Atlantic Monthly Volume 6, No. 37, November, 1860

fligacy,-an Isis, without the worship,-a Sphinx, yes, a Sphinx, with her desert, who long ago despaired of having one come to read her riddle,

one's impression; and one's impr

reds, she would only have bloomed with more immortal freshness; but such a thought would not have occurred to you at all, if you had not already felt that she was no longer young,-she possessed so perfectly that certain self-reli

s marked Mrs. Laudersdale, and that her name stands golden-lettered on the recording angel's leaf simply as Mrs. Laudersdale. It is naturally to be inferred, then, that there was a Mr. Laudersdale. There was. But not by any means a person of consequence, you assume? Why, y

-but

d the very trail of her skirt was unlike another woman's, for it coiled and bristled after her with a life and motion of its own, like a serpent. Her hair, of too dead a black for gloss or glister, was always adorned with a nasturtium-vine, whose vivid flames seemed like some personal emanation, and whose odor, acrid and single, dispersed a character about her; and t

losed. There were no dwellings of any kind in its vicinity, so that it reigned over a solitude of a half-dozen miles in every direction. Once in a while the gay visitors in the more prosperous regions stretched their sails and skimmed along till they saw its white porticos and piazzas gleaming faintly up among the trees; once in a while a belated traveller tied his horse at the gate, and sought admittance in vain, at the empty house, of the shadows who may have kept it. It was not pleasant to see so goodly a mansion falling to ruin for want of fit occupancy, truly; and just

umming a faint little tune to herself. Just then a flock of young women, married and single, fluttered through door and windows to join her; and just then Mrs. Laudersdale stepped down from the end of the piazza and floated up the garden-path and into the woods that skirted the lake-shore and stre

d grasses? And she, bending there,-was it Diana and Endymion over again, Psyche and Eros? Ah, no!-simply Mrs. Laudersdale and Roger Raleigh. Only while one might have counted sixty did she linger to take the real beauty of the scene: the youth, adopted, as it were, to Nature's heart by the clustering growth that sprang up rebounding under the careless weight that crushed it; an attitude of complete and unconscious grace,-one arm thrown out beneath the head, the other listlessly fallen down his side, while the hand still detain

d hereupon he remembered the old Bawn and its occupants. Had she seen him? Unlikely; but yet, unimportant as it was, it remained an interesting and open question in his mind. Bringing down the hair so ruffled in the idle breeze, he crowded his hat over it with a determined air, half ran, half tumbled, down the bank, sprang into his boat,

quainted with the process of sculling, they considered it imperative to secure the truant tool, unless they wished to perish floating about unseen; and having weighed the expediency of rigging Helen into a jury-mast, they were now using their endeavors to regain the oar,-Mary Purcell whirling them about like a maelstr?m with the remainin

rward had placed it in Helen's hands. Receiving it with a profusion of thanks, she seated herself and bent to its use. But, looking back in a few seconds, Mr. Raleigh observed that the exhausted rowers had made scarcely a yard's distance. He had no inclination for gallant devoir, his eyes and thoughts were full of his late vision in the woods, he wished to reach home and dream; but in a moment he was again beside t

cried Mrs. McLean, fro

rise, the person so unceremoniously add

h her hands. "How long would you know your Cousin

very low over the hands, "I but this mom

note sealed with sky-blue wax and

y table at this moment, and it is

till u

ce me to confess

till u

ead it?" And herewith the saucy indifference

unications? Fie, for a gallant! I must take you

ce customs c

ng

together with a good many other nice things,-caring for one's friends,

my uncles and

let, inclosing a bit of pasteboard, lying on your table now un

ical or e

roperly,

N

hy

s authority to write t

Sir. And what becomes

ded in the

've changed my estate? You do

and sometimes

rettiest Kate i

explains itself. Here comes a recent property unto me appertaining.

other as he ever would understand. And the other, feeling instantly that only coin of the king's stamp would pass current here, turned his own counter royal side up, and met his host with genuine cordiality. Shortly afterward, Mrs. McLean

me, Sir?" she ask

sy, and rare

eered, but not inebriated, here under the trees, in company with dainty cheese-cakes compounded by these hands, and jelly of Helen Heath's m

d in their ma

almonds not

pasty, simply,-I should have claret and cr

rt here, when Mrs.

be crusty yet, Kate

d, for yo

s your housekeeper?

to tell her. Our housekeeper? Our cynosure! She is our ar

'er she

ere rises, a

tten with the

oung matrimonial victims to practise cooker

eases you, yes.

d a series of nece

re,-if any of them was,-and if,-and if;--and here Mr. Roger Raleigh's reflections went wandering back to the lakeside path and its vision. Not inopportunely

id the pleasantest

ine us with tables spread outside the door in Fif

pale and delicately fragrant blooms, along the snowy board. "Are the cheese-cakes a success, Mrs. McLean? I

t me pre

esentation, Mr. Roger Raleigh h

he pleasure of meeting

at immediately became a throne. He resumed his former position, and drummed lightly on the table, while waiting to be serv

gers,-kept beardless, and rather square in contour; the mouth not small, but keenly cut, like marble, and always quivering before he spoke, as if the lightning of his thought ran thither naturally to seek spontaneous expression; teeth white; chin cleft; nose of the unclassified order, rather long, the curve opposite to aquiline, and saved from sharpness by nostrils that dilated with a pulse of their own, as those of very proud and sensitive people are apt to do; a wide, low forehead crowned with dark hair, long and fine; heavy brows tha

; and probably she saw nothing but the gener

r?" asked

hank you, a

ly brought him before Mrs. Laudersdale. Pausing deliberately

ou are o

d to look at you?" she asked, in

? That is exactly what I wished t

ell him," said Hele

ded Mrs. Laudersdale. "And I

mean Aeneas,-as the goddesses are alw

on her lids beneath his glance,

e and bringing it back directly with a wafery

ed, though perhaps sca

w my tastes so w

ur bread thin for the same reason; likewise you would find a glass of that suave, rich cream delicious.

d up in slow and still

dy pouring out th

said he, offering it to her; "but I will not humor suc

gone to break ground for

at

e nothing worse to do with their time gravitate naturally and unawares toward them for amusement, and spin out the thread till they reach its end, without expectation, without surprise, without re

ew began to fall, Mrs. Laudersdale s

dea," Mr. Ral

rs. Laudersdale, looking from her window, saw, for an instant, a single fire-fly hovering over the dark lake. It was Mr. Roger Raleigh's dis

le, at an hour when all the rest had concluded their repast. Miss Helen Hea

tion, Mrs. Lauder

ne arm on the table and looking about for an

it the queerest thing in the world, up here in

strict? And is Mr. R

never saw

or

find him so? a th

y, with no spirit for repartee, breaking an egg and putting it down, crumbling a roll, and final

e kitchens. Does marmalade, to spread your muffins, present any attractions? or shall I beg for rusks? or

a shelf of sufficient temptations to o

e then, "you didn't

ques

odd to meet Mr.

w," said Mrs

est. She said he was impertinent, made

y li

to do except to look divinely, we'd quarrel. I thou

I should be sorry to op

tell

enterta

n't bo

n my ends, has lived here for five years; and as he came when he was twenty, he is consequently about my age now,-I shouldn't wonder if a trifle older than you. He came here because an immense estate was bequeathed him on the condition that he should occupy this corner of it during one-half of every year from his twenty-first to his thirty-first He has chosen to occupy it during the entire year, running down now and then to have a little music or see a little painting. Sometimes a parcel of his friends,-he never was at college, hasn't any chums, and has educated himself by all manner of out-of-the-way dodges,-sometimes these friend

s," said Mrs.

ust think w

ied Mrs. Laudersdale, to whom the words pov

intends to endow him, I believe, by-and-by, when the thing is at his disposal. This uncle kept him at school, when he was an orphan in different circumstances, at a Jesuit institution; and he and Miss Kent were always quarrelling over him, and she thought she had tied up her property nicely o

nstituti

here, isn't that a p

sdale, having listened w

be a gossip, if yo

; and do you suppose I'm going to flirt with any one,

surveying them. She bade him good-morning, coolly enough, while Helen began searching the

ing fates, all to no audience, and with

ore Mrs. La

Will you have the morning paper?" he asked of that lady, who,

demanded Mr. Raleigh of Helen,

opping i

tion. For

their return now. Wh

heard tongues; Medes and Elamites and the dwellers in Mesopotamia were less

tinence behind her," retorte

I saw you 'coming from the town.' A pretty hostess

expect you b

you absent and the breakf

as the country-air shall have wakened and made over Helen and Mr

hall not be surprised some day to

ughty. You shall receive cards for my dinner-party before we go, if yo

py w

will chuckle!" And she seized the sheet which Mrs.

ere is he?" asked Mr. Raleigh,

s cousin, deep

rsdale. Wh

lanks, I suppose," she

h probably contained th

using tone, entirely misinterpreting her, and to this l

married early

nfatuated about her as the men. Here's Helen Heath been dawdling round the table all the morning for the sake of chatting to her while

husband with a thousand little teasing arts. Meanwhile Mr. Raleigh proceeded to take that office upon himself, by crossing the hall, exploring the parlors, examining the manuscript commonplace-books, and finally by sketching on a leaf of his poc

