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. after a pause, "because I wished to see how far sophistry would carry you, and to what absurd conclusions you would come at last. You are welcome to your creed -it is that of a cynic, who would sneer at all the holiest affections of the heart. I will not stop to argue the question with you, for, as sure as we now breathe the air of heaven, the day is coming when, in sorrow and bitterness of heart, you will curse the hour you learned thus to slander a woman, and outrage human feeling. No such thing as love ! Look from the window where you sit, and see that woman leading yonder blind man through the streets. They are both cleanly clad, though their garments are so patched that you cannot recognize the color or character of the original material. Mark how tenderly she supports him as he descends the curb-stone- see with what care she guides his footsteps through the throng . What has induced her to forego the comforts she might earn for herself in order to be the willing slave of that old blind beggar ? Love-ay ! that love which you despise. And that same feeling, still burning as brightly in her bosom as when forty years ago she promised to be a true and faithful wife to the then stalwart man at her side, will continue to irradiate his path until one or both have reached that bourne where, in the comforting language of the Scripture, 6the weary are at rest.' Look at the smile on the sightless countenance of the man, as he turns to his companion, and then deny, if you can, the power of love. I tell you, Thurston, that this blind beggar, poor and despised as he may seem, would not surrender the priceless jewel of his companion's love, for all your wealth and talents and many advantages." And with these words, spoken in a somewhat indignant tone, he left the room.

Time passed on. Thurston, carrying out his idea of love, became known in the world as a skeptic in the heart's purest affection, and though his wit always secured him a certain eclat, he now came to be regarded with that suspicion and distrust which inevitably attends the one who sneers at human feeling. He had few friends, though many acquaintances. He became that absurd thing a diner out, and was to be found at every convivial party, the utterer of stale jests and worn out anecdotes. Left an orphan at an early age, he had no family to whom to look for sympathy ; and so his feelings grew daily more and more blunted, and the links of brotherhood which bound his heart to the human race, snapped one by one. Selfishness at length grew to be his prevailing characteristic.

When twenty years had passed from the date of his conversation with Burton, Thurston was grown querulous and cynical. He still kept up his bachelor establishment, but his youth was fading, and with age came sickness and neglect. His wealth still retained for him a certain degree of respect, but his wit had now degenerated into a habit of constant sneering, which drove every body but his own servants from his presence. Now mark the difference. Burton, at the period of the above conversation, was already engaged to a very estimable lady, and this indeed may have induced him to repel, with such peculiar warmth of manner, the sophistry of his former classmate. The two young men often met afterward, and indeed still continued to be friends, but their wide difference of opinion on so important a subject, forbade any thing like confidence. Gradually circumstances widened the almost imperceptible breach, and when Burton married, the acquaintance of the two classmates had little more in it than the name. Neither of the young couple were wealthy, but Burton was a rising member in his profession, and his bride was sufficiently dowered to furnish her house handsomely, though not luxuriously. Their residence was in a quiet street where they could command a certain portion of elegance without extravagance. They were supremely happy. All this, however, did not prevent Thurston from exercising his wit on what he called " the death and burial" of his old friend. That Burton should have married an almost portionless girl whom he loved, when he might have obtained more than one heiress whom he did not love, was quoted by Thurston as an evidence of the highest folly, of a supreme ignorance of his own interests. 66 He could have liked the heiress, if he had made up his mind to it, just as well as he likes this Miss Bowlbey, whose whole fortune, all told, deesn't exceed three thousand dollars. Pshaw ! the fellow's a fool-and then besides," he exclaimed, with a shrug of the shoulders, "we've lost a boon companion. I'll get Tom the poet here to write an epitaph. Push the wine, lads." Mingling in such different spheres, the two classmates eventually almost lost sight of each other, and only met occasionally in the streets, when a bow formed the extent of the recognition. Meantime Burton prospered in his profession, and rose slowly, though steadily to the front rank. This, it is true, was the work of years ; but the toil of those years was sweetened by the sympathy of an affectionate wife, and the playful caresses of his children. Each year his heart grew more expanded, and his brotherhood to all men increased ; for wedded love not only deepens an affection for one particular object, but widens the sympathy of the heart for others. With the increase of his income, Burton was enabled to command more of the luxuries of life ; and finally he purchased and occupied one of the finest houses, in the most fashionable quarter of the city . His name became one of repute, and his influence in the city was felt by all. He was at the head of many of the philanthropic institutions of


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.

