laid the foundation of a mighty structure. It was a sad tale to hear, but, as if to make amends, my window each day exhibited an active, bustling and novel scene, such as it had not shown me before. There were shouting crowds of men, digging deep the trenches for the foundation stones, and boats came up the monoto nous stream with the solid granite for their freight. This continued so long that I almost wearied of my window s show; yet its sameness was sometimes va ried. Once a heavily laden wagon rolled backward into a newly excavated pit. I witnessed the struggles of the noble horses as they strove to resist the impetus which the vehicle gathered while descending the slope, and when that was gone there was a moment of fren zied strength as they endeavored to scramble from the crumbling earth, while their despairing efforts but hastened their destruction. I held my breath as they hung for a moment between life and death, and then they were gone. True, they were but beasts ; but life was now extinct with those who had enjoyed it, while I knew of those who but bore it patiently, as a burden of which Death might kindly relieve them. But the horses there was a useless running and shouting when they fell crowds gathered around the pit, and gazed for awhile into its depths then, if I rightly understood my window, spades were brought, and it was made a grave. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 239 Such were the incidents which varied the monotony of my window scene, but after a time this was over, and the walls were commenced. Now boats came up the stream laden with brick, and huge red piles arose upon its banks. The red walls arose red, the color of the conqueror and they proclaimed a victory over my pleasures. With one story of the great fabric was screened from me whole streets of pleasant dwellings. The early sunrise was gone the blush of morn those brilliant clouds, the orphans of departed Night, and happy wards of coming day. The first soft glance of moonlight was forever hid, and it seemed as though my best treasures were taken from me. But I clung more fervently to those which were left, and the more tenaciously as I saw them departing. This beautiful dwelling, and that majestic tree, were never to me so lovely as when they were shut from my window s view. Then I began to measure with my eye the scene, and to calculate how long I should retain this or that beauty, and what might remain at the last. The church spire that I should always have and those highest houses, and the brow of the hill. But no ! I had not calculated wisely. They began to recede from me for the huge building rose still higher and higher. Men walked around the scaffoldings, as of old they patrolled the ramparts of some giant castle, and at night the unfinished walls, relieved against the dark sky, might well remind a reader of romance of the de scriptions of ancient chateaux, with their high massive turreted walls. Higher, higher still, arose the fabric. The mansions were gone the church the brow of the hill and 240 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND at last the very tip of the spire was taken from me. Oh ! how was my window darkened ! but not quite dark, for there still was light from the skies above. And thus, methought, it is in life. We look, with the eye of youth, through Hope s magical window, upon a fair world. Earth lies like a glorious panorama before us. Our own path leads on at first like the crowded street, amidst the hum of business, but it soon stretches forward to the place where lie combined the pleasures and leisure of the country. Yes, our antici pated life seems like that brilliant amphitheatre, crowded and exciting at first, but more quiet, more imposing and beautiful, as we look onward. The minor details of the scenery are not carefully scanned. We look not at the narrow dusty paths through which we must go, nor at the stones against which we may often dash our feet, nor the intruders who will dispute our way. We consider not that we may falter, or faint, or fall ; and there is always at the top of the hill some mansion which is to us the temple of riches, fame and pleasure. But while we look upon the scene, it sinks from our view. The stern realities of life rise before us like the brick-built wall, and we see the prose where we have before but witnessed the poetry of this world s scenes. We know that some of our pleasures are passing away that our window is darkening but we think that the tallest trees, the highest mansions, the summit of the hill, will yet be left. But sterner and higher still arises the wall before us. One hope after another is gone one pleasure after another has been taken away one image after another, that has been beauti- OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 241 ful to our eye, and dear to our heart, has forever dis appeared. The church-spire, with its heaven-pointing finger, symbolical of the outward ordinances of religion, leaves us last. But finally it has been taken, and we must turn to whatever temple we may have prepared within. How has the scene changed ! How is our windpw darkened ! Yet we grope not in utter darkness, for there still is light from the heavens above. We are subdued with hearts rightly attuned not miserable. We look forward less, but upward more. We are more peaceful, if less joyful; and we transfer the bright pictures, which the window has Daguerreotyped upon our memories, to another and more enduring world. We think that had the wall been still higher had it encircled us yet more closely, there would still have been light above; and, unless Heaven itself is shut from our view, there will be bright starbeams, and calm moonlight, and blessed sunshine, coming down, and struggling towards us through the darkened win dow. 21 POETICAL PIECES. LINES ADDRESSED TO THE COMET. IN IMITATION OF BURNS. [THIS poem was written upon the appearance of the comet of April, 1843. An allusion is made in the fifteenth verse to the cold weather which accompanied it. The idea in the eleventh verse, was suggested by the remembrance of the comet which became entangled with Jupiter s moons, and which was decidedly worsted in the rencounter.] WEEL, stranger ! fain I d hae ye tell Some sort o 1 tale about yoursel ; I dinna like ye very well ; But mair if I should ken About your journeyins far an near, An what may be your business here, My manners it might men. We, Yankees, are the anes to spier What ye hae done this mony a year ; Will ye not tell us, plain and clear, Where ye sae long hae been ? Whether ye e er before were here, An where ye next inten to steer, An if ye 11 come agen ? 244 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND I told ye ance I liked ye not ; I ne er hae kenned o good ye ve wrought A racin here an there ; On you we ne er can keep an eye, Ye roun creation feckless fly, A spinnin street-yarn i the sky ; I think ye like the air. While far your trail sae braw ye spread, Ye ve wit eneugh to hide your head ; Ye ve but a peacock s glory ; I m sure ye hae na ony brains, An ye can hae but little gains ; A rollin stane na moss retains, Sae saith the guid auld story. I m sure I wish ye d men your ways ; I d gladly gie ye mickle praise, For ance o guid behavin ; Thae ither planets, stars, and things O which the poet aften sings, Sic joy to mony a body brings, While ye but set folk ravin. They come to cheer the darksome night, An o er us shed their constant light, While roun an roun ye re rinnin ; On them, as on some douce gude book, The chartless mariner may look ; Their courses they hae ne er forsook, An keep a steady spinnin. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 245 Ye d better far, than gae away, Now in our universe to stay, An be a sober planet ; Just draw your trail up i a heap ; Like dormice when they gae to sleep ; Yet look ye weel afore ye leap, Sic change, ye might not stan it. Yet a our Washin tonians tell, That reformation suits them well ; Some o them here cut quite a swell, Who ance were waur than ye ; Went rantin roun , a scarin a , The auld an young, the great and sma , Who i their way might be. An ye now come unto our warl, Like that auld guid-for-nothin carl, Who fain wad into ruin hurl, Lang syne, auld patient Job ; As though he d not enough o strife, Wi half-score bairns to vex his life, And then a wise advisin wife As ony on the globe. Fu soon I ken ye 11 gae away, Tho Miller folk wad hae ye stay ; They think ye 11 list their prayer, An say your trail ye Ml o er us splash, An gie us a an awsome crash ; The warl itsel will gae to smash ; Ah, do it ! gin ye dare. 21* 246 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND An yet, if, as sae mony say, Ye hit the earth, some night or day, It wad na make me sad ; This warl gaes steady as a clock, She wad na min your feckly shock, An ye wad get an awfu knock, An hurt ye very bad. Daft Miller thinks ye re but his tool ; He 11 fin himsel an April fule, When ye shall gae away, And gie us na that mighty toss, Which a the saunts will sen across Death s dreaded, deep, uncannie fosse, In glorious array. They ll waesome be when ye shall fail To spairge em \vi your mighty trail, E en like a flitterin harpooned whale, An heeze them i the air ; Gin ye wad gie them sic a ride, While they amang the clouds did bide, Pray, what the lave wad then betide ? Ye d send us sinners where ? I hae na fears o my salvation ; I d sign ye na a supplication, Tho lang s an Anti-Slave petition, Ye d fling it " neath the table ; " I think to do some awsome thing, That on us a wad ruin bring, An ither tune wad make me sing, Ye re willin mair than able. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 247 Ye re workin a your mischief now, Ye bring the cauld an wind I trow, The spring time s driftin snaw, The cynic s words to ye I 11 tell, Wha, lang syne, i a tub did dwell, An said to ane, some like yoursel, " Out o my sunshine, gae ! " Awa ! begone ! an when afar, Ayont the very farthest star, Ye fin ye re a but froze, Ye 11 do agen, as now ye ve done, Come drivin back toward the sun, Tho wise men say (the claivers run) He s cauld as pussy s nose. Thae learned men I think they re daft, Wi a their books and scholar craft, They seem to me as unco saft, When puir folk they disturb ; As tho a body should not live Unless he know the adjective, The plural, an the verb. Suith ! get ye gone ! an we will screel, As loud s we can, a last fareweel, Your exit when we view it ; An yet, gude sake, t is very true That ye are blythe, an bonnie too, I Ml gie a comet e en his due, Or ane day I may rue it. 248 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND THE MOUSE S VISIT. Lines written, impromptu, as the incident occurred. Perhaps the Scottish rhythm was suggested by the remembrance of Burns s address to a mouse. I JIST had frae the snaw-storm came, An sat me cow rin down at hame, For I was crabbit, dour, an lame, An thought to rest me then ; When, looking up, what should I view ? A mouse jumpt i my overshoe, Nor stayed to say, " Ma am, how d ye do ? " When back he skipt again. It seemed e en like some passing thought, Sae swift he forth an backward hopt ; Sure, I d hae thought he might hae stopt To say, " Aweel," " Good day ; " But na, I m sure it was na me The wee bit thing had come to see, He thought me far away. Quick to the chimla I did hie, Thinking his lurking place to spy ; I glinted, but, if I should die, Could see na whence he came ; The poker then I poked away, The wood an rug did backward lay, An served the tongs the same. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 249 Save ane wee hole, i the hearth-stone, A crack or crevice was there none ; The mouse a bogle s feat hae done, If he hae come frae thence ; My thimble it would na admit, My thumb the place would taughtly fit ; I think he must hae squeezed a bit, An hath mair wit than sense. Wee simple fule ! why came ye here ? Were ye sae cauld an dark an drear, That ye maun try some better cheer Mangst ither folk to find ? My air-tight stove ye re welcome there ; Its warmth an light ye ance may share ; Say, how d ye like its with ring glare ? To burn ye I ve a mind. Ye weel might flee wi mickle dread Sic murderous plots came i my head, As how I d get a piece o bread, Or, better far, o cheese, An put it i some cannie trap That, when ye came again, would slap, An , fallin , gie ye sic a rap Ye ne er again would freeze. I 11 do it na gainst ye to war Were too contemptible by far ; I ne er will Pussy s honors share, An ye maun stay in quiet ; But, Mousie, min ye ever this, I m ane they ca an Editress, An it would cause me much distress To raize me, an to riot. 250 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND An , should ye stay, I trust that ye Will be content to live, like me, 1 cheerfu calm celibacy : An when I m gane a weavin, I m willin ye should loup an prance, An , o er my floor, your hornpipe dance, Gin it wad save some grievin. But, should ye bring a partner here To scrievin round, an squeak O dear ! Ye weel might tremble wi sic fear As ne er hae yet possessed ye ; For I wad make a fearfu rout, Ye baith should hop an skip about, Sic help ye d hae in getting out As never yet hae blessed ye. I 11 raible na, nor get sae warm ; Ye ne er hae done me ony harm, That I hae ever kenned ; Tis true some books hae flawn away, Some magazines hae gane astray ; The blame on ye I canna lay If guilty ye maun mend. An if foul arts I d gainst ye try I d come aft " second best " for I Ne er was ca d douce alack ! I ne er gained praise for being sly, That I am " green " they aften cry, An I to them can but reply, Better be green than BLACK. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 251 Now, ere I cease, I 11 e en undo The wrangs o which some lines are fou ; My ingle ye may share : Ye ne er hae scared away a thought Sae gude as these in sang I ve wrought, A blessing ance ye sure hae brought, For verse wi me is rare. An , had ye na, sure ane sae weak Ne er mickle harm on me could wreak ; I never ance hae heard ye squeak, An need na fear ye now ; An there are those, who, should they choose, Gainst me their powers for ill to use, Could work, for me, e en more abuse Than I for you, I trow. An let us e er sic mercy grant As we ane day may wish an want ; For HE, whose name is LOVE, Will surely bless the kindly heart, That ne er has caused anither s smart, An gie t a place above. 252 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND THE SONG OF THE SHOE. So many lays are sung in praise Of all that s good and right, That I believe mankind receive In praising much delight. If I could sing of anything Ne er sung about before, Such rhymes I d string this morn would ring With loud and jovial roar. But every man, of every clan, Has more than justice had ; Each beast and bird has praises heard, Unless t was very bad. Of every root, and flower, and shoot, King Solomon once sung ; Of Fire and Light, of Death and Night, Have modern praises rung. Why should I dream of some new theme ? When all assert it true The infidel will even tell That " there is nothing new." Yet may not I for once just try My lyre to string anew ; For no one yet, that I e er met, Has sung THE RUBBER SHOE. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 253 Ah ! many a maid, who s ne er afraid Of one man, or of two, Would never dare .to face the air, At eve, without this shoe. When summer showers wash earth and flowers, What can a fair girl do, If she "s without a thick and stout Elastic Rubber shoe ? To stay within, and knit or spin, When all without s inviting, When rainbows glow, and fresh streams flow, And gems the scene are lighting. When hie away ! and skip ! and play ! Are what we all would do ; She d stay at home, and fear to roam, But for the Rubber Shoe. And when we hear that Spring is near, With skies so bright and blue, We always bless, from heart s recess, The India Rubber Shoe. Though poets sing of lovely Spring, She s always mud or dew ; And we our feet could ne er keep neat But for the Rubber Shoe. And we can go through melting snow, And slippery streets walk through, And trip so nice o er glowing ice, With an India Rubber Shoe. 22 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Our grand-ma ams sure did much endure How much they scarcely knew Their feet they wet, and colds did get, For want of a Rubber Shoe. In days " lang syne " the sun did shine Upon a world of mud, And green trees grew, and one dove flew, Where no one yet had stood. And Noah s wife had blessed her life, I think, for one good view Of that which we so thankless see An India Rubber Shoe. And Noah s girls had given their curls If Japhet, Ham, and Shem Could have some boots if not sur-touts, Some over-shoes for them. For, from the ark, a beauteous park This earth looked to that crew ; Only t was wel, to their regret, And not a Rubber Shoe. But I must not go back a jot To Gentile or to Jew ; But close this song, which is so long, About the Rubber Shoe. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 255 THE SEQUESTERED HARP. A BALLAD. A SWEET-TONED Harp, the artist s skill Had fashioned in a glen, Whose witching notes the soul might thrill Of all save soulless men. But such seemed they to whom was given That mute though precious lyre ; All wasted were its tones of heaven, Its power the breast to inspire. For none the awakening power could bring Whose hand those chords had swept, And on each unregarded string The hidden music slept. At length unto that lovely glen A mighty minstrel came, Who, in the homes of prouder men, Had gained the meed of fame. The stranger took the Harp awhile, That, (with a wonted pleasure,) His leisure hours he might beguile, And tuned the strings to measure. Nor deemed he such a wondrous strain Those rude chords could imprison, As, when he touched the lyre again, Answered with notes Elysian. 256 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND He started at the thrilling sound, His casual touch awaking, Through grove and valley rang around, The glen s deep stillness breaking. As up into the far blue sky The harp-freed music sprang, With echoes of that melody The wilchvale loudly rang. The rustics round the harper stood, And marvelled at his skill ; As strains of gay or plaintive mood Responded to his will. " Was this the Harp," they loudly cry, " Which we so disregarded ? And had this wealth of melody Beneath its chords been hoarded ? " And oft, when day s hard toil was o er, And eve brought hour for leisure, They gathered round the harper s door, To list the lyre s sweet measure. But the minstrel tired of the lonely glen, And far away went he ; He left the Harp with those humble men, When he passed o er the deep blue sea. Long years went by ; and when once more He greeted his native strand, The mingled dust his sandals bore Of many a distant land. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 257 For he had trod the stately halls Of England s youthful queen, And round " auld Scotia s " mouldering walls His form had erst been seen ; And he had stood where brilliant skies Bend over beauty s home, And classic temples greet the eyes Beside a Moslem dome. And then he went where Afric s sun Its deserts through ages has fired ; And in haunts which the love of ease would shun, He faltered never, nor tired. He went where the idolized crocodile creeps In the Nile s long-hallowed wave, And where the ancient Pharaohs sleep Within their mountain-like grave. He had stood where, with deep, majestic flow, The Euphrates rolls his tide ; And where, with murmurings scarce more slow, The waves of the Jordan glide. And the pilgrim s foot had pressed the height, To the Christian all sacred still, Though Omar s mosque, with splendor bright, Now stands on Zion s hill. There was not a consecrated spot Of deserted Palestine, But the minstrel still unwearied sought, To him t was a sacred shrine. 22* 258 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND And when lie returned, t was a theme for the songs Which delighted each listening ear, And around him were gathered admiring throngs, The chanted tradition to hear. And he thought not then of the harp he had left So desolate, hung on the willow, Which seemed of each wakening impulse bereft, When he crossed o er the rolling billow. Not a thrilling note, or rapturous tone, Had been drawn from those harp-strings since then, Or aught, save a low and heart-searching moan, When the night breezes swept through the glen. But at length into that secluded dell The minstrel came gladly again, And they brought him the harp he had loved so well, Ere he traversed the heaving main. But one master-sweep o er the trembling strings, And one glad word over them spoken ; Then a paean of joy through the wild glen rings, And the wind-worn harp lies broken. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 259 THE TASK OF DEATH. PART FIRST. Now the morning sun, on the old church tower, Is throwing its crimson light ; And a shadowy form, at that early hour, Is roused from the slumbers of night. He sitteth him down in the grave-yard dank, Neath the cypress, old and tall ; Where the gloomy nightshade groweth rank, And the weeds overtop the wall. An aspect all ghastly and pale he wears, But he hath neither pulse, nor breath ; And the quiver of darts, that he ever bears, Proclaims that his name is DEATH. Alone, seated there on the cold, damp ground, Amid the mementoes of woe, How mournfully strange is the fearful sound Of his muttering, wild and low. " T was a good day s work, and they ve dug the graves For the victims of yesterday ; How joyously now each dark yew waves, As in glad sympathy. We well may rejoice, for I have stilled The wailings of woes and of fears ; I have broken the cups that T found were filled With misery s bitterest tears. 