Laudersdale and I have been wondering how you amuse yourself up here; and I make my d

only Mrs. Laudersdale; and do

ld draw. Mrs. L

to her balance, as lightly as if he had brushed a floating gossamer from the air to his finger. For the first time, perhaps, in her life, a carnation blossomed an insta

yourself?" persisted Helen. "Te

ee?" he asked,-his e

ersd

field of white lilies flash open as the sun touches them with his spear? Or will you lie during still noons up among the farmers' fields where myriad bandrol corn-poppies flaunt over your head, and

dale, rising earnestly, l

n Heath, laughing, to Mr. Raleigh. "Well, when will you take

e queens of the lakes, the great, calm pond-lilies, creatures of quiet and white radiance,-I have

said Mrs. Laudersda

om within, and feels itself and has no nee

I should say. You worship, but you don't possess your god, for you look at th

going, Kate?" s

ries in the garde

said to have seen her plunged in a strawberry-bed, gathering handfuls and raining them drop by drop into Helen Heath's mouth, to silence her while she herself might talk,-her own fingers tipped with more sanguine shade than their native rose, her eyes full of the noon sparkle, and her lips parted with

ity practicable only on horseback, and thought she had attained her end when Mr. Raleigh pu

. Laudersdale. "That remind

nows fall and storms pipe, the

nd fro on her cheek. At last the moon rose; the whole party, regardless of wet slippers, sauntered with Mr. Raleigh to the shore, where the little Arrow hung balancing on her restraining cord. Mrs. Laudersdale stepped in, Mr. Raleigh followed, took up an oar, and pushed out, both standing, and drifting slowly for a few rods' distance; then Mr. Raleigh made the shore again, assisted her out, and

wn, tarried during sunshine, slipped home by starlight across the lake. Every day Mrs. Laudersdale was more brilliant, a

r for fiv

rs?" said Mrs

five

st three in

he mo

gs you here at

ies and

whom do you e

d Miss

among the rest. We will await you at half-past three in the morning. Helen, we must sle

is hand with hers. The stars retreated in a pallid veil that dimmed their beams, faint lights streamed up the sky,-the dark yet clear and delicious. They paused motionless in the shelter of a steep rock; over them a wild vine hung and swayed its long wreaths in the water, a sweet-brier starred with fragrant sleeping buds climbed and twisted, and tufts of ribbon-grass fell forward and streamed in the indolent ripple; beneath them the lake, lucid as some dark crystal, sheeted with olive transparence a bottom of yellow sand; here a bream poised on slowly waving fins, as if dreaming of motion, or a perch flashed its red fin from one hollow to another. The shadow lifted a degree, the eye penetrated to farther regions; a bird piped warily, then freely, a second and a third answered, a fourth took up the tale, blue-jay and thrush, catbird and bobolink; wings began to dart about them, the world to rustle overhead, near and far the dark prime grew instinct with sound, the shores and heavens blew out gales of melody, the air broke up in music. He lifted his oars silently; she caught the sweet-brier, and, lightly shaking it, a rain of dew-drops dashed with deepest perfume sprinkled them; they moved on. A thin mist breathed from the lake, steamed round th

ipped down upon the floor of the boat, her head fallen on her arms, she had lain half-asleep. T

icent throng. Mr. Raleigh still lingered, and, while Mrs. Laudersdale and Helen renewed their toilets, had busied himself in weaving a crown of these and another of poppy-leaves, hanging the one on Mrs. Laudersdale's head, as she entere

osy Champagne. She related their adventures with graphic swiftness, and improvised dangers and escapes with such a reckless disregard of truth

ork, involved Mrs. McLean's crocheting in an inextricable labyrinth as he endeavored to afford her some requisite conchological assistance, and turned with three strokes a very absurd drawing of Mrs. Laudersdale's into a splendid caricature. Having made himself thus generally useful, he now proceeded to make himself generally agreeable; went with all necessary gravity through a series of complicate dancing-steps with Miss Heath; begged Miss Purcell, who was longing to cry over her novel, to allow him to read for her, since he saw that she was trying her e

the staircase, the hall-door was flung open, admitting a gleeful blast of the boisterous gale, and an object that, puffing and blowing like a sad-hued dolphin, and shaking like a Newfoundland, ap

r. Raleigh, removing the stem fr

it's only me

restoring the pipe to its form

apua, grounding a chuckle on a reef o

hat brin

n,-she hadn

Nan out on such a day? and round the lake, too, I'l

de lake, ob course; w

uined her

no cold,-she! Smokes like a beaver

r back,-and where we can

B

sted his master, with mock grav

'se here, an' wait'll it holds up a bi

master; which, evidently, from lo

s during this dialogue, and now stood interested spectato

me, Capua

nd pulling off his hat,-"Cap never f'gets his frie

k you. And ho

oger 'n' I, we buried her; finer funeral dan

sorry!" began Mrs.

d 'n others. Some tongues sharper 'n others. Alwes li

do you do

; leastways, I'se well

name?" whis

indecision between Helen Heath and Mrs. Laudersdale. "Hannibal Raleigh's my name; though Massa al

oing to stay and take

Kate, he's more bother to

said his master; "you

scuffl

this mean?" asked Mrs. M

esolved to die game, and therefore takes matters into his o

e trembles fo

rallyingly, "you received a g

astiana," sa

ian die of his wo

t Capua is a connoisseur, and his dictum is worth all

Mr. Raleigh, that I have half a mind nev

e company you would be when trouting. The most e

shall we g

, then! We will go to-morrow

at must

stand in the shadow,

ua put his head in

t?" asked

his eyes fearfully, and still hesitating, and

l, C

rned up!" said Capua, at last, jerking

hat did yo

'ta'n't dis yer house Massa lib in;-Massa's spar

r, who was accustomed to Capua

Ole Cap didn' want to shock his young massa, so thought 'twarn't de wisest way to tell him 'twarn't de sparrer-house,

e fire go out?" asked

;-"one was dis chile's exertions; an' t'other fact, on account ob wic

e your face again, till I send for it

es mind him," was t

hat moment from the hand that hung over t

Cap see's fur into a millstone as any

head of the nearest passer. He appears to have a constitutional inability to comprehend this absence of punishment. His immunity is so painful to him th

ll was ringing, and Helen singing, "Come o'er the stream, Charlie, and dine wi' McLean,"-he opened the doo

this time by Capua, who was determined not to lose any ground once

d he, as through the open doors a voice

Capua?" aske

od for nott'n. Now she,-pity she a'n't single, Massa,-should say s

hlets, which Capua had chosen to magnify for his own purposes; and the assemblage immediately turned its course inland and toward the brooks. The two who led soon distanced the rest, Capua trudging respectfully behind and keeping them in sight. Here, as they brushed along th

Laudersdale, when the others joined them, display

le drew in ano

you were the dearest and most helpless of

her eyes a moment

!" sa

apua, making an infi

e majority,-possibly because her shining prey found destination in the same basket with Mr. Raleigh's,-possibly because, as Helen ha

id Helen, as they took at last their homeward

hollow, stood with stolid immobility until Capua snatched her up and carried her along in his arms, leaving his master to reflect how many times such swarthy servitors might have borne her, as a child, through her island groves. And thus the party, somewhat sobered, resumed their march again. But in the discovery that he had not dared to lift her in his arms, he who took such liberties with every one,-that, lying under her semblance of death, she had inspired him with a certain awe, that he had suddenly found this woman to be an object somewhat sacred,-in this discovery Mr. Raleigh learned not a little. And it would not, perhaps, be an untrue surmise that he found therein as much of pain as of any other emotion; since all the experiences an

spot in answer to a flight of telegrams, machinery and scenery rose like exhalations, music was brought from the city, all the availables of the family were to be found in garden, closet, house-top, conning hieroglyphical pages, and the whole chaotic confusion takes final shape and resolves into a little Spanish Masque, to which kings and queens have once listened in courtly state, and which now unrolls its resplendent pageant before the eyes of Mrs. Laudersdale, translating her, as it were, into another planet, where familiar fa

had the r

, violin,

the casement j

ncers danci

e fell with t

with the se

unketing throughout the woods; the horses, too, were brought into requisition, and a flock of boats kept forever on the wing. And meanwhile, as Hele

that?" aske

, he let in light and shade through green dancing leaves above it, he gave it glimpses of moon and st

n, was the viv

n no

man never found a soul in his work

ver his marble, adding, touching, bringing out effects, does not end by loving it,-a

d Helen, mischievously. "All that you have

he midsummer noon, then crossed over to his little wife, drew her arm in his, and held it with

d with what complete unconsciousness had she stepped from passive to positive existence, and found this new state to be as sweet and strange as any child has found it! Long a wife, she had known, nevertheless, nothing but quiet custom or indifference, and had dreamed of love only as the dark and silent side of the moon might dream of light. Now she grew and unfolded in the warmth of this season, like a blossom perfumed and splendid. Sunbeams seemed to lance themselves out of heaven and splinter about her. She queened it over demesnes of sprite-like revelry; the life they led was sylvan; at their fêtes the sun assisted. The summer held to her lips a glass whose rosy effervescence, whose fleeting

dipped, hissed, and quenched below, and, a fantastic flotilla, they passed on into the broad brilliance of a rising moon, all Middle-Age mythology rose and wafted them back into the obscurity. It was a life too fine for every day, fare too rich for health; they must be exotics who did not wither in such hot-house air. It was rapidly becoming unnatur