THE FATAL NUPTIALS.

UTM, DAVENPORT.

Reazans, a young man of Sicily, remarkable for his accomplishments and his beauty, had won for himself the hand of Leonora, a rich heiress, when she bad reached her eighteenth year. Rizzari, happy in his love, was uofortunate in having for his rival a noble Corsican; and the Corsicans, like to the Siliciuns, have ever dis- tiaguisho] themselves by their vengeance for a supposed affront.

‘The marringe of the brave Rizzari and the lovely Leo- nora, took place in the chapel of the stmull village of Bruca. ‘Ihe ceremony had reached that point where the bridegroom was about to place upon the finger of bis beloved the small, plain, rowed ring, emblematic of the eternity of their love, and the simplicity of their tastes, when there was heard in the chapel a frightful demonine laugh, It was so shrill, eo piercing, and 0 horrible, that it was heard thrilling shove the peals of the organ, and drowning, as it were, the joyous choir that was bursting forth ina heavenly hymn- "Phe sounds were those that might be supposed to come from helt, rather than the echo of a human voice, So extraordinary a circumstance naturally attracted the at- tention of gil; bat to the great astonishment of those Present, it was impoasilie to guess from whom, or whence that awful, terrifying laugh of derision had proceeded.

"Phe marriage ceremony was continued, and this ex- traordinary interruption was soon forgalten amid the imposing solemnities of the mugnificent nuptials.

All the apartments of the castle of Bruca, excepting ‘one—the nuptial chamber—were that day opened to the hundreds of guests which were invited. At sunact the castle was brilliantly Uluminated, and the marriage fenst wae succeeded by dances, which took pluce in the splen- did halts of that ducal palace.

Teonora was. most happy; for she was proud of the husband she had chosen, and she did not even pretend to conceal the joy that she felt in being the wife of Rizzari, Happinesa sparkled in his eyes, and their rays cast gloams of pleasure upon all who looked on them.

It was in the midst of the ball, and at the very time when the happiness of all was complete, that thero was perceived entering into the grand banquet-room two per- sons that were masked, and that wore the habiliments of peasants; these two persons bore with them garlands of flowers, and executed dances with such extraordinary grace, and such astonishing agility, that they soon at- tracted universal regard and admimtion to themselves, It was speedily discovered that they wero unknown to all present, and various persons asked them therefore to declare their names. They let it be known by signs that their devire. was to unmask themselves but to the bridegroom alone, and to preserve their incognito to every one else, They soon afterwards retired, followed by Rizzari.

‘Tho exquisite music of a perfect orchestra gave out the signal for fresh dances and renewed pleasure. The absence of the bridegroom was scarcely remarked, Leo- nora alone sought for him with her looks, and sbe alone appeared troubled that he should be, even for a few mo- ments, from her sight.

Twenty minutes had scarcely elapsed, when the two masks were again entering the ball-room; but their cov- tume bad in the meanwhile been changed; they now wore mourning robes, and they carried a third person along with them, who was enveloped in long white gare ments, They advanced with slow and measured pacea into the very centre of the festive party.

‘Thia dreadful apparition, at 2 moment of joyous feast ing, excited a very unpleasant sensation among the fests; but then no one felt himself authorised to inter fere with that which was supposed to be sanctioned by the giver of the feast himself. When the two indi- viduals, who were masked, reeched the middle of the bali-room they faid down the burden, and then began dances that were at the same time melancholy and gro- tesque.