260 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND " The first that I found on the yestermorn Was an aged man, and lone ; A wandering outcast forsaken, forlorn, And shelter, and food, having none. Then I wrapped, with my shroud, his wasted frame, As my merciful hand he blessed ; And a gladsome smile o er his features came When I bade him lie down to his rest. "And next, a sight more mournful was seen, A girl who was weary of life ; This world must ever look dark, I ween, To the mother, but never a wife. Then, as all other friends forsook, On me, in accents wild, She called ; and, in my arms, I took The mother, and the child. I saw a matron, wan, and pale, A vile inebriate s wife ; She was too gentle, and too frail, For Fate s relentless strife ; I was about to pass her by, But she faintly whispered Death ! I met her mild imploring eye, And then I took her breath. The drunkard looked, with a stricken heart, On the relics of his bride ; He screamed then wildly snatched my dart, And they laid him by her side. " But I, for to-day, have another plan ; I will go where they wish me not, To the haunts of the proud, and prosperous man, Where " The Terror King " now is forgot. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 261 To them it shall be a horrible day, And the strong shall be the weak ; In vain they 11 implore me to turn away, And obey me, with a shriek." PAKT SECOND. The church gleamed forth, through the golden flood Of morn s increasing light ; And the glittering spire, above it stood, In a sheen of glory bright. Now, merrily out, from that old church tower, Rings the chime of marriage bells ; Woe ! woe ! to the bride ! if the coming hour Her young heart with rapture swells. She is standing there, midst her bridal maids, A merry, and " snow-white choir," With the orange bloom in her shining braids, But quenched is her eye s bright fire. And ever it groweth more sadly wild As the bell more loudly peals ; And that face, which once was so soft and mild, An emotion strange reveals. They have waited long for the wished-for smile ; They have checked each rising tear ; They have striven forebodings to beguile ; And have lulled each fancied fear. But see ! from that wild despairing eye, A joyous light brilliantly gleams ; As when, at eve, o er the Arctic sky, Aurora transiently streams. 262 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND She hath caught a glimpse of the phantom dark, Who intrudes on the festive hour ; Yet little do those around her mark That Death s in the bridal bower. " She sees a hand, they cannot see, Which beckons her away ; She hears a voice, they cannot hear, Which bids her not delay." " O Death ! O Death ! I gladly will go, For thee have I waited long ; Thy voice, to others oft bringing but woe, Is sweeter to me than their song. They never have dreamed of the misery I had hidden within this breast ; They have little thought there was agony That could make thee a welcome guest. And when, by others, bade to wed, I felt my fate was sealed ; So faint was every power, and dead, Nought could I do but yield. " Thou wonderest, Death ! but bethink thee now Of a fair and noble youth, To whom I had breathed my earliest vow, I had pledged my love, and truth. Thou hast broken the bands we secretly wove, Thou hast snatched him rudely away ; But the vows which we made are recorded above, And I 11 wed with him to-day. Yes, lay me quickly down by his side, His own and unperjured one ; For I never could be a faithful bride, But to thee, and him alone." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 263 " I will go," said Death, " where there s been no past The joys of the present to dim ; To the infant all sorrows but transiently last, And life ever looks brilliant to him." So he went where a child, in its innocent charms, Was sporting in joyous play ; And he took the babe from his mother s arms, To carry him far away. " O Death ! O Death ! thou art foolish now ; That young boy knoweth not thee, Thou hast laid thine hand on his fair white brow, And it gently stilleth his glee. Thy shadow is passing over his sight, But he thinks it the twilight hour ; It darkens now, he believes it is night, And still have thy terrors no power. He scarcely starteth thy voice to hear, Believing he s chanted to rest, And calmly, as thou wert his mother dear, He has laid him to sleep on thy breast." "I will go," said Death, "where they 11 know me well, Nor my voice be unconsciously heard ; They shall shiver, and shrink, at my merciless spell, And tremble with awe at my word." Where a mother sat, midst her household band, That Terror King must go. " O stay, I pray thee, Death ! thine hand, Deal not at her a blow. Her cheek is blenched, but not with fear, As she listens to thy command, 264 SHELLS FROM THE STKANI) And without a sigh without one tear, She takes thee now by the hand." " O Death ! O Death ! I knew thou wouldst come, That thus thine entrance might be, I never have looked on this earth as a home, Or aught but a troubled sea And the city, to which life s frail bark sails, Is Jerusalem the new ; And we, or with kind, or with adverse gales, That haven should keep in view. " Thou, thou, O Death ! art the pilot kind To guide the mariner home ; Now guided by thee, my Saviour I 11 find ; Jesus ! to Thee I come. Yet ere from the loved ones I pass away, I would bid them a fond farewell ; They know not the joys of a dying day, Its bliss no tongue may e er tell. " My husband, weep not! for the love of years May not pass with the fleeting breath ; We have journeyed long through this vale of tears, Nor divided can be by Death. My children, weep not ! though the grave looks drear, And fearfully dark to your view, Yet to me t is a portal, all bright and clear, To a mansion created anew. " And from thence I will watch, if permitted it be, O er the ones I have cherished on earth ; I will mingle unseen, and noiselessly, With the band at my household hearth. But if this may not be, there $ a watchful eye, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 265 That never can slumber, or sleep ; There s a Friend, and Preserver, who 11 ever be nigh, My orphan d ones kindly to keep. " Now, Death ! I will willingly go with thee, For thou canst not enchain me long ; And to HIM, who my sure Deliverer will be, Shall be lifted a joyful song. For I shall live in that terrible day When the skies like a scroll have fled ; When the very earth shall have passed away, And when even DEATH is dead." " I will go," said Death, " where the Christian s hope, And faith, have not been known ; Those, whom I call, through my valley must grope Unguided, and alone." Where a young man stood, in a gorgeous hall, Death aimed his relentless blow ; He means that the joyous carnival Shall be changed to a scene of woe. Must he leave that young and beautiful bride ? Must he leave that princely state ? Must he go, from this splendor and this pride, On thee, dread King ! to wait ? Must his eyes be sealed to the pageant proud, They now are preparing for him ? Must his ears be closed to their plaudits loud ? The shout, and the choral hymn ? " O Death ! O Death ! thou rt a welcome guest, Though I deemed not that thou wast near, But I willingly lay me down on thy breast, 23 266 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND And thy voice I willingly hear. Thou kindly hast come to keep me from shame, From contempt, where they d gladly deride ; Thou alone canst preserve my newly won fame, And the love of my innocent bride. " Thou knowest not, Death ! of the fearful past Thy victim had long been concealing ; That at hand was the day for stern justice, at least, And that were too dark for revealing. It was life, and not death, which would bring a dread, To him, who, in youth s thoughtless prime, By the arts of the wicked was recklessly led To folly, ah yes, and to crime. " The crime was. concealed, but the envious now Are madly displacing the shroud ; Their efforts will cease, when they learn, Death, that tho The lofty one suddenly bowed. Now my wife shall ne er know that a felon s lot She shared so unconsciously here ; And the wreath which, with life, from my temples ha dropped, Will be evergreen over my bier." " I will go," said Death, " where crime and despair Have never as yet caused a groan ; To seclusion, so peaceful and happy, that there Nor shame, nor remorse can be known." To a strange old turret the tyrant went, Where, afar from the world s rude din, The life of a student was happily spent By the wise old man within. And calmly up the philosopher stood, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 267 And welcomed the spectre grim ; He was ne er to be brought to a trembling mood, Even Death could not terrify him. " O Death ! O Death ! thy form I can tell, Though I never have seen thee before ; But, in books, I have studied thee long and well, And I wish for their teachings no more. I have tired of all they call wisdom on earth, I have found it but vanity ; To but vain desires can it ever give birth, And from these I would gladly be free. " I have entered the temple of Science to find But its outer court open to me ; For it ne er is permitted a mortal mind To fathom her mystery. Yes, knowledge, to me, has been like a cave In which I must enter alone ; In the light, which my flambeau so fitfully gave, Its spars, and stalactites shone " There was beauty there, but it transiently beamed, There was splendor contrasted with gloom, When I grasped at the gem which most brilliantly gleamed, Its light would then cease to illume. I have striven to thread its devious ways, But t was labor spent vainly by me, They have never proved aught but a labyrinth maze, My reward but perplexity. " I found myself mocked, when some inner retreat I thought my hard labors had crowned, With beauty undimmed, and with riches replete ; T was beyond an impassable bound. 268 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Life now is, to me, but a wearisome coil, Its fetters a festering chain, Its labors are each but a thankless toil, Its pleasures are empty and vain. " I have stood, like a boy, on the wave-beaten shore Of a broad arid boundless sea;* There were treasures untold in the vast depths before, But the stones on the strand were for me. I would fain overleap those barrier waves, * And descend to the regions below ; Of its coralline groves, and gem-brightened caves, Of its beauty, and wealth, would I know. " Yes, Death, I will go for I ve heard them speak Of a world that is better than this ; The faith they believed, I derided as weak, To know it were true would be bliss. I gladly would drink at the fountain where The taster shall thirst ne er again ; Can the soul s deep yearnings be satisfied there ? O Death, have they hoped it in vain ? But the question, pondered most long and deep, Shall be solved o er breathless clay, If we lie down to an endless sleep, Or wake to eternal day." TART THIRD. Now the evening sun, on the old church tower, Is throwing a halo bright ; And its slender spire, in that radiant hour, Stands up like a spear of light, * " I seem to myself like a boy picking up pebbles upon the shore, while the vast ocean of knowledge lies undiscovered before me." Sir Isaac Newton. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 269 While out from the tower the clear solemn sounds Of the vesper bell pealeth aloud, A dark form flits o er the new-made mounds, Like the shade of a passing cloud. He sitteth him down in the grave-yard dank, Neath the cypress old and tall ; Where the gloomy nightshade groweth rank, And the weeds overtop the wall. While seated there, on the cold damp ground, He muttereth deep and low ; That strange wild voice breathed a fearful sound, Like wail when night breezes blow. " My day s work is done, and they ve dug the graves For those I have taken to-day ; And the dark-leaved yew now mournfully waves O er the buried of yesterday. A matron I took, both now, and then, A damsel I took, and a child ; There were young men taken, and each called when Life s mid-day sun had just smiled. There were old men too but the task was in vain I allotted myself for this day ; My terrors were treated by all with disdain, And they gladly went with me away. " There s a POWER above which the mind can bring To receive me joyfully ; As it pleaseth HIM can I have a sting, Or the grave a victory. I 11 accomplish the task HE s assigned to me, For the work is not chosen, but given, And, henceforth, will the faithful messenger be Of the HOLY ONE of Heaven." 23* 270 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND LAST EFFORT OF THE POETESS. NAY, ask not, and think not, again I may lay A tribute upon our shrine ; For the gift and the spirit of poesy, I now may not claim as mine. Yet often before me, by night and by day, Have visions of loveliness passed, Like the shadowy forms which people dreams, With a beauty that may not last. And vainly I ve prayed that the magical power Might once more be given to me, To picture them forth with a pencil so true, That others their beauty might see. But Oh ! there s a sickness within my heart, There s a feverish whirl in my brain ; And the clear, bright thoughts of earlier days, May never be mine again. Yet I would not heed the temple s throb, Nor the pulse s feverish thrill, So that feelings and powers which once were mine, Might gladden my being still. Again I would drink at that sparkling fount, But its waters in vapor arise ; And the misty wreaths which around me curl, Only dim and bewilder my eyes. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 271 And wildly invoking the forms of the past, They come at the sound of my breath ; But they stand, as the prophet of old arose, Arrayed in the mantle of death. And silently I shall depart to my rest For mine s not the swan-like power, To breathe forth a sweeter and lovelier lay, The nearer the dying hour. Yet haply, ere Death in his wasting career, His robe o er my weakness hath cast, My spirit may hearken, and vividly hear A strain of the shadowy past. 272 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND THE TRUE MOURNER. THE King of Scotland, James VI., ordered his courtiers to appear at the palace in mourning, at the announcement of the murder o/ his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots. One nobleman came in complete armor, as the mourning suit best befitting this occasion. THE deed was done ; and Scotland s Queen A murdered victim lay ; For England s minions well I ween Their ruthless queen obey. And Scotland s king sends forth his word That all to him repair, With sable weeds, to Holyrood, Those emblems of despair. A thronging host surround their king With mantle black and plume ; With sounds of woe the court-yards ring, The palace rests in gloom. But, see ! that dark-robed host among That mailed intruder dare ; Yet he, of all the sable throng, Was the true mourner there. The corselet pressed a swelling breast ; The casque concealed hot tears ; The sword, which scarcely lay at rest, Fit mourning badge appears. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 273 Thus should we grieve whene er we see Our fellow-men oppressed ; Our sisters, " by one holy tie," With wrongs all unredressed ; Not tamely should sit down and mourn, But nerve us for the fight ; Should gird our sword and armor on, And battle for the right. 274 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND "HE IS NOT HERE HE IS RISEN." MOTHER! weep not o er the new-made grave Of the child, who was taken so soon from your care, Come not again where the young willows wave, Breathe here no more the broken heart s prayer ; This is no place for the sigh and the tear, Thine infant has risen it lieth not here. Father ! who prayest, as never before, That strength may be given to drink of this cup ; The joy of thine age, of thy being, is o er, Thy hope has been taken, but still bear thee up Bend not in agony over this bier, Thy son has arisen he lieth not here. Sister! who seekest, in twilight and gloom, The place where the loved and departed doth lay, Though the form is now resting within this dark tomb, And, mouldering to dust, is now the cold clay Yet, life for thy hope, and death for thy fear, Thy brother has risen he lieth not here. Brother ! who comest, at even-tide, To mourn for the friend of thy childhood and youth, The dead and the living by faith are allied, And the grave is now whispering this gladdening truth, " Weep not for him, who once was so dear, Thy friend has arisen he lieth not here." OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 275 Maiden ! who comest and breathest thy moan, Bending in agony over this dust, Hope for the future ! and this shall atone For the stroke which has shaken thy love and thy trust Faith bids thee look up, where he will appear, For the loved one has risen he lieth not here. Widow ! who gazest far over the deep, Shrouding the form which sank there to rest, Neath the blue waves the earthly may sleep, But the spirit has gone to the land of the blest Those waters will evermore chant to thine ear, Thy husband has risen he lieth not here. Christian ! wherever a grave hath been made, On whate er spot may a monument rise, In whate er place may a corse have been laid, Thence there is pealing this chant to the skies, Loudly it soundeth, and ever more clear " The spirit has risen it cannot lie here." 276 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND LAMENT OF THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK. OH, ladies, will you listen to a little orphan s tale ? And pity her whose youthful voice must breathe so sad a wail ; Nor shrink so from the wretched form, obtruding on your view, As though the heart, which in it dwells, must be as loathsome too. Full well I know that mine would be a strange, repulsive mind, Were the outward form an index true of the soul within it shrined ; But though I am so all devoid of the loveliness of youth, Yet deem me not as destitute of its innocence and truth. And ever in this hideous frame, I strive to keep the light Of faith in God, and love to man, still shining pure and bright ; Though hard the task, I ofttimes find, to keep the channel free, Whence all the sweet affections flow to those who love not me. I sometimes take a little child quite softly on my knee, I hush it with my gentlest tones, and kiss it tenderly ; But my kindest words will not avail, my form cannot be screened, And the babe recoils from my embrace, as though I were a fiend. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 277 I sometimes, in my walks of toil, meet children at their play; For a moment will my pulses fly, and I join the band so gay ; But they depart with hasty steps, while their lips and nostrils curl, Nor e en their childhood s sports will share with the little crooked girl. But once it was not thus with me ; I was a dear-loved child ; A mother s kiss oft pressed my brow, a father on me smiled ; No word was ever o er me breathed, but in affection s tone, For I to them was very near their cherished only one. But sad the change which me befell, when they were laid to sleep, Where the earth-worms, o er their mouldering forms, their noisome revels keep ; For of the orphan s hapless fate there were few or none to care, And burdens on my back were laid, a child should never bear. And now, in this offensive form, their cruelty is viewed For first upon me came disease and deformity ensued : Woe ! woe to her, for whom not even this life s earliest stage, Could be redeemed from the bended form, and decrepitude of age. And yet of purest happiness I have some transient gleams ; T is when, upon my pallet rude, I lose myself in dreams: The gloomy present fades away ; the sad past seems forgot ; And in those visions of the night, mine is a blissful lot. The dead then come and visit me : I hear my father s voice ; I hear that gentle mother s tones, which make my heart re joice ; 24 278 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Her hand once more is softly placed upon my aching brow, And she soothes my every pain away, as if an infant now. But sad is it to wake again, to loneliness and fears ; To find myself the creature yet of misery and tears : And then, once more, I try to sleep, and know the thrilling bliss, To see again my father s smile, and feel my mother s kiss. And sometimes, then, a blessed boon has unto me been given An entrance to the spirit-world, a foretaste here of heaven , I have heard the joyous anthems swell, from voice and golden lyre, And seen the dearly loved of earth join in that gladsome choir. And I have dropped this earthly frame, this frail, disgusting clay, And, in a beauteous spirit-form, have soared on wings away; I have bathed my angel-pinions in the floods of glory bright, Which circle, with their brilliant waves, the throne of living light. I have joined the swelling chorus of the holy, glittering bands, Who ever stand around that throne, with cymbals in their hands : But the dream would soon be broken by the voices of the morn, And the sunbeams send me forth again, the theme of jest and scorn. I care not for their mockery now the thought disturbs me not, That, in this little span of life, contempt should be my lot ; OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 279 But I would gladly welcome here, some slight reprieve from pain, And I d murmur of my back no more, if it might not ache again. Full well I know this ne er can he, till I with peace am blest, Where the heavy-laden sweetly sleep, and the weary are at rest ; Where these lips shall be forever sealed, earth s weary toil be done, And Death shall throw his friendly shroud o er the unsightly one. 280 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND THE LAME CHILD TO HER MOTHER. MOTHER, what makes you look so sad ? a tear is in your eye, Your breast with sighs doth often heave, mother, what makes you cry Is it for me, your crippled girl, that thus you often weep, That fear and grief with withering touch across your heart strings sweep ? I know I am a helpless one ; my steps may never fall With bounding gladness at your side, or in my father s hall ; For I dependant still must be as lengthening years pass by, An infant in my helplessness till in the grave I lie. But this is not the cause that brings such scalding tears from thee, It is not that I ne er can be of any use to thee ; It is, I know, because you think my childish heart is sad, But, mother dear, though I am lame, there s much to make me glad. My sisters bring their garlands bright, of fresh and lovely flowers, They bring to you the berries plucked in merry leisure hours. I do not this, but while I sit, my muslin is inwrought With fruits and flowers as beautiful, as those that they have brought. Then, as my snowy wreaths I place around your neck and head, I think that they will still be fresh when all of theirs are dead. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 281 And if I with my pencil trace the scene they make so gay, My sketch will still delight them all when they have ceased to play. And oft the children s merry sports my bounding heart will share, I seem to feel the merry swing that rushes through the air, I m first to know who s out and in, I watch the bounding ball, And almost start, as down it comes, to catch it ere it fall. But when they choose their plays afar, that I ne er see or share, Why then I take my book and sit in my small easy-chair ; The pleasant things I often read sure I should never know If 1 could dance and run about where other children go. I sometimes think the guests that come, and praise my active mind, Who linger oft around me so, and look so pleased and kind, That they would pass me quickly by, and scarcely ask my name, But that I am a little girl, and oh, so very lame. It seemeth too that I have more of my kind father s love, Because my helplessness and pain doth his compassion move, He often strains me to his heart, and takes me on his knee, And tells me of his fondest love, and speaks so tenderly. How blessed is my lot in this, the ill that on me came Has opened every heart to me, and yet I m only lame ; For with their love and sympathy I ve still such blessings left, The outward world is not to me of loveliness bereft. 24* 282 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Had I been blind had earth ne er been thus glorious to mine eye, Could ne er have watched the sparkling stars, or seen the clouds go by, What pleasure lost would this have been, that now is bliss to me, But I can now admire them all, dear mother, I can see. The joyous sounds of morning ring now gaily in mine ear, The pensive tones of even-tide, these also I can hear, The strains of joy from human voice that float upon the air, All sounds of sorrow or delight with others I can share. But, better far than this the thought, that I can fondly love, That deeper feelings rest with me, because I cannot rove, All fond affections in my heart are nursed by constant thought, And this, dear mother, is a gift I still to you have brought. At times I m sad, because on earth, my limbs should thus be bound, But then I raise my thoughts to HIM whose love is all around, To whom we never need to go, save with our hearts in prayer, Who keeps the humblest little child in His unfailing care. And oft I think of that blest time, when, free in every limb, I 11 wing my way up to His throne, and be still nearer HIM, Then, mother, in that perfect birth, I ll bless His holy name, That, when HE fashioned me for earth, HE made me only lame. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 283 THE DREAM-LAND. I. THERE s a beautiful land t is the land of dreams ; T is watered by sparkling though ideal streams, Tis blessed with a balmy and unchanging clime, Has vales of green beauty, and mountains sublime ; T is laved by an ocean ne er tossed by rude storms, T is peopled with slight and aerial forms, Tis shadowed by clouds, of all-glorious dies, Which sail o er the depths of cerulean skies ; Its sun shines unclouded o er cities of gold, The wealth of its temples may never be told, Its palaces glow with the radiant light Of diamonds and rubies and gems ever bright ; Its groves with rich fragrance stand ever arrayed, Its flowers are of brilliance that never may fade, Its fountains send upward their unbroken gleams, And a beautiful land is the land of dreams. II. 1 love from earth s toils, from its sorrows, to hie, And, on Fancy s light wings, to the dream-land I fly, To hear the lo v hymns of the soft waving trees, And the anthem the waterfall sings to the breeze, The loud hallelujahs which constantly rise Where the cataract lifteth its voice to the skies. But sweeter than these are the musical tones Of the joyous, the cherished, the beautiful ones, 284 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Who come to me there with unfaltering voice, And bid me be fearless, take heart, and rejoice. Oh, these are the friends who never grow old ; And theirs is the love which never seems cold ; I hear the glad tones of affection, which fall On mine ear with an accent which never may pall, And my heart swelleth high as it lists to that word Which save in the dream-land it never hath heard. There the ties which we form, Death never may break, There the friends are all true they never forsake, They turn not away they never seem strange, In the dream-land is friendship which never may change. III. Yes, I go to the dream-land and there I grow strong To bear the sad burden of sorrow and wrong, Which Earth presseth hard on the neck of her child, And leaveth it seldom by gladness beguiled. I never hope here for the joys of that land, But midst its dark tempests more firmly I stand, For I think that at times from its storms I can flee, Where there s brightness, unminglcd with darkness, for me ; I hear with more calmness the edicts of fate When I think of the pleasures which still can elate ; I look with a tenderness on the lost friend Whose affections I early had mourned at an end, For I find in the dream-land the sympathy lost, The love which or death or estrangement had crossed. Then my heart is renewed as it bathes in the bliss Which it finds in that land, but expects not in this, And mine eye drinketh in the full brightness which streams In an unfailing flood o er the blessed land of dreams. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 285 IV. There are times when my soul, with a purer delight, Plumes its wings for another, and holier flight; When it seeks for its joy and its strength at the throne OF THE HIGH AND THE HOLY ALL-GLORIOUS ONE ; When it looketh afar, o er the shadows of earth, And over the land where dreams have their birth, It craveth a foretaste of heavenly joy, Of bliss which is real, yet hath no alloy ; Where our dear ones have life, but death never know ; Where all, which in fondness we cling to below, Is transferred in beauty to regions on high, Where the bright is the fadeless the frail may not die, Where the fair and the noble are all that they seem, And truth, love, and gladness, are aught but a dream. 286 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND ROOM FOR THE DEAD. THE following lines were suggested by hearing an allusion to that beautifal Swedenborgian superstition, that the dead, though invisible, are ever around us. " Ye are not dead to us ; But as bright stars unseen, We hold that ye are ever near, Though death intrudes between, Like some thin cloud, that veils from sight The countless spangles of the night." ROOM for the dead ! O, let them come, with gentle noiseless tread, And hold communion sweet, once more, With those that they have loved in days of yore. As though we heard their voices in the air, For the departed ones we will prepare : Nay, but they are not gone ; for, even yet, Among the fire-side circle they shall sit ; Bringing, to earth, their blessings from afar, Like light and guidance of some brilliant star. Room for the dead ! Room for the dead ! Here let that old man come, with silvered head ! And, though ye may not see him sitting there, Yet taketh he again the old arm-chair, And casts around a look benign, while we Bend, as in youth, to him the filial knee. His trembling hand shall rest, ere he depart, Upon my head ; "his blessing on my heart. Room for the dead ! OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 287 Room for the dead ! For her who erst my infant footsteps led ! Who loved me, with a mother s holiest love; And keepeth watch, from her bright home above, Save when she comes, with unseen step and smile, And bids me wait here patiently awhile, Enduring all, with firm unwavering faith, And looking calmly for approach of Death ! Room for the dead ! Room for the dead ! For those with whom such bright hours sped, When we have met, in light and careless play, And frolicked childhood s sunny hours away. They were an angel band and Death hath made No change, save that by changdesmess conveyed : Theirs is the lot of an immortal youth; They come to me with childhood s love and truth. Room for the dead ! Room for the dead ! Brother, return ! thou bringest here no dread, Though thou, neath Ocean s waves, wast laid to sleep, My faith shall bid thee rise, and walk upon the deep : H^re thou shalt meet with those who, neath the sod, Have left the body to await its Maker GOD. And thou shalt tell them Death is e er the same, Whether he come in wave, or sword, or flame. Re om for the dead ! Room for the dead ! Room for the loved one ; whom, in youth, I wed Back to my arms and heart, O, let him come, And gladden, with his presence, slill this home. 288 SHELLS FROM THE STEAND Then I will wipe my widow s tears away, Again with him I ll kneel, and softly pray; I 11 sit, and gaze with rapture, in his eyes, And sing, with him, the song of Paradise. Room for the dead ! Room for the dead ! For him o er whom my poor wrung heart has bled ; Now let me see my cherub boy once more, And all a mother s fondness o er him pour ; T was Heav n that gave, and Ileav n that took away, And I with resignation well may pray, Since joy is mine, that, on my throbbing breast, My child again may lie, and take sweet rest. Room for the dead ! Room for the dead ! Come ye for whom my board hath oft been spread ; Seats are prepared, and we a feast will make, Of which the u-nseen ones may well partake. Here we our converse joyfully will hold, Of Heaven, its King, its courts, and streets of gold This earth shall grow more beautiful as we Lift up the veil, that hides eternity, And happiness our homes will ne er forsake, If, at our hearths and boards, we ever make Room for the dead. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 289 THE HEATHEN WIFE. They answered and said unto Ezra, " We have trespassed against our GOD and have taken strange wives of the people of the land ; yet now there is hope in Israel concerning this thing. Now, therefore, let us make a covenant with our GOD to put away all the wives, and such as are born of them, according to the counsel of my lord, and of those that tremble at the commandment of our GOD ; and let it be done according to the law." BIBLE. MEENA. AND now the evening s light, like garment pale, Hangs o er Jerusalem. The arching heavens, Without one cloud to break the stern deep blue. Enclose the scene ; as though, its pure embrace Within, it held a purer earth than skies Of distant lands e er look upon. That moon afar See how, like a thin burnished shred of clouds Once there, she in the ether hangs as she Were but a lone and modest guest in that Far sky, and gives to us her placid smile That Earth may holier if not brighter seem. The breezes now sing pensively their hymn To the hushed earth, and Jordan s waves send back A murmur of response. Save these I hear No sound but breathings faint of my hushed babe. I wish the boy would wake, for e en his cries To still were better far than here to sit So fearfully alone. This is, mayhap, As I have often heard, a sacred land ; But ah, to me its holiness is gloom ; Its temple is a place for awe and fear : 25 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Its priests are solemn men, whose glances fierce Strike in my soul deep dread. Those, too, whom once I pitied much, and cheered and smiled upon, The daughters of the land, look on me cold And proud ; not as mine eye fell then on theirs When strangers they in a strange far-off" land. Yet this would nothing be were Hanan s eye The same, his tones unchanged, his love as firm And strong as when he poured, by Babel s streams, Upon my ever-willing ear, those hopes And fears and vows which then were love. T is gone Oh, no, it is not gone, that cherished love. My heart still riseth up, and pleads for his, Whene er a doubt intrudes. Yet passing strange It seems that he so often now doth leave My side, nor telleth e er, why thus away ; And seems as pained whene er I speak of this. Why may I not his troubles share ? Ah me ! There have been new-born thoughts my soul within, On which I would not look ; and whose faint cry I stifled quick. They tell me that But here He comes, and now himself shall tell me all. HANAN. Meena at this late hour in this lone spot ! Why here ? I bade thee wait me not. Thy couch Hath long awaited thee. The shadows fall Upon thine eyes, and their bright lustre veil. The hues of even-tide with thy cheek s glow Now darkly blend, and hide from me, from all, Thy loveliness. Now to thy couch for though OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 291 Thou beauty hast, and grace, yet both increase With day s bright beams, and I will look on thee, And on thy babe, with morrow s dawn. MEENA. Ha nan ! On me, and on my babe, why not now look ? From us why turn ? But I to ihee must speak Ere my couch greeteth me, and thou must hear, And thou must speak to me of that thy heart Within that lieth hid. The light fond wc;rds I heard but now are not the ones which press, In thy full heart, for utterance first. At times like this such trivial words weigh down Upon my soul more than the heaviest may. Now tell me, in this midnight hour, with stars Hung brightening o er us both, and moonlight calm In all the air, o er all the earth, and here Our babe in happy sleep upon my knee Now tell me solemn words, such as my love, Earnest and fond and true, hath merited From thee. HANAN. Meena ; affection, such as thine, So constant, pure and deep, should win for thee Love in return such as I may not give. A husband is not all I ve been to thee, But thy divinity, thy god. Such love I might not e er return, except with one Which would be falsehood to my GOD. I may Not now be true to HIM and thee. Meena ; With falsehood to my GOD I too am false 292 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND To self and thee. With truth to HIM I still Am true to all on earth. From me shrink not; But let thy true love be thy strength. In wedding thee I sinned ; but to persist In wrong can ne er repair the fault. And now Amidst the jubilee we shout, the praise We sing for Israel s deliverance Ascend the notes of lamentation deep In that we turned aside from Moses law, And Abraham s GOD. We sing hosannas loud That we from bondage now are free, but we Repent with prayer and sacrifice for sins Like this, and earnestly beseech that HE Will turn aside His wrath, His vengeance spare, Though we have sinned so fearfully this once ; Though we have taken aliens to our sides, And heathen wives unto our hearts. Meena ! T was cruelty to thee in that thy love I wooed, yet not a meditated wrong. When we were taken captives to thy land There was a death of hopes high hopes, that thou Canst ne er conceive. We by our GOD were now Forsook ; our land no longer ours ; our homes To strangers all were given Jerusalem Sat like a widow desolate, in tears. Then Zion mourned upon her holy hill We midst the Gentiles dwelt strangers our lords. And yet we lived on us the morning dawned ; The bright sun rose, and set, and rose again. Night came with darkness wished, and then away It passed. We lived but still to us no life Was in our life, for hope and joy were dead. T was then I first met thee : I was alone. OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 293 There was no one to wish me joy, or strive To share my woes. The daughters of our race They sat them down by Babel s streams and wept ; Their harps upon the willows hung ; their songs Of praise were mute. Their countenances sad I could not look upon. Yes, then I saw Thee first. Thy face was bright with hope ; And when thy smile upon the captive fell, Twas light of morn to him. Sadness at times Was on thy brow ; but only when from mine A shadow darkly passed, and rested there. But then how soon t was light and peace again ! The floweret frail looks upward to the sun And the bruised reptile seeks the softest moss The heart-pierced bird flies to his downy nest The wounded beast hies to the thicket s shade. Thus sought I thee ; my heart was never thine T was in Jerusalem ; and in the void It left was never love, but thy affection there Was as a roseate veil hung o er a recess dark. And how I prized that beauteous shroud. With thee, As in a fitful dream, passed life awhile And then I woke. Awoke to find that GOD, Our Great and Holy GOD, still cared for us ; That HE would turn to us, if we would but Return to HIM that all past promised joys, And blessings great, should be vouchsafed to us, If we His law would still obey, and still JEHOVAH GOD would worship and adore. But HE a sacrifice will ne er accept From hands unclean, or hearts untrue. His last commandment we must all obey All who in this have sinned, and wed strange wives, 25* 294 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND And in this thing have sinfully forgot The daughters of Jerusalem. This day We all have met, confessed our wrong, and sworn To put-from us what in His sacred eye Is an abomination foul. MEENA. This was the thought I would not think ; The fear I would not dread ; the ill I hoped Against so long. The mystery is solved. And yet it was not this ; for he, who thus Can speak, Hanan, is surely never thee. Thy words upon mine ear have fallen now, And yet I do not take their import strange. Husband ! I dream that thou hast been unkind. Forgive ; for oh, I struggle gainst the dream. Speak, love ; and break this spell. Support me I am stunned T will soon be o er, and I will smile on thee, And dissipate thy gloom ; yes, here, in thine Own land, how happy we will be. Yet, no ! T is not a dream. She who upon thy breast Her head hath laid, is now " strange wife " her love An unclean thing, her words " abomination foul." And thou hast never loved but twas well feigned, Or I was very weak. You sought a bride As the worn traveller takes a cordial cup ; Or he who fain would sleep, an opiate ; Or as the Bacchanalian seeks his wine ; And drew affections forth, as bright skies win The new-fledged birds, to send them back, as soiled And wounded things, to the heart s home ; now left, OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 295 By the rude storm o erswept, so desolate. My love for you went forth as morning prayer, E en in departure bringing purity ; And while its memory will ever live Within my heart, giving each word its tone, Each look its woe, each dream, by night or day, The all of which our dreams are ever made, T will nothing be to thee. Full well I know Twill be my thought at morn, my word at noon, And aye at eve my meditation be. Mem ry, with thee, will be but that o er which To reign triumphantly ; yea, to exult As when beneath thy feet a scorpion Lies crushed. Hanan ! if thy great fearful GOD Demands of thee a purer, holier love, Than that which erst has blest our lives Has he for thee a task, which better is Than to make happy those, whose happiness Upon thy love and kindly care depends, Then art thou now forgiven by that GOD. I to a gentler shrine will now return. But ah ! I ne er can kneel as I have knelt. I ne er, until I gave my heart to thee, But happiness had known. Then first my soul Felt sadness, like soft shadows, o er it steal, And learned to love the fascinating gloom. Kind deeds, like summer showers, upon thy race Were poured by me, and mine. Thou hadst still more. Thy lofty grief my heart impressed with sense Of high and rarest worth. For thy sad lot I mourned such pity is akin to love. Thy converse grave my admiration won ; And soon in thee I worshipped all my heart 296 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND Had pictured forth as good, and great, and pure When on me fell the shadow of thy grief, It changed to light within my heart. And then, as time passed on, to think my voice Alone was music to thine ear that step Of mine was waited for and my least glance Was to thy heart as sunshine on the stream. To know I linked my fate with one as dark As thine was my first grief ; my first true joy Thou knowest that mine was e er a happy lot In that first home how I was loved, admired, Caressed, and guarded tenderly. My heart Was sought by lovers true, of mine own race, And sought in vain. My love for them was like Some merry bird, which from its nest, in green And fragrant bowers, may not be wooed but still Amidst its blossoms sings, and flutters o er The hands that vainly to imprison strive. My love for thee was like that gentle dove Of which I ve heard thee speak ; which left the ark, So long its sheltering home, and forth it went O er wild and stormy waves. At first a leaf, An olive branch, it plucked ; and, on its stem, A promise bright it saw in embryo there. Full soon the happy bird saw mountain heights, Then forest tops, then hills, and plains, and then The waters all had passed away, and earth Again was beautiful, and bright, and new. The bird has built her nest ; and a sweet one, A tender fledgling there, has centred all The mother s heart within that little spot. Shall waves of bitterness that world o erflow, And that creation new a flood destroy ? OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 297 HANAN. Nay, nay, not so ! the boy is all thine own We both have watched with joy his little limbs Expand have waited his first smile outvied Each other in caresses fond, and we Have triumphed in his infantile exploits. Now he is thine all thine ! take, take him hence ; Let him love thee, and only thee ! and thou For us shalt love and guard and cherish him. MEENA. The child is mine there is then in my night One star, and oh, how bright in Life s wild waste One sparkling stream one verdant spot within A desert track. Must I now give to him The all of love I Ve felt for him and thee ? Then do I fear that I may love too well. Affection, such as mine, must be to him Like offerings heaped upon an altar frail. May they not crush the shrine. He s like a bough, A slender withe, o er which luxuriantly A vine has thrown its weight of tendrils soft, And clustering fruit. May they not break the stem. Or like a harp, o er which uneasy fingers pass, With restless, constant sweep. May they not mar The tones, or break the strings. My boy ! my boy ! From my excess of love, mayst thou no sufferer be. But to be wholly mine, and all that s mine Yet I am not deceived. Hanan ; for this I thank the heathen blood that in these veins Courses its way, not thee. And did thy GOD require That this child s blood should feed his altar fire, 298 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND These limbs upon a gory shrine would soon be laid, And I by thee a childless widow made. Farewell ! HANAN. Turn not away, my wife ! the night is dark, And now t is surely time to seek thy rest : Let s to our home and couch. MEENA. Our home ! our couch ! Nay, I am not thy wife ! I am divorced ; And oh ; the deed is thine. Ne er at thy side Again may I seek rest I wish not sleep Israel may sleep, and dream bright gladsome dreams ; But not a Persian wife or mother here Should close an eye this night. I go from thee, To those who now are partners in my grief. Nay, touch me not not one embrace but thou JMayst kiss the boy there, gently, on his brow ; And where thy lips in this embrace shall rest, There, too, in coming time shall mine be pressed. Hanan, again farewell ! HANAN. Yes, she is gone ! Of all I swore to do I have not spared GOD OF MY FATHERS ! I have yielded all A sacrifice to thee. Bless THOU the deed. On me, and all who with me greatly sinned, And have with me repented of their guilt, Pour THY rich blessings down. Let thine eyes look OF THE SEA OF GENIUS. 