g and flowing outline, in her imperceptible breath, resembling some perfect statue that we fancy to be instinct with suspended life. Next, that Mr. Raleigh did not sleep at all, but absorbed himself, to the entire disturbance of Capua's slumbers, i

she exclaimed. "What

udersdale," he

hat can you be wr

hould come and take h

usbands band together like a parcel of slave

Lean l

ou're not mak

, dropping the wax on the envelope, imprinted it with a Scotc

t the Bawn, and finding no one to welcome him,-that is to say, Mrs. Laudersdale had gone out, and Helen Heath was invisible,-he betook himself to

emed to avoid speaking each other's name in direct address, using always s

g to take

d without more ado, and natural

ays affected you more by her silence than her speech, by what she was rather than by what she

burnt white by summer-heats, powdered by travel. There was no wind stirring; the sky was lost in a hot film stained here and there with sulphurous wreaths; the distant fields, skirted by low hills, were bathed in an azure mist; nearer, a veil of dun and dimmer smoke from burning brush hung motionless; around their feet the dust whirled and fell again. Bathed in soft, voluptuous tints, hazed and mellowed, into

shroud and burnt for an instant on a scarlet maple-bough that hung in premature brilliance across the way. The hasty color, tru

ng and burning up throat and face, stinging her very forehead, and shooting down her fingertips. In an instant it had faded, and she shone the pallid, splendid thing she was before. In that instant, for the first time this sum

s were lined in deep-toned indigo flower-bells whose fragrance rose visible above them or curled from stem to stem, and that the hollows in which the path hid itself at last were of the same soft gloom. But, finally, when not far distant from the Bawn again, he shook off his reverie and struck another path that he might avoid rencontre. Perhaps the very sound that awoke him was the one he wished to shun; at the next step it became more distinct,-a child's voice singing some tuneless song; and directly a tiny apparition appeared before him, as if it

Roger Raleigh; "w

his face, but vouchsafed,

tle lady's name?

, elicited a response. She informed him th

And anyth

liciting the aid of memory by li

that

silly Da

mo

it

that is it!

itatively, bringing down her f

w old i

ty. Maman is twenty;-

as Rite

afternoon," was added, confidentially, after a

hat was th

usic, and peoples,

is Rite g

away in

ve to wash he

tly afterward, she opened them again, bent forward and back over the swinging, and recommenced her song, as if there were not another person than herself within a hundred miles. Half-hidden in the great hemlock-bough, this tin

way into the twilight, wondered if she were bewitching him, then rubbed hi

half the mind to leave her to find it; but at once convicted of his absurdity, "Then I shal

ave woven. All at once a dark figure glided out from another alley and snatched the sprite into its arms. It was a colored nurse, who poured out a torrent of broken French and English over the runaway, and made her acknowledgments to Mr. Raleigh in the same jargon. As she turned to go, the child stretched her arms toward

and commanding the long stretch of water between him and the Bawn, which last was, however, too distant for any movement to be discerned there. Soon Mr. Raleigh turned his back upon the scene that lay pictured in such beauty below, and, throwing himself into a deep armchair, remained motionless and plunged in thought for many moments. Rising at last, he took from the table a package of letters from India that had arrived in his absence. Glancing absently at the super

ten trembled on his lips without finding utterance; perhaps, if ever passionate heart flashed its own fire into its implements, this pen and

lake now. We shall return somewhere between eleven and twelve. Just as we

ded Capua, grinning at the prospect of so

the threshold, he encountered the nurse whom his master had previously met in the wood. Nothing could have been more acceptable in his eyes than this addition to the circle below-stairs. Capua's hat was in his hand at once, and bows and curtsies and articulations and gesticulations followed with such confusing rapidity, that, when the mutually pleased pair turned in co

, and the next, crushing it against her heart, burst into a wild weeping? Again and again she read it, and at every word its

. You shut heaven out from me; make earth, then, h

ve him directions to acquaint her of its reception, and watched him out of sight. All that in the swiftness of a fever-fit. Scarcely had the boat vanished when old thoughts rushed over her again

her affection, had become more so through the absence of systematic education,-whose morality had been allowed to be merely one of instinct,-to whom introspection had been till now a thing unknown,-and who, accepting a

and admitted that individual the selfishness of whose marriage was bu

with Helen Heath. There were to be some guests from the to

to have tea," said she at

said he, indifferently, as he had said everythi

see other folks t

the publica

nverting the substance of my remarks to a

like to see other folks; taking the bitters

t shall there be no more cakes and ale? H

e at

rs. Laudersdal

gh asked in return, as if there were any trivial thin

ll you anything abou

not to be formal, then, to-night. That's a blessing!

e the tea, and I'll l

ersd

sdale drinks

me some milk

in the doorway, followed by her nurse,-having arisen from the discipline of bath and b

e, familiar, but with how stran

sprite, and went da

with a heavier flush than half a score of

aid?" asked he, when, after a few mo

eard her speak of Rite, he never had suspected it, but had always at the na

e her mother,"

ll her father.-Bless m

ards and cheesecakes,-

memory. I thought I ha

Hel

ders? Well, never mind

little maid? Quite! Why hasn

Martinique, where her grandmother will take charge of her, bottle up those spirits, and make her a second edition of her mother. By the way, how that mother h

Laudersdale came sa

ose like snow, and whose rich duskiness made her perfect pallor more apparent, while its sumptuous body of color was sprinkled with glittering crystal drops and coruscations; and wreathing her forehead with crisp vine-leaves and tendrils, she had bunched together in intricate splendor all the amethysts, carbuncles, garnets, and rubies in the house, for grape-clusters at the ear, till

sdale comprehended the whole matter at a heartbeat, and took it. Then they moved on toward other friends, whom, while waiting for kno

afterward she had curled herself beside him and fallen asleep with her head upon his knee; otherwise he did not touch her. Mrs. Laudersdale stood by an open casement; the servant who had carried her note came up the lawn and spoke to her from without. There was

e before, glooming at but a few rods' distance, and loading with odorous breath the air that tossed its vines ere stealing across the lake. She trembled now, and remembered that she alone of all the party had always unconsciously evaded entering Mr. Raleigh's house, had never seen the house nearer than now, and never been its guest. It was entering some dark, unknown place; it was to intrude on a sacred region. But the breeze hurried her along while she thought, and the next moment the keel was buried in the sand. There was no time to lose; she left the boat, ascended a fl

ilence dawned upon her, so strong, yet voluptuous, never sad, making in its masque of marble one intense moment eternal, some of the same power spread soothingly over her. She paused a moment to gather the thronging thoughts. How still the room was! she had not known that music was at his command before. How sweet the air that blew in at the window! what late flowers bore such pungent balm? That portrait leaning ha

hand, had she any longer possession therein? Had she more authority over it than over any other letter that might be in the room? Absurd refinement of honor! She broke the seal. Yet stay! Was there no justice due to him? That letter which had been read long before the intended time, whose delivery any accident might have frustrated, whose

ighest virtue, she, who would have blotted out her w

arden-walks, down from the fragrance, the serenity, the bowery seclusion, from all this conspiring loveliness that tempted her to dally and co

parting prow, and she shot with her flashing sail and hissing wake heedlessl

ive me your hand; I'm half afraid; after that spectre that walked the water just now, these shadows are not altogether agre

then?" asks Helen,

dresses. But there! we must hurry and get back. I didn't think it would take so

an't see an inch of the way. We

here's a candle, but how to light it?

little pocket-safe; it proves a fai

Mrs. McLean. Have

jet of flam

! a scrap of

on the floor; the seal's broken; Mr. Raleigh do

gers are burning! Quic

er

ndle is lighted, the flame whirled

though," adds Mrs. Mc

ence. No matter, then.

e it. 'Mr. Roger Rale

Day, Knight, & Co., for

firm. Aren't you the Co

, care of Mr. Roger Ral

templating it with newl

e it, come!"

tobacco, to reward Mr. Laudersdale f

looks as if the exertions would be best rewarded by haste. Mrs. McL

t to be compared with Virginia leaf. Look at this meerschaum, Mr

u coming?"