Leonora, agitated at length by the continued absence of her husbund, could scarcely think of giving # mo- ment’s thought to the funer: e scene before her. At last a secret anxiety~a dread that she could not explain —took possession of her, and she asked, as she trembled with fear, for her spouse,

At that very instant the masks had finished their ter- sible pantomime, They advanced towards her, and one of them, eatching her by her nuptial robe, said in 9 tone of voice sufficiently foud to be heard by several othera, “ Venite a piangere le nostre ¢ le vostre miserie”—Come and weep for your own griefs ae well as ours,

At these words Leonora fell fainting into the arms of her sister-intaw. A confused clamor arose among the guests; they suppored that the two masks bad offered soine insult to the bridle; but the strangers had divappeared before their suspicions assumed the form of certainty.

Tt was now remarked, and with some surprise, that the individual stretched upon the earth, continued still to play,as if it were real, the part of a dead man. He moved not # muscle, and there seemed to be not a single respiration to move the loug sepulchral garment with which he wes concealed. Curiosity induced one of the gueats to raise the arm of this person; it fell heavily back to his sidle, and the hand itself was icy cold. An awful presentiment of horror took possession of the minds of all. Hurriedly they uncovered the face of the person lying before them, Oh, heavens! it was a corpse! Tt was the dead body of the Count Rizzari!

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. white as an alabaster vase ; enfin, the very counterpart of my Louise."

" Which," interposed the Count laughing, " is the very abstraction of perfection."

"Not all perfection, noble Colonel," resumed François ; " for, seeing that I am ever imperfect" —'t was the first time the valet had ever been known to speak disparagingly of himself or his proportions. "Were she interpreter. Then do the startling sigh and trickling tear, the dumb eloquence of the heart, declare more truly the intensity of love than the wildest and most impassioned accents of endearment. And thus it was with Raymond and Isandra- each wished to speak, yet knew not how to break the spell that choked their utterance. At last Isandra dissolved the charm as she observed perfect, her perfections and my imperfections" -the in a low and melancholy tone, “ I know not why it is, rascal's face belied his words-" would be continually yet so it is, dearest Raymond, a feeling of sadness steals at variance ; but she has just so many faults- nor ought upon me now in my happiest moments. That parting they to be denominated faults-say, rather, noble Count, sun ever recalls the image of my own dear land, upon failings- nor yet failings, slight and venial peccadilloes the limits of whose empire they say of old he flung his -or, as our Abbé used to describe them, evanescent orient and his setting beams ; but now, torn by intestine shadows upon the mirrored purity of the virgin mind, commotion and foreign invasion, its borders are daily which only serve to bring their virtues into stronger contracting, till at last it will dwindle to a span, a speck relief." upon the world's disc, without a name." "Be it so, then," said St. Croix, growing impatient "Dearest idol of my heart," replied De Beauvoir, at the recital of a panegyric upon the female excellencies “ why give way to such despondency ? That sun sleeps of François' mistress, which he had already listened to but to rise again refreshed in glory and light ; and so more than a thousand and one times. " Be ready to shall it be with your own Spain. Nations, like indiviact promptly upon my orders this evening, of whatever duals, have their vicissitudes ; or, if it be that Heaven, nature they may happen to be, both as to time and in its wisdom, has decreed that the sword shall desolate place." The valet bowed a respectful assent to his its plains, then let my island home be your adopted master's instructions. country-England, the land of the brave and free- her On the evening of the day upon which the above coasts are iron bound, but the hearts of her sons are conversation took place, Raymond de Belvoir and the warm. Castile shall then be ever present to your view, Lady Isandra were observed to promenade, as usual, ❘ for love shall make all England Castile to you. Rather upon the shores of the Adour, following the course of is this melancholy the inseparable companion of adoring the river toward the estuary. It wanted yet one hour hearts. In the sunniest hour of the noon a sense of of sunset, and glorious was the picture which every thing stillness and solitude will pervade the landscape ; so in above and around presented. A dreamy stillness-the love, ' tis the gloom and shadow of uncertainty which Jull and hush of life pervaded the atmosphere. Toward fosters that sweet perplexity upon which it lives." the Spanish frontiers the shades of night were descend" Yet do my fears," rejoined the lady, " begin to ing upon the tops of the Pyrenees, deepening the gloom assume something more of substance than before. 'Tis of the mountain vistas, whilst in the far west a flood of scarce a fortnight since the Count St. Croix and I have carmine was poured upon the waves, as the glowing orb been made acquainted, and during the period he has of life stole from the blood-red arch amidst the rapture never ceased to teaze me with his importunities, but of creation ; earth and sky seeming to embrace in a after so insulting a fashion, as if it were a condescension transport of voluptuous light, as the conqueror sunk to on his part to notice me. Three times have I observed his rest like a warrior upon the battle-field, and the him dogging our evening walk ; fearing, however, some sparkling bay resounded with the shout of waves that very unpleasant rencontre, I hesitated to apprise you of upraised themselves to kiss, as it were, the skirts of the it ; but now, dearest Raymond, my fears for your perreceding God. Then all again was still ; the glowing sonal safety have overcome my discretion, and I speak air stirred faintly as a pulse, and day died like the echoes to warn you in time. Yet be not rash-if not for yourof a song. Next came the soft witchery of twilight, the self, yet on my account. What would be this dreary Sabbath hour of the day, and the stars one by one lit up world without thee-years of cold and blank existence, their bivouac fires in the dome of the world's temple, bringing, in their rotation, but one chilling sense, that whilst the panting of its great heart" grew faint, that come what may to others, all must be dark and desolate the vesper song of praise might ascend to Him who had to me ; and that one heart, the possession of which worded all into the immensity of space. would have made an Eden of my days, is gone and As in woe there is a stupefaction, which causes the gone for ever." "Miscreant ! hath he dared to pollute your ears with unhappy to sleep when exhausted by affliction, so in the mystic union of fond hearts, there is a depth and his ribald tongue !" cried De Beauvoir, no longer able holiness of feeling, of which silence is the best and only to restrain his indignation. "By the God that called