299 With favor on thy servants here, and smile Upon Jerusalem. Oh let her glory shine Unto the farthest lands ; and people of all climes Fear us, and also serve and worship THEE. And on THY servant, LORD, who now before THEE kneels in humble penitence, look down. Look graciously, Great GOD ! May all my sins Forgotten be, and blotted from THY book. Bless her, whom as a partner I shall take One now who as her GOD will worship THEE. May she like Rachel loved and lovely be ; Like Leah, mother of a household band, As many olive-plants around her home. And from my loins may promised Shiloh come, To whom all nations, at some future time, Shall gathered be. Let Him, King of all kings, Lord of all earthly lords, Messiah he, Of thy long-chosen race, thy Israel GOD OF MY FATHERS ! let me parent be of Him, Immanuel, the Holy One But what ! Meena ! hast thou returned ? MEENA. I left thee in an angry mood, or one I justly feared might seem as such to thee. I know not well what I should think or speak. But I would e er be kind, nor leave with thee The memory of bitter parting words. I looked behind And saw thee on thy knees in earnest prayer, My heart quick told me this, that thou didst plead For me and mine for strength to bear this stroke 300 SHELLS FROM THE STRAND And blessings on our lot. Unjust to thee I will not ever be ; and will, methink, That e en in this thou hast been true to HIM Whom thou hast worshipped e er true to thyself, The Israelite I loved. And I will still Be true true to myself, our boy, and thee. No ; I will not be sad not when this stroke, In its first bitterness and pain is o er. For I will learn to smile upon my boy, And I will tell him of his father s GOD, Of Abraham s faith, of Moses rites and law, Of all which I have learned in life with thee ; And if it meet his heart, as it has ne er Met mine, and he shall come to worship here, And kneel beside the children of thy wife, Thy blessed and happier wife then lay thine hand Upon his head, and from a father s lips Let a rich blessing sink into his heart, And think, think kindly once, of her who then Will be no more. JANUARY 1, 1847. A LIST OF BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY JAMES MUNROE & COMPANY, 134 JHSfasjjmfltou, pposftc School Street, BOSTON. POETRY, &.C. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. POEMS. In one vol- ume, 16mo. pp. 251. Price CHARLES T. BROOKS. HOMAGE OF THE ARTS, with MISCELLANEOUS PIECES from RUCHERT, FREILIGRATH, and other Ger man Poets. In one volume, 16mo. pp. 158. Price 62 cents. EPES SARGENT. SONGS OF THE SEA, with Poems and Dramatic Pieces. In one volume, ICnio. pp. WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. POEMS, Second Series. In one volume, ICmo. pp. 168. Price 62 cents. WILLIAM THOMPSON BACON. POEMS. One vol- umo, ICmo. pp. VI. JOHN PIERPONT. AIRS OF PALESTINE, with Other POEMS. In one volume, 16mo. Steel Plate, pp.350. Price $1.00. JOHN S. DWIGHT. Select Minor POEMS. Trans- lated from the German of GOETHE and SCHILLER, with Notes. One volume, 12mo. pp. 460. Price $1.00. A LIST OF BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED ALEXANDER H. EVERETT. POEMS. One vol- ume, 12mo. pp. 104. Price 75 cents. CHARLES T. BROOKS. SONGS and BALLADS. Trans- lated from Uhland, Korner, Biirger, and other German Lyric Poets. With Notes. 12mo. pp. 410. Price $1.00. CHARLES T. BROOKS. WILLIAM TELL, a Drama, in Five Acts, from the German of SCHILLER. One volume, 12mo. pp. 120. Price 62 cents. SCHILLER S WALLENSTEIN. WALLENSTEIN S CAMP, Translated from the German of Schiller by GEORGE MOIR. With a Memoir of Albert Wallenstein, by G. W. HAVEN. 16mo. pp. 142. Price 50 cenu. HENRY TAYLOR. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, a Dra- malic Romance. In one volume, 16mo. pp. 252. Price $1.00. STEPHEN G. BULFINCH. LAYS OF THE GOSPEL. One volume, 16mo. pp. 20S. Price 75 cents. GOETHE S EGMONT. EGMONT, a Tragedy, in Five Acts, Translated from the German. 16mo. pp. 152. Price 3d cents. THE BONDMAID. Translated from the Swedish by Mas. PCTNAM. One volume, 16mo. pp. 112. Price 50 cents. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. PLEASANT MEMORIES OF PLEASANT LANDS. Two Steel Plates. 16mo. pp. 332. Price 1.25. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. SCENES IN MY NATIVE LAND. Two Steel Plates. 16mo. pp. 320. Price $1.25. BY JAMES MUNROE & COMPANY. TRANSLATIONS. ESSAYS ON ART. Translated from the German of GOETHE, by SAMUEL GRAY WARD. One volume, IGmo. pp. 264. Price 75 cents. n. WALT AND VULT, OR THE TWINS. Translated from the German of JEAN PAUL KICHTER, by Mrs. T. LEE. Two volumes, lOmo. pp. 3~-!0. Price 1.00 each. FLOWER, FRUIT, AND THORN PIECES ; OR THE MARRIED LIFE, DEATH AND WEDDING OF THE ADVOCATE OF THE POOR, FIKMIAN STANISLAUS SIEBEINKAS. Translated from the German of JEAN PAUL HICHIER, by EDWARD HENRY NOEL. Two volumes, 16rao. First Series, pp. J4S. Second Series, pp. 400. Price 1.00 each. PHILOSOPHICAL MISCELLANIES. Translated From the French of COUSIN, JOUFFROY, and B. CONSTANT. With In troductory and Critical Notices. By GEORGE RIPLEY. Two volumes, Ivimo. pp. 784. Price $1.00 each. v. SELECT MINOR POEMS. Translated from the Ger- man of GOETHE and SCHILLER, with NOTES. By JOHN S. DWIGHT. One volume, 12mo. pp. 460. Price $1.00. ECKERMAN S CONVERSATIONS. CONVERSA- TIOSS WITH GOETHE IN THE LAST YEARS OF HIS LIFE. Translated from the German, by S. M. FULLER. One volume, l.mo. pp. 440. Price 1.00. VII. INTRODUCTION TO ETHICS. Including a CRITI- CAL SURVEY OF MORAL SYSTEMS. Translated from the French of JOUFFROY, by WILLIAM II. CHAN-NINO. Two volumes, 12mo. pp. 732. Price 1.00 each. GERMAN LITERATURE. Translated from the German of WOLFGANO MENZEL, by CORNELIUS C. FULTON. Three volumes, 12mo. pp. 1172. Price $1.00 each. A LIST OF BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED THEODORE, OR THE SKEPTIC S CONVERSION. HISTORY or THE CULTURE OF A PROTESTANT CLERGYMAN. Translated from the German of DE WETTE, by JAMES F. CLARKE. Two volumes, 12mo. pp. 798. Price $1.00 each. HUMAN LIFE ; OR LECTURES ON PRACTICAL ETHICS. Translated from the German of DE WETTE, by SAMUEL OSQOOD. Two volumes, 12mo. pp. 800. Price $1.00 each. SONGS AND BALLADS from Uhland, Korner, Bur- ger, and other Lyric Poets. Translated from the German, with Notes, by CHARLES T. BROOKS. One volume, 12mo. pp. 360. Price $1.00. ge by THE NEIGHBORS. By FREDERIKA BREMER. Trans- lated by MART HOWITT. Two volumes, 12mo. pp. 488. Price 50 cents each. GERMAN ROMANCE. Specimens of its Chief Au- thors ; with Biographical and Critical Notices. By THOMAS CARLYLE. Two volumes, 12mo. Steel Portrait, pp 794. Price $2.00. GUIZOT S ESSAY. ESSAY ON THE CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE OF WASHINGTON IN THE REVOLUTION OF THE UNITED STATES or AMERICA. Translated from the French, by GEORGE t>. HILLARD. One volume, IGmo. pp. 204. Price 50 cents. LAST DAYS OF THE SAVIOUR. THE LAST DAYS OP THE SAVIOUR, OR HISTORY OF THE LORD S PASSION. From the Ger man of OLSHAUIEN, by SAMUEL OSGOOD. IGmo. pp. 248. Price 62 cents. HEINE S LETTERS. Letters Auxiliary to the His- tory of Modern Polite Literature in Germany. Translated from the German, by G. W. HAVEN. One volume, Ibmo. pp. 172. Price 50 cent*. BY JAMES MUNROE &. COMPANY. MEMOIRS, &C. HENRY WARE, JR. MEMOIR OF THE LIFE OF HENRY WARE, JR. By JOHN WARE, M. D. Two volumes, pp. 288 per volume. Price $1.50. ROBERT SWAIN. MEMOIRS OF ROBERT SWAIN. One volume, 16mo. Price 62 1-2 cents. HENRY A. INGALLS. MEMOIR OF HENRY AUGUSTUS INGALI.S. By Rev. GEORGE W. BURNAP. With Selections from his Writings. One volume, pp. 210. Price 62 1-2 cents. JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. MEMOIRS OF JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN, Paator of Waldbach. With an Introduction by HENRY WARE, Jr. pp. 320. Price 75 cents. SAMUEL H. STEARNS. LIFE OF REV. SAMUEL H. STEARNS, late Minister of the Old South Church, in Boston. Third Edition. One volume, p|>. 244. Piice 75 cents. NOAH WORCESTER. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. NOAH WORCESTER, D. D. By Rev. HBNRY WARE, Jr., D. D. With Portrait. One volume, pp. 155. Price 75 cents. LIFE OF FICHTE. MEMOIR OF JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE. By WILLIAM SMITH. One volume, 12mo. pp.158. Price 50 cents. LIFE OF HOWARD, the Philanthropist, by Mrs. FARRAR. One volume, ISmo. Price 50 cents. 