nts. Needle and thread. Now what do you suppose he is doing with needle and thread? Oh, it's that little lacework that Mrs

em. Mr. Laudersdale scorns to secure the sketch; and holding back the b

s. Some of the guests were in the brilliant dining-room, some in the back-parlor. Mr. Raleigh, while Fate was thus busying herself about him, still sat motionless, one hand upon the sofa's side, one on the back, little Rite still sleeping on his knee. Capua came and exchanged a f

ell at the door, after the charade in w

r," replied Master Fred Heath, who had returned that afternoon

not escaped too early; but then--H

Heath, with amiable curi

what letter,

a, Madame," wa

What was in the letter, I wonder. Do you

endation of Mrs. McLean's cous

s not Hele

N

-night," whispered Mrs. Heath to Miss Purc

was in Mrs. McLean's

rc

rs. Heath's place, I

tell Mrs. McLean's laugh. You'v

approached the piano. Every one turned. Taking his seat, he threw out a handful of rich chords; the instrument seemed to diffuse a purple cloud; then, buoyed over perfect accompaniment, the voice rose in that one love-song of the world. What depth of tenderness is there from which the "Adelaide" does not sound? What secret o

t rise, nor look u

said Helen Heath,

uld be melanch

ousin. "There is much music tha

pathos, or rather the soul does in following

that song, Number T

t remem

st one trill of laughter and merriment,

he continued where she left it, as one might a dream, and, strangely enough, the l

mouths in a glass, if you please; but I, for one,

, that did not come at once, was the fragment of a Provencal romance, sung,-and sung in a voice neither sweet no

alone, we'r

stars are d

at deep, the

and I are

ve we, though

life are

sleep abou

life are no

t is since

e height of b

keep an i

ve thou, an

ruck a chord of dead conclusion, the curtain s

d-night. Mrs. McLean, however, took his

a came with you

e time since," he replied; and ther

aratory to wasting it, "I thought Helen was a coq

ked down at her w

n't much more tim

at

are going to propose, I really

ought to marr

dear! I wish I ha

have been

offended n

son to suppose he

eplied Mrs. McL

silent

s head, and looking up the deep transparence of the unansweri

breath,-terrified at his abrupt earnestnes

replied, with his old air,

n Heath was eating an ice; he

ght, Mis

eigh! You are going? Wel

it has been! Aren't y

tone. "Where is the necessity of our par

while a red-whether of joy or anger h

ou me

I mean, will

aleigh

ow he pa

ms still to continue the structure upon the water. The Arrow floated in the shadow just beyond. Mr. Raleigh's eyes were on the quay; he paused, nerveless, both oars trailing, a cold damp starting on his forehead. Some one approached as if looking ou

is peril!" urged a voice

wn!" urged a

orm, one sitting on the quay, unseen in shadow like himself, and seeing what he saw, and motionless as he. Would Mrs. Laudersdale dip her hands in murder? It all passed in a second of time; at the next breath he summo

aleigh, then. "I thought you were in

way. Till they faded from sight, he saw her still beside him; and so they st

e on the next morning,-or rather, Mrs. Lau

u some news?" as

her heavy e

letters last night, after going home. His uncle is dying,-old, unfortunate, forlorn. Mr. Raleigh has abando

ve imagined her possessed of this little drama? You fancy now that in this flash all the wealth

conti

*

O

, odor-l

branches dr

daisies,

d turn thei

bird alon

r rapture wi

e perfect d

eve from

ds rustling th

us roses ha

buds, that w

heir hearts

ntent of su

l glory of

ll a brood

tion bor

torm-caps to

e sun with he

vanished fr

from the thro

tones thrille

h mirth the

shape my s

pirit haunts

one, in s

heaven, of e

earth, with

altering pass

he strenuou

these leave

days shall c

brings the

or that vo

eart, with de

r face no m

sweet, but

RES

s the law of degrees,-o

gestive and prospective; a body in motion, and not an object at rest. It draws the soul out and excites thought, because it is embosomed in a heaven of possibi

diluted with its opposite. The condition of motion is that there be something at rest; else how could there be any motion? The river flows, because its banks do not. We use force, because it is only in part that which it would be. What could we do with unmixed power? Absolute space is not cognizable to the mind; we apprehend spa

and a little remove either way-back toward its grosser side, or up toward its ideal tendency-would place it beyond our ken. It is like the rainbow, which is

with some of the coarser elements purged away. From the zo?phyte up to man, more or less of spirit gives birth to the intervening types of life. All motion is but degrees of gravitating force; and the thousand colors with which the day paints the earth are only more or less of light. All form aspires toward the circle, and realizes it more or less perfectly. By more or

r, before it becomes cognizable to us. There must be irregularity and contrast. Our bodily senses relate us to things on this principle; they require something brought out and disencumbered from the mass. The eye cannot see where there is no shade, nor the hand feel where there is no inequality of surface, nor the palate taste where there is no pre

endency to unite again. All force and all motion are originated on this principle. It is by gravity that we walk and move and overcome resistance, and, in short, perform all mechanical action; yet the condition is t

be a perfect blank, complete numbness; and entire pleasure we could not be conscious of, and for the same reason. How could there be any contrast, any determining hue, any darker or brighter side? If the waters of the earth were all at the same altitude, how could there be any motion among the parts? He

necessarily partial, and does not go the full circle of our being. We are not conscious of our hea

he same law from the particular to the general. We cannot know one thing alone; two ideas enter into every distinct act of the understanding,-one latent and virtual, the other active and at the surface. To use familiar examples, w

annot speak entire and unmixed truth, because utterance separates a part from the whole, and consequently in a measure distorts and exaggerates and does injustice to other truths. The moment we speak, we are one-sided and liable to be assailed by the reverse side of the fact. Hence the hostility that exists between different sects and religions; their founders were each possessed of some measure of truth, and consequently stood near to a common ground of agreement, but in the statement it became vitiated and partial; and the

rom the surface, with more or less sediment in it; while the pure current flows untouched beneath. The deepest depths in a man have

t, resemble the trees, which branch and diverge more and more widely as they proceed from the root and the germinal state. Men are radically

ak the heavy silence, to overcome the settled equilibrium, and disentangle one idea from the embarrassing many. It is a struggle for life. There is no place to begin at. We are burdened with unuttered and unutterable truth, but cannot, for the life of us, grasp it. It is a battle with Chaos. We plant shaft after shaft, but to no purpose. We get an idea half-defined, when it slips from us, and all is blank again in that direction. We seem to be struggling with the force of gravity, and to come not so near conquering as to being conquered. But at last, when we are driven almost to despair, and in a semi-passive state inwardly settling and composing ourselves, the thought comes. How much is then revealed and becomes possible! New facts and forces are commanded by it; much

It is the spheral form appearing in thought. The idea is not only detached, but is wedded to some outward object, so that spirit and matter mutually interpret each other. Nothing can be explained by itself, or, in the economy of Nature, is explained

tain is emphasized by the valley; and one color is brought out and individualized by another. Our mood of yesterday is understood and rendered available by our mood of to-day; and what we now

part. We are related to both; our root is in one, our top in the other. Our ideas date from spirit and appear in fact. The ideal informs the actual. This is the way the intellect detaches and gets expressed. It is not its own interpreter, and, like everything else, is only one side of a law which is explained by the other side. The mind is the cope and the world t

nd a body to the other. This takes place more or less in all speech, but only with genius is it natural and complete. Ordinary minds inherit their language and form of expression; but with the poet, or natural sayer, a new step is taken, and new analogies, new likenesses must be disclosed. He is distinguished from the second-hand man by the fulness and completeness of his expression; his words are round and embrace the two hemispheres, the actual and the ideal. He points out analogies under our feet,

fired and glowing with the heat of some great passion, the operation of the mind is more complete and the detachment more perfect. The thought is not only evolved, but is thrown into the air,-disencumbered from the understanding, and set off against the clear blue of the imagination. Hence the direct and unequivocal statement of a man writing under the impulse of some strong feeling, o

les to his ideas, and we do not. Give a peasant his power of expression, or of welding the world within to the world without, and there would be no very precipitous inequality between them. The great writer says what we feel, but c

from; she takes all blur and opacity out of him; condenses, intensifies; lifts his nerves nearer the surface, sharpens his senses, and brings his whole organization to an edge. Suffic

thing intensely; our experience is a blur without distinct form and outline; in short we are incumbered with too much clay. Hence, when a slow disease burns the dross and earth out of one, how keen and suscept

re adequate in expressing themselves than men; they stand removed one degree farther from the earth, and are conscious of feelings and sentiments that are never

the genesis of the inward man unfolded. What one has lived, that alone can he adequately say. The outward is the measure of the inward; it is as the earth and sky: so much earth as we see, so much sky takes

sant operation, yet it increases our tools. Our lives are not thoroughly shaped out and individualized till we have lived and suffered in every part of us. A great feeling reveals new powers in the soul, as a deep breath fills air-cells in the lungs that are not reache

form the nerve and sinew of the best writing of our day; while the Latin is the fat. The Saxon puts small and convenient handles to things, handles that are easy to grasp; while your ponderous Johnsonian phraseology distends and exaggerates, and never peels the chaff from

nuity. The language of the actual and the practical applied to the ideal brings it at once within everybody's reach, tames it, and familiarizes it to the mind. If the writers on metaphysics would deal more in our every-day speech, use commoner illustrations, seek to find some interpreter of the feelings and affections of the mind in Nature, out of the mind itself, and thus keep the life-principle and the thought-principle constantly wedded, making them mutually elucidate and explain each other, they would be far more fruitful and satisf

nd stars engraved on buttons and knife-handles. Proverbs come from the character, and are alive and vascular. There is blood and marrow in them. They give us po

, with the logic left out; and the writer who shall thus condense his wisdom, and as far as possible

CES IN COLLECTIN

this pursuit, especially in Italy, that exhaustless quarry of "originals" and "old masters"; though it should be remembered that a work of art may be both original an

the world from the well-known manufactories of paintings in France, England, and other parts, which ca