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 country, I cannot think, but he was exceedingly ill when he got there, as may easily be imagined, and as soon as he had sufficiently recovered, he came up to Cameroons, and obtained his present appointment, after having been kept and nursed up in the hospital there, to his considerable surprise after his Congo experiences. He was not hopeful about the future of that Congo railroad, or of that of its directors. He quoted as one of the reasons for his leaving it the doubt that it would ever be finished. Inexplicable is man! Why he should have cared whether it was finished or not as long as it kept on paying him £1 a day, I do not know. He had kept a diary of the accidents, which averaged two a day, and usually took the form of something going off the line, because the railway engines used were so light as to be flighty, and not really powerful enough to take up more than two trucks at a time, though always expected to do so. The wages of the natives employed were from 1s. to 1s. 6d. a day; very high pay. The Chinamen imported as navvies were an awful nuisance, always making palaver. The Senegal men are dangerous, because the French officials on the line always support them against other white men, Senegalese being Frenchmen, just as Kruboys are Englishmen.

While I am getting this last news from Congo, the rain keeps on pouring down, I presently see one of my men sitting right in the middle of the road on a rock, totally unsheltered, and a feeling of shame comes over me in the face of this black man’s aquatic courage. Besides, Herr von Lucke had said I was sure to get half-drowned and catch an awful cold, so there is no use delaying. Into the rain I go, and off we start. I may remark I subsequently found that my aquatic underling was drunk. I conscientiously attempt to keep dry, by holding up an umbrella, knowing that though hopeless it is the proper thing to do,

We leave the road about fifty yards above the hut, turning into the unbroken forest on the right-hand side, and following a narrow, slippery, muddy, root-beset bush-path that was a comfort after the road. Presently we come to a lovely mountain torrent flying down over red-brown rocks in white foam;


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. the garrison, and supported by a furious cannonade from twenty-four and thirty-six pounders, and accompanied by a perfect storm of shot and shell, attacked and carried the bridge called the Huerba ; from whence the Arrongese, overwhelmed by superior numbers, fell back, and were pursued by the victors to the Monastery of the Augustines, or Los Monichas. The assault upon the monastery then commenced, and though the carnage among the enemy was dreadful, they still continued to advance. The combatants then entered the church, from which the French were at first repulsed by the monks, who, mingling in the thickest of the affray, fought with all the fury and fervor of desperation. The assailants returned again to the charge, and now the chancel presented a scene such as has seldom or never been witnessed before.