6 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JAMES MUNROE & COMPANY. DISCOURSES, &C. SAMUEL H. STEARNS. Addresses and Select Dis- courses of Rev. SAMUEL H. STEARNS. Second Edition. pp. 265. Price 75 cents. HENRY WARE, JR. Miscellaneous Writings of HENRY WARE, Jr., D. D. Two volumes, pp. 412 per vol ume. Price 75 cents. JAMES MARTINEAU. Endeavors after the Chris- tian Life. A Volume of Discourses by JAMES MARTINEAU. One volume, pp. 291. Price 75 cents. GEORGE W. BURNAP. Expository Lectures on the Principal Passages of the Scriptures. By Rev. GEORGE W. BURNAP. One volume, pp. 336. Price $1.00. JOHN G. PALFREY. Discourses on Duties Belong- ing to Some of the Conditions and Relations of Private Life. By JOHN G. PALFREY, D. D. One volume, pp. 310. ORVILLE DEWEY. Discourses on Human Life, by Rev. ORVILLE DEWEY. One volume. Price 75 cents. F. W. P. GREENWOOD. Sermons by F. W. P. GREENWOOD. Two volumes. Price $2.00. J. S. BUCKMINSTER. The Works of JOSEPH STE- VENS BUCKMINSTER, with a Sketch of his Life. Two vols. Price $3.00. CRITICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS, BY ALEXANDER H. EVERETT. TO WHICH ARE ADDED A FEW POEMS. JAMES MUNROE & COMPANY publish and have for sale the First Volume of Mr. Everett s Essays, published a year since, in the same form and size as the edition of the Second Series, this year published. The volume includes the follow ing Essays. MADAME DE SEVIGNE ; WHO WROTE GIL BLAS ? THE LIFE OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE ; THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SCHILLER ; GEOFFROY ON FRENCH DRA MATIC LITERATURE ; PRIVATE LIFE OF VOLTAIRE ; THE ART OF BEING HAPPY ; THE LIFE AND WORKS OF CANOVA ; SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH ; CICERO ON GOV ERNMENT ; A DIALOGUE ON GOVERNMENT BETWEEN FRANKLIN AND MONTESQUIEU; CHINESE MANNERS; THE SABBATH. The same volume contains the following Po ems ; which are also published separately by J. M. & Co. THE HERMITAGE, an Eastern Tale. THE GRECIAN GOSSIPS, from Theocritus. THE EXILE S LAMENT, from Virgil. SCENES FROM GOETHE S FAUST. THE WORTH OF WO MAN, from Schiller. THE SPECTRAL BRIDEGROOM, from Burger. THE WATER KING. THE PORTRESS. THE MAID OF OBERLAND. THE FIFTH OF MAY, from Man- zoni. ENIGMA. THE DIRGE OF LARRA, from Zorilla. THE YOUNG AMERICAN. THE FUNERAL OF GOETHE, by Harro Harring. EVERETT S MISCELLANIES, FIRST SERIES. [From the Christian Examiner.] * * * " This volume is meant to preserve in a permanent form the contributions whidh Mr. Everett has made to the peri odical literature of his country. A part of the interest which attaches to such papers on their first appearance, must neces sarily cease with the lapse of time ; yet there is a peculiar pleasure in recurring, after a writer has established a wide and sure reputation, to his earlier or more ephemeral productions. * * * The volume contains, we believe, only the smaller portion of the articles with which Mr. Everett has enriched our critical literature. The public, we suppose, are less familiar with his name as a poet than as a writer of prose. We are glad, however, to meet the productions of his muse in compan ionship with his Miscellaneous Essays. The volume will be welcomed by the public as embodying some of the choicest pages of our literary journals, and we hope that the writer may be induced soon to give us one or more additional volumes." [From (he Democratic Revieiv.] " Mr. Everett is one of that class of men, the growth of thirty continuous years of comparative peace, now enjoyed by Chris tendom, who, to eminent natural endowments and high literary cultivation, add the qualities and the distinction of a practical statesman. For, if the great nations of Europe and America have, some of them, been more or less engaged, during the present generation, in conflict with the barbarian or semi-civilized races around them, and if others have seen their own soil stained by civil bloodshed, yet they have been withheld from mutual hostilities, until the empire of the Voice and the Pen has almost superseded that of the Sword ; and Mind has found a nobler and more congenial field of ambition in the arts and accomplishments of Peace, rather than of War. Thus it is, that, to names like those of Lord John Russell and Macaulay in England, or Guizot and Thiers in France, we may, on our part, point to those of Bancroft, of Irving, and of the two Everetts, as alike conspicuous in literature and in public life. " Known a 1 ready by his grave and elaborate works on Europe EVERETT S MISCELLANIES, FIRST SERIES. and America, Mr. Everett will acquire additional reputation by this collection of Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. Familiar with the languages and the literature of modern as of ancient Europe, thoroughly imbued with the principles of a pure and correct taste, possessed of a discriminative and exact judgment, and with a style at once vigorous, clear, expressive, and fault lessly elegant, Mr. Everett has, in this volume, laid before us a series of most instructive and agreeable literary disquisitions, on. Sevigne, Le Sage, St. Pierre, Corneille, Racine, Voltaire, Canova, Schiller, Mackintosh, and Cicero, among other sub jects; and, in a small collection of fugitive pieces subjoined to the Essays, has shown that he is a successful worshipper of the poetic Muse. * * * * "In conclusion, we have to express the high gratification we have received from the reperusal of these Es says, in collecting which from the periodical works in which they originally appeared, and thus rendering them more ac cessible to the general reader, the publishers have done a ser vice to the literary community, as in the correspondent cases of Mr. Macaulay s and Mr. Prescott s Miscellanies ; and we trust the same good office will be performed ere long in behalf of similar writings of Mr. Edward Everett, and other contribu tors to the periodical literature of the United States." [From the Southern Quarterly Review.] " We have derived great pleasure from the perusal of this book, and we mean to speak of it as we think it deserves. It is possible that a few readers may think that we go too far ; but even they will not doubt our sincerity, when we confess that we were over two months reading it, without growing weary of our task. It certainly argues something in favor of an author, in these days of rail-road speed, that one should be content to keep his book at his side, and travel slowly through it, every day soiling the edge of a few more pages, with the pressure of his glove ; and it takes but little from the value of the compliment, to acknowledge, that during this time we were wandering through a beautiful country, and had but little time to read. 10 EVERETT S MISCELLANIES, FIRST SERIES. " When our trunk was first packed, this book shared a cor ner, with a half dozen other volumes, but after a while, it had the corner to itself. One by one the others fell away, some were given to friends, others were forgotten upon leaving a steamboat, or a coach, or a rail-road car, and now, upon our return, this volume lies upon the desk, as the solitary memorial of our wanderings." * * * * " It consists of essays or reviews, contributed during the last twenty years to various periodicals. In the course of them, our author treats in an interesting and instructive way, of several important matters, such as the Life and Writings of Madame deSevigne, Bernaidinde St. Pierre, Schiller, Voltaire, Canova, Sir James Mackintosh, and Cicero ; he almost settles the dis puted point, that Le Sage did not write Gil Bias ; he gives an amusing picture of Chinese manners ; teaches, in a happy man ner, the art of being happy, and concludes the first part of his Miscellanies with some beautiful remarks upon the Sabbath." * * " At the end of the volume we have fourteen interesting Poems, which show that Everett, in the midst of his various and pressing engagements, has still found time to refresh his spirits with a draught from Helicon." " Many will welcome the appearance of this volume, preserv ing, as it does, some of the best articles which have ever ap peared in our periodicals. Before they were thus collected, they must have been sought with difficulty from among the mass of contemporaneous writings, and at last might have been overlooked and forgotten. The author is but doing justice to his own fame when he brings together these scattered Essays and Criticisms, each of them possessing individual interest and attraction of a high order, which is enhanced by their appear ance together in a neat and permanent form. Some of the articles found in this volume bear the dates of 1820, 21, and 23, and of course are new to many of this day, who will be come acquainted with them for the first time in their present dress ; and to those who read them at the period when they first appeared, it will be equally interesting to revive the ini- EVERETT S MISCELLANIES, FIRST SERIES. 11 pression they then produced. The Poems are mostly trans lations or imitations of foreign poets ; but we recognize a beautiful Enigma, and some noble stanzas entitled The Young American, which first appeared in the Democratic Re view. This volume is published in beautiful style by James Munroe & Company." Salem Gazette. " To praise Mr. Everett s writings would be superfluous. He ranks as one of the most profound students and elegant writers whom our country affords. His opportunities for gaining ex tensive and varied information have been as well improved as they have been great and uncommon for a citizen of this Re public. His style is suited to the subject which he has occasion to treat : at times, strong and powerful ; at others, light and humorous ; but always elegant and interesting. The volume before us is a valuable contribution to our literature. It would not be inappropriate as a New Year present to a literary friend." Springfield Republican. * * * * it We make another extract from an agreeable review of a collection of Chinese novels. At the present time, when the mysteries of the Chinese Empire are but just open ing to us, this sketch of a remarkable feature of their very curi ous literature, will attract general attention. Their civilization is at the least not behind that of the West in the luxuries of novel reading and writing. It seems that they are as fully sup plied with light and cheap literature as we are. "Three articles, on graver subjects, comprise the greater part of the rest of the prose of the volume. These are a criticism on Cicero s Republic, an article on Sir James Mackintosh s Life and Writings, and a Dialogue of the Dead, between Franklin and Montesquieu, on the principles which should be consulted in the formation of Representative Governments. Mr. Everett s personal acquaintance with Sir James Mackintosh, fur nishes an interesting part of the material for the second of these articles. " Some of the Poems have never been published until now, and few of them have been published in such form as to bring them into general knowledge. EVERETT S MISCELLANIES, FIRST SERIES. " The book more than equals the anticipations which we ex pressed in regard to it some weeks since. We feel that that is a valuable addition to our libraries which rescues such essays from the neglect into which all periodical publications fall after their first issue. It would seem that the whole volume has un dergone a careful revision." Boston Daily Advertiser. " These selections are made from Mr. Everett s contributions to the North American and Democratic Reviews, and other pe riodicals. " Mr, Everett s talents and ability as an Essayist have been long tested and generally acknowledged, and we trust that the sale of this volume will be sufficient to encourage the author to make another selection from his many valuable articles yet un- collected, and to furnish them for the public in a similar form." Salem Register. " Mr. Alexander H. Everett is one of the best of American scholars, thoroughly versed in classical literature, and exten sively familiar with the mind of the present age, in its every variety of situation and production. No man writes better prose than he. His style is always strong, clear, and elevated ; and with him language is ever but a vehicle of thought and thought, too, that is important to be conveyed, because of its own intrinsic worth." Worcester Palladium. The Second Volume of Mr. Everett s Essays is just now published by JAMES MONROE &, CO. Contents : HARRO HARRING, a Biographical Sketch ; MADAME DE STAEL ; MUSAEUS S POPULAR TALES ; IRVING S COLUM BUS; DE GERANDO S HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY ; GREEN- OUGH S STATUE OF WASHINGTON ; STEWART S PHILOSO PHY ; LIFE OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU ; HAVANA ; HISTORY OF INTELLECTUAL PHILOSOPHY ; LORD VAPOR- CO UUT. A 000685016 8