, and the coatings and marks of time counterfeited by chemical means and skilful manipulation. He sells his productions as imitations, at prices that barely provide him with daily bread, eking out his subsistence by repairs and restorations, in which he is equally happy. Living in obscurity, without the capital or sagacity to make himself known to the public, he is at the

ves none. For, stimulated by vanity or fashion, without any true regard for art, he has offered so large a premium for a name, that it would indeed be wonderful, if a corresponding supply were not created. The living artist is sometimes sorely tempted to pander to illusions to secure that appreciation which the world gives more lavishly to fashion than to merit. Michel Angelo tested this disposition, even more current in his time than now; though some say it was done unknown to him. At all events, having finished the statue of a Cupid, af

have arrived in some well-known Italian market for art,-picture-

is put upon his movements, and bribery and cajolery used to get access to him. It is the sensale's business to discover and offer pictures. He is supposed to know the locality of every one, good or bad, in his neighborhood. However jealous of each other, all are loyally pledged together to take in the stranger. Leagued with the dealer, artist, owner, courier, or servant, with any one, in fact, that by any possibility can stand between the buyer and his object, it has become almost an impossibility, especially for transient visitors, to purchase anything whatever wi

tude of demands which in reality the seller never expects to realize. Hence the negotiation is best done through an agent, the buyer having fixed his price, leaving the sensale to make what he can for himself. No purchaser, however, should give heed to

ated with aristocratic seals and eloquent with academical certificates, anointed with refined flattery and obsequious courtesy-having failed, his Eccellenza being too knowing to be seduced into buying the ostentatiously furbished-up roba of shops, they set about to accommodate him with originals from first hands. By substituting old frames for new, dirtying the pictures, and other ingenious processes familiar to the initiated, and then putting them out to board in noble villas, antique palaces, or other localities the most natural for good pictures to be discovered in, spiced with a romance of decayed family-grandeur,-by employing new agents, and by hints sagaciously conveyed to the buyer, his cu

of art because they have a fa?ade to repair or an altar to decorate,-and particularly if there be said anything of an inheritance to divide, or a sad tale of family distress requiring the sacrifice of long-cherished treasures, backed up by a well-gotten-up pantomime of unlockings and lockings

the great-grandfather of Louis-Philippe, was bought at the sale of that ex-king's pictures in Paris, in 1849, for thirty dollars, restored to its primitive condition, and sold, we are informed, for one hundred thousand francs. Ten years ago, an Angel, by the same artist, was found in the old-clothes market at Florence by an artist, bought for a few pence, cleaned and sold to Prince Galitzin for twenty-two thousand francs. The "Fortune" of Michel Angelo, or what was supposed to be, not long since was discovered in the same locality in a disastrous condition, secured for a few shillings, put in such order as was possible, and parted with to a French gentleman for three hundred dollars and a pension of one dollar a day during the lives of the seller and his son. Quite recently one of Correggio's most beautiful works was discovered under th

Ezekiel," Raphael, in 1510, had but eight scudi d' oro, equivalent now to thirty dollars. At present, it would bring a fabulous sum, if sold. Within the memory of those now living, gold background pictures of the schools of Giotto and his successors, owing to the contempt the pseudo-classical French taste had excited for them, were brought out of suppressed churches and convents and

he spectators and the defamation of great reputations. Many of these purchases are the speculations of couriers, who, having artfully inoculated their employers with a taste for originals, take care to supply the demand, greatly to the benefit of their own pockets and the gratitude of those with whom they bring their masters into connection. We have been called by a countryman to admire his gallery of Claudes, Poussins, Rembrandts, Murillos, and Titians, for which he had expended a princely sum, but which there was no difficu

any participation in their illusions. A gentleman entered a well-known stu

painting is by Fur

he spot; which was no sooner done, than he turned round to the amused artist an

ome speculators. "I should be happy to gratify you, gentlemen," he replied, "but unfortunately I saw the picture painted."

are more easily forged. When genuine, the former are valuable only as they are the opinions of honest and competent

of no value. One professional certificate in our possession, of the last century, ascribes the portrait in question to Masaccio or Sauti di Tito: as sensible a decision as if an English critic had decided that a certain pic

leverness. Some still linger in remote galleries, with the savor of authenticity about them. A Raphael of his make long graced the Imperial Gallery of Russia. He did not confine himself to literal repetitions, but concocted new "originals" by combining parts of several pictures in worm-eaten panels or time-stained canvases, with such variations of motive or design as their supposed authors would naturally have made in repeating their ideas in fresher combinations,-sometimes leaving portions unfinished, ingeniously dirtying their surfaces, and giving to

rofitable names. In this way many works of much local interest, and often indeed of equal merit to those they are made to represent, ar

e surprised to learn how few comparatively can be historically traced to their authors. The majority are named upon the authority of local judges, whose acquaintance with art may be limited to one speciality, or who rely upon such opinions as ca

, and not unfrequently assisted by them. As we go back in art, this difficulty increases, from the oblivion which has overtaken o

alf and to honor their patron saints. Their usual compositions were the Madonna enthroned with the infant Jesus in her arms, surrounded by holy personages or angels, with the portraits of those who ordered the paintings, in general of diminutive size to express humility, and kneeling in adoration with clasped hands and upraised eyes. Unless the characteristics of the ma

his pupils, will perhaps never be known. Coindet ascribes to him from one hundred and eighty to two hundred Holy Families alone. Some writers compute the entire number of his paintings at from five hundred to six hundred; others quote twelve hundred as authent

Titian; the Caracci and their followers multiplied Correggios, Raphaels, and the chief Venetians; Girolamo da Carpi of Ferrara the same; and all with a degree of success that has greatly perplexed later generations: their own works, in turn, as they became popular, experiencing from subsequent artists the same process of multiplication. Of the celebrated Madonna of Loreto there ar

ned the pictures, obliterating those peerless tints, lights, and shadows, and those delicate but emphatic touches that bespeak the master-stroke, leaving instead cold, blank, hard surfaces and outlines, opaque shadows and crude coloring, out of tone, and in consequence with deteriorated sentiment as well as execution. The profound knowledge and vigorous or fairy-like handling which made their primary reputation are now forever gone, leaving little behind them except the composition to sustain it in competition with modern work. As bad, however, as is this wanton injury, that of repainting is greater. Inadequate to replace the delicate work he has rubbed off, to harmonize the whole an

ntents of some are beginning to acquire a strange uniformity of external character, while the old masters in the same degree are vanishing from them. Thes

cient for the actual conservation of the picture. One of the chief needs of many old pictures is the removal of old repaintings. This done, the less added the better, unless, if a piece be wanting, it can be so harmonized with the original as to escape observation. But this is a special art, and to be done only by those acquainted with the old methods. In perfect condition ancient paintings cannot be. We m

icles with the old; for the fresh tints are always liable to assume a different

on those who have experience in the arts of the restorer. Some years ago a Roman artist for a while successfully passed off his imitations of Claude, Salvator Rosa, and their schools, as originals, at large prices, with the usual guaranties of authenticity. To disarm suspicion, he was accus

unknown and unappreciable by those who cannot view it as it exists in the consecrated localities and amid the solemn associations whence it originated. All over Italy, by the road-side and in the sanctuary, there exists untold treasure of this sort, pure, grand or quaint, telling truth with the earnestness of conviction, and exhaling beauty through aroused feeling and refined sentiment, overflowing with virgin power and exalted efforts. Everywhere untransportable, often in localities untrodden except by the feet of the stolid peasant or the heavy-jawed monk, seen only by enthusiastic seekers, these monuments of a noble art are once more being awakened into vital existence by the piety and taste of a generation whose great joy it is to

livelihood depends in no stinted measure upon her artistic attractions. And nowhere is there a livelier feeling for artistic beauty, greater respect for the pa

d have told you." They may meet aristocratic personages not above acting the picture-dealer in a covert manner, and, still worse, receive propositions to buy works of art robbed from public places. But such instances are uncommon. The common feeling is an enthusiastic pride in, and profound respect for, the names and the works that have done so much for the good and glory of

g done and art ever doing, our city of the fairest ornaments to embellish strange lands therewith? I prize these pictures from reverence to the memory of my father-in-law, from whom I had them, and from the love I bear to my husband; I mean to defend them, while I have life, wi

fore been hurled at man alive." Be it remembered, too, that Vasari was a good judge of the quality of a Florentine dame's s

other nations. England has been slow to recognize the great merits of the Southern schools; and France, Holland, and Germany are equally in the bondage of local tastes or transitory fashions. But true criticism is cosmopolitan. It tests merit according to the standard of the nature on which it is founded, not overlooking excellence in whatever respect or degree. A truly catholic view of art is the result only of its universal study. The critic may be just to all inspirations, and yet enjoy his own preferences. But, as Blackwood observes, too many "are self-endowed with the capacity to judge all matters rela

t. John, in his "Louvre," relates that he heard an associate of the Royal Academy deliberately and energetically declare, that, if it were in his power, he would slash with his knife all the works of the old masters, and thus compel people to buy modern. This spirit is both ungenerous and impolitic. If neither respect nor care for the works of departed talent be bestowed, what future has the living talent itself to look forward to? Art