At the great and side altars were crowds of women and children upon their knees, supplicating Heaven for mercy and protection ; but their frantic cries were drowned amidst the yells and execrations of the belligerents, and the roar of the musquetry. The French troops, amidst an indiscriminate slaughter of women and children, still pushed forward, till their further progress was arrested by the cry that the roof, battered by shells, was beginning to give way. Panic stricken by this new enemy ; mingling in one common mass with those against whom, but a moment before, they had been engaged in deadly conflict, they rushed for the doors. Some precipitated themselves from the windows, such was their extreme terror ; whilst the most heartrending screams re-echoed throughout the church, from the numbers that were crushed beneath the feet of the fugitives, or suffocated by the pressure at the doors.

Of the dense crowd that had previously filled the chapel, except the wounded, but two remained ; one a lady, who knelt before a picture of the Madonna, and the other was the Count St. Croix, who had headed the troops in the assault upon the Monastery. The Count, believing the cry of the falling roof to be a false alarm, forbore for a while to join his companions in arms, curious to inspect the features of one who had displayed so much of calm intrepidity, amidst the scene of horrors which had just been enacted.

The devotee still preserved the same attitude as if no other object occupied her mind, except the holy office in which she was engaged. At length, the unusual stillness of the church, interrupted only at intervals by the hollow groans of the wounded, seemed to fix his attention. At the noise of the Count's footsteps, as he advanced toward her, she turned her face in the direction, and one glance at the well-known features told him they were those of the Lady Isandra. She had snatched a few moments from the arduous, but humane duty of attending to the wounded, to pour out at the shrine of the Virgin Mother her tears and prayers for the liberation of her native land. Her eye fell darkly, and a pang shot through her frame, as she recognised the hated form of the intruder. She looked above, around- no avenue for escape presented itself. One minute more, and the Count had seized her hand, as if anticipating her purpose, shouting at the same time in a tone of exultation, “ blessed triumph of our arms ! this moment of our unexpected meeting repays for all the toil and turmoil of this bloody day ! Demon, or fate, be it which you will, I will curse thee no more for marring my projects." Then, his voice sunk to a low but startling and sepulchral tone. "You have scorned my advances, and escaped my vengeance once, proud maiden ; but now, though hell itself yawned beneath, you shall not balk my passion. Swear by that shrine before which you kneel- this favor do I grant thee for thy resemblance to one whom I loved and lost-or rather swear- you will respect the oath- to be my wedded bride, spite of precontract or bethrothing, by him who is the god of your idolatry, to be mine, and mine for ever, or this blazing fabric-" and his eye glanced upward as the flames burst from the crackling timbers of the roof-" shall be a holocaust to light your soul to the chambers of eternal sleep !" "Presumptuous man !" returned Isandra, all the native fire of the Castilian flashing from her eye as she spoke, " I swear not at all, willingly ; or, if I do, I swear by that Mighty One who spoke that shrine, and this whirling world into existence, peopling it with the miserable atoms of the human race, never shall you call me thine." Then her voice dropped to the softest notes of entreaty, as she added, " has all that is akin to woman in man's breast departed from you ? or is the stream of pity so frozen by this icy blast of war, that not one tender feeling floats along the life stream of your exist ence ? Why should you break the chain that binds two devoted hearts together ? Hast thou no mother, no sister ? Oh ! if such there be, even they would plead for me in this hour of trial." She seemed by her last words to awaken somewhat of softer emotion in the Frenchman's heart ; but the effect was momentary. More horrible and ghastly still was the grin that pervaded his features as he replied, his whole frame quivering with internal passion : "Mother ! sister ! once you were the loved accents of my lips. A mother's voice, in times gone by, was to me as the summer's breeze to the houseless wanderer, cooling the fever of my boyish fretfulness ; her eye, beaming with maternal light, was the cynosure of my destiny. And, sister- sweet sister ! even still my mocking fancy echoes in my ears thy dulcet tones, like music's dying close !" He dashed from his cheeks the scalding tear, that showed that nature will at times assert her sway in the most obdurate heart, and then he gnashed his teeth with wild ferocity, as he cried in hurried sentences, “ but