TY S

rne the bruise, a

ut of Mary Scranton's bed-room into the clean kitchen, where Doctor Parker sat bef

oom. It was very small, very clean, and two sticks of wood on the o

een dark eye that raised question of her temper. Miss Lovina Perkins was her style, being half-aunt to the unpleasant-color

its welcome; she knew nothing, cared for nothing, felt nothing but the chill of the

y pen or pencil. Yet, for all its pallor, you saw at once that this face was still young, had been lovely, a true New-England beauty, quaint and trim and delicate as the slaty-gray snow-bird, with its white breast, and soft, bright eyes, that ha

that the delicate, oval face, with its profuse brown hair, its mild hazel eyes, and smiling mouth, was "jest like a pictur'." So Tom and Mary duly fell in love, got married,-nobody objecting,-went West, and eight months afterwa

y. She could not work now, and she went to boar

hrough a death-agony, take her to Tom. She thought the baby would die, too, and then they should all be together;-for Mary had a positive temperament, without hope, because without imagination; what she had possessed and lost eclipsed with her all uncertainties of the future; and she thought seven times of Tom where she once thought of her child, though she took pains to make its garments ready, and knit its tiny socks, and lay the lumbering old cradle, that she had been rock

r cheek, the other picking restlessly at the

Aunt Rhody," said D

life again, and quickened the flickering circulation; her thin fingers lay quiet, her eyes opened and looked clear

little girl, Mary,"

f a smile l

said she, in

s were fixed and glazing. Suddenly she smiled a brilliant smile, stretched both arms upward, dropping her baby from its pl

en, Miss Loviny," said Aunt Rhody; "'tisn't consid

the two or three that inclined to fall should spot the baby's blanket; "but I'm goi

and Aunt 'Vi

by? There it lay, helpless, soft, incapable, not to be scolded, or worked, or made responsible in any way, the most impracticable creature possible: a kitten she could have put into a basket at night, and set in the shed; a puppy she could and would have drowne

Doctor Parker came to Miss Perkins's house to ask after "baby," who grew daily fat and fair and smiling; and on one of these occasions he met the m

't think of two on 'em at once; and Scripter names are generally rather ha'sh. Miss Parker, Doctor, kind of favored her bein' called Aribelly, be

ss 'Viny," said the Docto

ht do worse than to call the baby Content;-that was your own

quite an idea, Doct

her on the first Sabba

dye

on that sweet May-Sunday she carried the smiling little child

s! -irresistible plea to a woman!-and under all Miss 'Viny's rough exterior, her heart was as sweet as the kernel of a butternut, though about as hard to discover. True, she was hard of feature, and of speech, as hundreds of New-England women are. Their lives are hard, their husbands are harder and stonier than the fields they half-reclaim to raise their daily bread from, their existence is labor a

ow many strong-minded, intellectual, highly educated and refined women will object to this mean and jealous sentiment in a woman of like passions with themselves. I know, myself, that a lofty love will regard the good of the beloved object first, and itself last,-that jealousy is a paltry and sinful emotion; but, my dear creatures, I can't help it,-so it was. And if any one of you can, with a serene countenance and calm mind, see your husband devote himself to a much prettier

are half an hour, while the tea-kettle boiled, for undressing "baby," rubbing the little creature down,-much as a groom might have done, only with a loving touch not kept for horses,-enduing it with a long night-gown, and toasting its shell-pink feet at the fire, till, between the luxury of ease and warmth and tending, "baby" cooed herself to sleep, and lay along Miss 'Viny's lap like a petted kitten, the firelight playing soft lights over its fair head, sealed eyelids, and parted lips, tinting the relaxed arm and funny dimpled fist with a rosy glow, while Aunt 'Viny's face took on a tender brooding gleam that nobody who had seen her in church on Sunday, severely crunching fennel, or looking daggers at naughty boys, could have believed possible. But this expression is an odd wonder-worker. I saw but the other day

ed lustily and was over with it; fretting was out of the question,-she did not know how; her special faults were a strong will and a dogged obstinacy,-faults Miss 'Viny trained, instead of eradicating; so that 'Tenty emerged from district-school into the "'Cademy's" higher honors as healthy and happy an individual as ever arrived at the goodly age of fourteen without a silk dress or a French shoe to peacock herself withal. Every morning, rain or shine, she carried her tin pail to Doctor Parker's

years, or did occur again for more; yet nobody knew a romance had come and gone. People in Deerfield lived their lives with a view to this world and the next, after the old Puritanic fashion somewhat modified, and so preserved the equilibrium. No special beauty of the town attracted summer-visitors. It was a village of one street, intended to be straight, crossing a decorous brook that turned the mill, and parting itself just below the church and the "store," to accommodate a small "green," where the geese waddled, hissed, and nibbled Maywe

Will

Store

s D

ircumstanc

Rea

d out with the promise to pay which that promise has never been full filled I deem it a dut

pay cash for all goods purchas by them. I shall offer go

give credit I want

Nev

NAH

er! This is verbatim

hed-floor, lilacs and altheas before the windows, fennel, tiger-lilies, sweet-brier, and Bar_gun_dy rosebushes, with red "pinies" and livid hydrangeas, or now and then a mat of stonecrop and

Also, the art and mystery of housekeeping became familiar to the child, and economy of the domestic sort was a virtue she learned unconsciously by continual practice. She went to church on Sundays in a clean calico frock and a white cape, sat in the sing

s; but when it comes to stubborn facts, why, there you have to come down to this world, and proceed accordingly,-so I must say 'Tenty was not handsome. She had fresh rosy cheeks and small brown eyes, hair to match the eyes, a nose undeniably pug, a full, wide mouth, and strong, white teeth,-fortunately, since every one showed when she laughed, and she laughed a great

ng evenings, against her usual rules. Now about the middle of that May, Doctor Parker's scapegrace son Ned came home from sea,-a great, lazy, handsome fellow, who had run away from Deerfield in his fifteenth year, because it was so "darned stupid," to use his own phrase. Doctor Parker was old, and Mrs. Parker was old, to

o do than to watch the gay, good little bee at her toil, hear her involuntary snatches of hymn-singing, la

that summer; she seemed to get on so slow

band is afflicted with neuralogy, beside that he is considerable in years, so we can't be around as we used to be; and 'Tenty steps about and gets Ed'ard h

ideas to Miss 'Viny, they were being illus

shed the Miss,) "won't you give

ook, and went to her work again,

fields

has slipped away. 'Ten

though he is so helpless she has to raise his head with one arm and

s beyond the

d a drink of

s to be re-arranged, and at length 'Tenty goes back to her place by the window quite indisposed to sing, but glowing with a new, shy pleasure, for Ned had looked up at her with those great gray eyes that said so muc

ross the room with a cane and the help of 'Tenty's shoulder; after which experiment he began to recover r

nd shy dropping eyes; beside, she laughed less, almost ceased to sing, sighed softly, and looked quiet and grave, instead of gay and unco

she only grew more exacting of 'Tenty's presence, wanted her earlier in the evening, found fault with her food, and behaved gen

' gingerbread and spruce-beer, holding skeins for the girls, going on picnics, huckleberryings, fishing-excursions, apple-bees, riding Old Boker, his father's horse, bare-backed down the street, playing ball on the

eus left Ariadne tearing the ripples of her amber-bright hair, and tossing her white arms with the tossing surf, in a vain agony of distraction and appeal: poets have sung the flirtation, painters have painted it; the story is an eternal legend of pain and passion, illuminated with lucent tints of age and the warm South, outlined with the statuesque purity of classic scenery and classic diction: but I myself never for a moment believed that Ariadne was a particle more unhappy or pitiable than Nancy Bunker, our seamstress, was, when Hiram Fenn went West to peddle essences, and married a female Hoosier whose father owned half a prairie. They would by no means make as lovely a picture; for Nancy's upper jaw projects, and she has a wart on her nose, very stiff black hair, and a shingle figure, none of which add

familiar looks and tones, and words of praise that made Adriadne Scran' think Theseus Parker a little more than mere man, something altogether adorable. However, she knew he was having a very good time when he didn't see her at all. The real reason why she ached and sighed over Squire H

atures! not magnanimity enough in a whole race of them to be visible to the naked eye! jealous dogs-in-the-manger! If they weren't useful domestically, I should vote for having them exterminated from this great generous world, and give place to some better institution, which no doubt

ed Parker, and thought she was growing very old, till one night he asked her to go to singing-school

nches were all full! Truth, stern tutor of the historian, compels me to confess that 'Tenty and Ned Parker were sitting on the meeting-house steps most of that evening, in a touching attitude; for Ned was telling her how his ship had come into port and was going to sail again for South America, and he had an

ss me for goo

he gate, 'Tenty looked so fresh and rosy and sweet when she came in, that Aunt 'Viny growled to herself, found fault with her gruel, scolded at the blanket, tipped over the teacup, and worried 'Tenty back into stern reality, till the girl stole off to her bed. Not to sleep,-oh, no! Waste such sweetness on sleep? Never! She lay there, broad awake, and thought it all over, and how very nice it was to have anybody love h

, before Deerfield heard any news of Ned Parker; though, in the mean time, one report after another of his being engaged to various girls, at length settling with marked weight on Hannah-Ann Hall, spread over the village and was the theme of Sunday-noon gossips and sewing-society meetings, greatly to 'Tenty

le; this only child was all he had; paralysis smote his body when the smitten mind bowed before that dire knowledge, and he never looked up again. Content would have given anything to go and nurse him; but she, too, was stunned, and in the whirl of that great grief even Aunt 'Viny's demands were no more to her than a dull mechanic routine that she could hardly force her trembling steps to carry through. So she stayed at home, sewing all day and crying all night, and looking generally miserable, though she said nothing; for whom

r now be paid, slumbering in the cruel seas that break and roar about the Horn. She counted the bearers, all known faces; she watched Parson Goodyear into the pulpit; she saw Mrs. Parker on her brother's arm. But there was one other veiled female figure, shrouded also in black, whose presence she could no way account for; and when Parson Goodyear made his first long prayer, and sent up an earnest petition for the doubly bereaved woman before him, what did he mean by adding,-"And Thine other handmaid, in the bloom of her year

pail of water, she looked earnestly down the depths of crystal, as if to see what lay below, then quietly opened her left hand above it;-something bright fell, dashed the clear drops from a fern that grew half-way down, tinkled against a projecting stone,

iny grew better; she could sit up; at length could move about; and at last, one

iss Parker lately,

hivered

ve not, A

ul against the Lord's doings, and I don't know but what such kind of people need comfortin' more 'n others. It'

nds the wind

o the door of man, so's to feel free to worry. But the worst thing He ever do

himself with her, while she was in mortal earnest, had lowered him not a little from his height. Then Aunt 'Viny's care diverted her sad thoughts from herself, by sending her upon daily errands to the poor and the sick, so that 'Tenty's pleasant face and voice became the hope of the

l lurking in the constitution springs on the helpless and willing victim and completes its work. This is a shockingly unromantic and material view to take of the matter, and brings to nought poems by the hundred and

ers, though one or two approached her. There are some-women who are like the aloe,-their life admits of but one passion. It comes late and lasts long, but never is repeated; the bloom dies out of its resplendence and odor, but no second flowering replaces it. She was one of these. But what one man lost in her love, a thousand of he

was before her, for so had her mother died; but no saint was ever more patient than she. 'Tenty was the best of nurses, and had even learned to speak of her aunt's death with

eel a sight easier to leave you t

light blush only testifying

't say but what I believe a single state is as good; but a woman that gets a real lazy, selfish feller gets

I'm sure I've been as happy as a clam these last six years, and I don't calculate to resk that by

h the Deerfield world. So she lived on, peaceful and peace-making, till forty found her as comely and as happy as ever, a source of perpetual wonder to the neighbors, who said of her, "She has got the dreadfullest faculty of gettin' along I ever see," and thereby solved the problem, for all except

ne bright October afternoon she came over to see Content, bringing her blue knitting, sure symptom of a visitation. '

Hall, and set awhile; I haven'

ll go to rack while I'm away. My help is dreadful poor,-I can't calculate for her noway. I s

off your bunnet, and make yourself easy. Bridge

here. Dear me! what a clever house this is! A'n't you lonesome? I do think it's dreadful to be l

sing, now, you had married a poor man, and had to work al

g time. She's real ailing, and he ha'n't no patience,-but then he's got means, and she wants for nothing. She had, to say, seven silk dresses, when I was there la

lks in Deerfield are as clever to me as though I belonged to 'em. I have my

tty. "I've suffered so many 'flictions I'm most tired o

d 'em up much. I felt bad while they lasted; but I knew other folks's was

it, and get a-thinkin' over times back, and things people said and did years ago, and how bad I felt, till I feel jest so

ead and done for stay so. I don't know as we've got any call to remember 'em. 'The Lord requireth that which is past,' it sa

enty Scranton!-talk, do!-but 'tisn'

w. I know it does seem as if you couldn't help thinkin' about troubles sometimes, and it's quite a chore to keep bright; but then it seems so much more cheery not to be fretted over things you can't help, and it is

most any way beside my way. I get more and more failin' every day,-I'm pretty near gone now. I don't know but what I shall die any time. I suffer so with

ty, how spry you be, and you've got a real 'hullso

hen's forehead! Why, Content Scranton! I'm dreadful poor,-

ng, Miss Hitty; you do knit beautiful. I

lf-pity. She grew amiable under its sl

it's a pair of socks I promised Miss Warner for her boy. Speakin'

ven't hea

they took him, and he wasn't able to get away for ten year; then a whaler's crew catched sight of him, havin' slopped there, for water, and took him aboard, and he's been the world over since. He ca

me yet, Mi

s Warner's every day;-you know she w

was. But, Miss Hitty,

her head by this time, like enough. I don't see but what one

her shawl and calash and departed; while Conte

e-springs; respect, esteem, admiration, all turn away from a point that offers no foothold for their clinging; and she who weeps to-day tears hot as life-blood ten years hereafter may look with cool distaste at the past passion she has calmly weighed and measured, and thank God that her wish failed and her hope was cut down. Yet there is a certain price to pay for all such experience, to such a heart as sat in the quieted bosom of Content. Had it been possible for her to love again, she would have felt the change in her nature far less; but with the stream, the fountain also had dried, and she was conscious that an aridness, unpleasant and unnatural, threatened t

at the splendid haze of October, glorifying the scarlet maples and yellow elms of Deerfield Street, now steeped in a sunset of purpled crim

! and I re'lly thought he was a fine man! Live and learn, I declare for't! He let me know what kind of cre'turs men are, though. I haven't had to be pestered with one all m

h a bit of cheese made her savory meal, cleared it away, washed the dishes, an

te, chewed, smoked a pipe, and now and then drank to excess; and by way of elegant diversion to these amusements, fell in love with Content Scranton! Her trim figure, her bright, cheerful face, her pretty, neat little house and garde

ry calm, clear tone, ans

u'd lay to when I h'isted signals; I ha'n't forgot past time

n Hall, I guess," retorted

; he had forgotten that passa

ome to know you hadn't meant nothing by all your praises and kisses and fine words, except just to have your own fun while you stayed, no matter what become of me, I see, after I'd got the tears out of my eyes, what kind of a self-seekin', mean, paltry man it was that could carry on so with an innocent young girl, and I hadn't no more respect for you than I have for a

he house, cursing to himself for shame, while 'Tenty buried her face in her apron a

s ago, should suddenly be confronted by those features, after years of death and decay had done their ghastly work on them, bones grinning from their cl

Parson Goodyear's son and successor, interfered in his behalf, hired a room and a nurse for him, and had him taken care of in the most generous and faithful way for the remaining year-and-a-half of his life

d, the young minister

he was gone. Content

he; "though I haven't no certa

th the Lord, Miss Conte

as right; you can't t

now I expect my la

all your money," hesitati

my hands yet, and I sha'n't want for nothing while they last. When I get helples

hy, certainly," s

ligion; I always thought they was near about the same thing. Fact is, people don't die

e this long time, Miss 'Tenty," said

. I guess I shall live a

die content. I

for they shall inherit

as he wa

*

TIONS OF

S PUB

Mr. Irving in Europe. The president of the festival was no less than the Queen's young husband, Prince Albert,-his first appearance in that (presidential) capacity. His three speeches were more than respectable, for a prince; they were a positive success. In the course of the evening we had speeches by Hallam and Lord Mahon for the historians; Campbell and Moore for the poets; Talfourd for the dramatists and the bar; Sir Roderick Murchison for the savans;

e learned Hallam, and the sparkling Moore,-to the classic and fluent author of "Ion," and to the "Bard of Hope,"-to the historic and theologic diplomate from Prussia, and to the stately representative of the Czar. A dozen well-prepared sentiments had been responded to in as many different speeches. "The Mariners of England," "And doth not a meeting like this make amends," had been sung, to the evident satisfaction of the authors of those lyrics-(Campbell, by-the-way, who was near my seat, had to be "regulated" in his speech by his friend and publisher, Moxon, lest H.R.H. should be scandalized). And now everybody was on tiptoe for the author of "Bracebridge Hall." If his speech had

ing, as the biggest man, to pass his ticket, lest he should be demolished in the crush. They left the ha

and said,-'Shall I get you a cab, Mr. Moore? Sure, a'n't I the man that patronizes your Melodies?' He then ran off in search of a vehicle, while Irving and I stood close up, like a pair of male caryatides, under the very narrow protection of a hall-door ledge, and thought, at last, that we were quite forgotten by my patron. But he came faithfully back, and while putting m

y Hotel in New York, by the New York booksellers to American authors. Many of "the Trade" will remember the good things said on that evening, and among them Mr. Irving's speech about Halleck, and about Rogers the poet, as the "frien

the littérateur, and editor of the "Art Journal"; and William Howitt. Irving was much interested in what Dr. Beattie had to tell about Campbell, and especially so in Carter Hall's stories of Moore and his patron, Lord Lansdowne. Moore, at this time, was in ill-health and shut up from the world. I need not attempt to quote the conversation. Irving had been somewhat intimate with Moore in former days, and found him doubtless

almost claimed a victory, when, lo! a slight lull in the talk disclosed the fact that our respected guest was nodding. I believe it was a habit with him, for many years, thus to take "forty winks" at the di

ving began to think his works had "rusted out" and were "defunct,"-for nobody offered to reproduce them. Being, in 1848, again settled in Now York, and apparently able to render suitable business-attention to the enterprise, I ambitiously proposed an arrangement to publish Irving's Works. My suggestion was made in a

r intimacy with him. He was a man who would unconsciously and quietly command deferential regard and consideration; for in all his ways and words there was the atmosphere of true refinement. He was emphatically a gentleman, in

lth and spirits, when his mood was of the sunniest, and Wolfert's Roost was in the spring-time of its charms, it was my fortune to pass a few days there with my wife. Mr. Irving himself drove a snug pair of ponies down to the steamboat to meet us-(for, even then, Thackeray's "one old horse" was not the only resource in the Sunnyside stables). The drive of two miles from Tarrytown to that delicious lane which leads to the Roost,-who does not know all that, and how charming

being taken in the Mediterranean by pirates;-of his standing on the pier at Messina, in Sicily, and looking at Nelson's fleet sweeping by on its way to the Battle of Trafalgar;-of his failure to see the interior of Milan Cathedral, because it was being decorated for the coronation of the first Napoleon;-of his adventures in Rome with Allston, and how near Geoffrey Crayon came to being an artist;-of Talleyrand, and many other celebrities;-and of incidents whi

intent of the work. Probably some of the more literal-minded grandsons of Holland were somewhat unappreciative of the precise scope of the author's genius and the bent of his humor; but if this "veritable history" really elicited any "doubts" or any hostility, at the time, such misapprehension h

licate and judicious reference to the fact of Mr. Irving's early engagement was undoubtedly correct. A miniature of a young lady, intellectual, refined, and beautiful, was handed me one day by Mr. Irving, with the request that I would have a slight injury repaired by an artist and a new case made for it, the old one being actually worn out by much use. The painting (on ivory) was exquisitely fine. When I returned it to him in a suitable velvet case, he t

ve over the hills of Staten. Island. He seemed to enjoy it highly, for be had not been there, I believe, since he was stationed there in a military capacity, during the War of 1812, as aid of Governor Tompkins. H

gain he would not touch his pen for weeks. I believe his most rapidly written work was the one often pronounced his most spirited one, and a model as a biography, the "Life of Goldsmith." Sitting at my desk one day, he was looking at Forster's clever work, which I proposed to reprint. He remarked that it was a favorite theme of his, and he had

rving to his old friend Leslie, that he would make a true sketch of the venerable Diedrich Knickerbocker. Mr. Irving insisted that the great historian of the Manhattoes was not the vulgar old fellow they would keep pu

s composition, when he found, in short, a kindred spirit, his talk was of the choicest. Of Sir Walter Scott, especially, he would tell us much that was interesting. Probably no two writers ever appreciated each other more heartily than Scott and Irving. The sterling good sense, and quiet, yet rich humor of Scott, as well as his literary tastes and wonderful fund of legendary lore, would find no more intelligent and discriminating admirer than

a shop in England, not long after his second or third work had given currency to his name, he gave his address ("Mr. Irving, Number," etc.) for the parcel to be sent to his lodgings. The salesman's face brightened: "Is it possible," said he, "that I have the pleasure of serving Mr. Irving?" The question, and the manner of it, indicated profound respect and admiration. A modest and smiling acknowledgment was inevitable. A few more remarks indicated still more deferential interes

notwithstanding he wields so sharp a pen against England's snobs; and he may naturally have looked for more display of greatness at the residence of an ex-ambassador. But he could scarcely appreciate that simple dignity and solid comfort, that unobtrusive fitness, which belonged to Mr. Irving's home-arrangements. There were no flunkies in gold and scarlet; but there were four or five good horses in the stable, and as many suitable carriages. Everything in the cottage was peculiarly and comfortably elegant, without the least pretension. As to the "single glass of wine," Mr. Irving,

hington, and Major Pendennis tried them on with evident reverence. The hour was well filled with rapid, pleasant chat; but no profound analysis of the characteristics of wit and humor was elicited either from the Stout Gentleman or from Vanity Fair. Mr. Irving went down to Yonkers, to hear Thackeray's lecture in the evening, after we had all had a slice of bear at Mr. Sparrowgrass's, to say nothing of sundry other courses, with a slight thread of con

actual task itself was to him probably ten times as irksome as it would be to most others. Yet it would be curious to know how many letters of suggestion and encouragement he actually did write in reply to solicitations from young authors for his criticism and advice, and his recommendation, or, perhaps, his pecuniary aid. Always disposed to find merit, even where any stray grains of the article lay buried in rubbish, he would amiably say the utmost that could justly be said in favor of "struggling genius." Sometimes his readiness to aid meritorious young authors into profit

extended to his brother-author. At any rate, he persistently kept aloof from Mr. Irving for many years; and not unfrequently discoursed, in his rather authoritative manner, about the humbuggery of success in this country, as exhibited in some shining instances of popular and official favor. With great admiration for Cooper, whose national services were never recognized as they deserved to be, I trust no injustice is involved in the above suggestion, which I make somewhat presumptuously,-especially as Mr. Irving more than once spoke to me in terms of strong admiration of the works and genius of Cooper, and regretted that the great novelist seemed to cherish some unpleasant feeling towards him. One day, some time after I had commenced a library edition of Cooper's best works, and while Irving's were in course of publication in companionship, Mr. Irving was sitting at my desk, with his back to the door, when Mr. Cooper came in, (a little bustlingly, as usual,) and stood at the office-entrance, talking. Mr. Irving did not turn, (for obvious reasons,) and C

omes in Spanish,-in different sets of Calderon and Cervantes, and of some modern French and German authors,-a presentation-set of Cadell's "Waverley," as well as that more recent and elegant emanation from the classic press of Houghton,-a moderate amount of home-tools for the "Life of Washington," (r

mber" as I pleased; so I turned out some hundred volumes of un-classic superfluity, and then called him in from his nap to approve or veto my proceedings. As he sat by, while I rapidly reported the candidates for exclusion, and he nodded assent, or as, here and there, he would interpose with "No, no, not that," and an anecdote or reminiscence would come in as a reas

ping his stray papers. When I sent him such a one, my stipulation for the return of the old one as a present to me was pleasantly granted. This relic was of no great intrinsic value; but, as he ha

r some paper which had been "so very carefully stowed away in some very safe drawer" that it was not to be found, and the search ended in a sort of half-humorous, half-earnest denun

abandoned, as the successive works of Mr. Sparks, Mr. Padding, and others, appeared; and though he was subsequently induced to proceed with his long-considered plan of a more dramatic and picturesque narrative from a new point of view, yet he was more than once inclined to put his MSS. into the fire, in the apprehension that the subject had been worn threadbare by the various compilations which were constantly coming out. When he ventured his first volume, the cordial and appreciative reception promptly accorded to it surprised as much as it cheered and pleased him; for though he despised hollow flattery, no young writer was more warmly sensitive than he to all discriminating, competent, and honest applause or criticism. When "Wolfert's Roost" was published, (I had to entice the papers of that volume from his drawers, for I doubt whether he would have collect

a quality in him as in the great man whom be so faithfully portrayed,) in spite of all the considerations urged by timid gentlemen of the old school in favor of Fillmore and the status quo, he voted in 1856, as he told me, for Fremont. In speaking of the candidates then in the field, he said of Fremont, that his comparative youth and inexperience in party-politics were points in his favor; for he t

sive meetings of the General (State) Convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church, (to which I had been delegated from a little parish on Staten Island,) the names of Washington Irving and Fenimore Cooper were both recorded,-the latter representing Christ Church, Cooperstown. Mr. Irving for several years served in this capacity, and as one of the Mission

oom." When he examined it more closely and found the artist's name, "It's by my old friend Ary Scheffer!" said he,-remarking further, that he had known Scheffer intimately, and knew him to be a true artist, but had not expected from him anything so excellent as this. I afterwards sent him the companion, "Christus Remunerator"; and the pair remained his daily companions till the day of his death. To me, the picture of Irv

more enviable translation from mortality,-of the many beautiful and eloquent tributes of living genius to the life and character and writings of the departed author,-of all these you have already an ample record. I need not repeat or extend it. If you could have "assisted" at the crowning "Commemoration," on his birthday, (April 3d,) at the Academy of Music, you would have found it in many respects memorably in accordance with the intrinsic fitness of things. An audience of five thousand, so evidently and discriminatingly intelligent, addressed for two hours by Bryant, with all his cool, judicious, deliberate criticism, warmed into glo

wits and humorists and amusing essayists, authors of some of the airiest and most graceful contributions of the present century,-and we owe them to the new impulse given to our literature in 1819. I look abroad on these stars of our literary firmament,-some crowded together with their minute points of light in a galaxy, some standing apart in glorious constellations; I recognize Arcturus and Orion and Perseus and the glittering

o Mr. Bryant's c

arned a new dialect and forgotten the old; the chemist of 1807 would be a vain babbler among his brethren of the present day, and would in turn become bewildered in the attempt to understand them. Nation utters speech to nation in words that pass from realm to realm with the speed of light. Distant countries have been made neighbors; the Atlantic Ocean has become a narrow frith, and the Old World and the New shake hands across it; the East and the West look in at each other's windows. The new inventions bring new calamities, and men perish in crowds by the recoil of their own devices. War has learned more frightful modes of havoc, and armed himself with deadlier weapons; armies are borne to the battle-field on the wings of

ANAD

ic waves the w

rse before the

olds the coral

erald and its

hadowy helms in

ear; then, as h

ams where the firm

back the fiercel

the wide sea-bea

nd and many-t

e, in tropic ra

rdure ever-br

nder and deligh

hallop nears the

rf cleared with o

rtal opening t

gh the verdurous

oarsmen urge th

broad horizo

land-lake they

oud. With wishf

heir swift boat t

ared. Again the g

waves beneath

o'er his sci

voyager purs

hate'er the

ncied,-building

fessor'

best:-In earth's

rces wrought wit

tinent outsp

ce, where now t

us growths, of s

aks, of saurian

t, their drear

flaming with

some supernal

down in one gr

ains, the mountai

nched in the w

an the scheme) o

ers laid their

lions wrought,

ight and air th

ams: but from th

ought the subtl

ner joys bloo

spent craters

worn by fierce

rld slow sinking

wreck a home o

umbered shapes

FESSOR'