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. and carried her in safety through some bye streets to a house in the Corso. But few of the sacred community escaped the destruction of their temple. Unit after unit went down before the fury of the French soldiers to complete the score in death's arithmetic, till of the holy group that chaunted the matin hymn, not enough remained to weep a requiem to the souls of their departed brethren.

Leaving the smoking ruins of the monastery of the Augustines, the French troops still pushed forward across the botanic gardens, through the Plaza to the square called the Corso-the sappers and miners blowing the houses from their very foundations.

Night had now closed in, but still the city was kept in twilight darkness by the red glare of the artillery vomiting from its mouth a liquid stream of fire, so continuous was the discharge. The deep low notes of the cannon's universal roar, and the clash of arms, and the neigh and tramp of steeds, with shrieks and groans of the wounded closing the diapason of battle's overture, occasioned a din as deafening as if the very elements themselves were collapsing into chaos. The air, surcharged with a vapor of smoke, sulphur, and putridity from the unburied dead, seemed to pant like a thing of life. At length the combatants on both sides paused at the entrance to the Corso to take breath, and then the full desolation of the scene broke upon their senses.

There is a stupefaction in the melée of the fight, which renders the sensibilities of our nature dead to surrounding horrors ; but should a momentary check ensue, the vision of reality rises in clear perception, and man's better principle revolts from the devastation, which his headlong passion has caused. So it was in that pause of the bloody vortex ; the French opened their ranks as the women and children rushed toward their defenders with outstretched arms. As each case of individual suffering presented itself, a cry of horror burst from the sympathising spectators. One mother hurried past ; the pupil of the eye was glassed and rigid. It seemed as if terror had frozen up the fountain of her tears. Her wild locks waved in the breeze, and then settled in sanguinary collapse upon the dead infant she carried in her bosom.

Another followed, and there was a dreary abstraction in her look, as though she essayed to call some image to her mind and could not. Then she appeared to gaze upon something that was palpable to her view alone, and next her eye fell upon a bundle which she carried in her hand, and she shuddered at the sight.

Last, before the columns closed their ranks, a third rushed by, and she laughed ; but each burst terminated in a scream so long and piercing, that the listeners stopped their ears with their hands, and the boldest spirits preferred the wildest shout of the battle-field to the thrilling cadence of her maniac notes. She, too, carried something ; the light from a burning house showed that it was a portrait. One looked in the face of the bearer, and he said it was the Countess Benita, who had gone mad on hearing that her daughter was shot by the French. We left the Count St. Croix among the ruins of the Church of the Augustines more stunned than injured by the fall of the roof. Consciousness, however, soon returned, and raising himself upon his knees he felt about with his hands for Isandra, to discover if she was yet alive. At length they rested on the cold features of a woman, whose remaining strength had just sufficed to support her to the steps of the altar, where she had breathed her last, whilst he lay in a state of insensibility. Concluding that she was dead, he groped his way in the darkness, stumbling over a confused mass of dead bodies and rubbish, until at length, he effected his exit from the church through the door of the north transept. He then crossed the monks' burying-ground, to the entrance of a street which was at right angles with the great line leading to the Corso, meeting only a few miserable wounded wretches, upon whose features famine and death were graven in deep furrows, dragging themselves along, whilst the breath of life still lingered upon their lips, either to enjoy the poor consolation of resting in death upon consecrated ground ; or perhaps, urged by some cannibal instinct to satisfy the inordinate cravings of hunger with unnatural food, when no hand was near to offer bread. Not daring to keep the open street, lest he might come in contact with such of the inhabitants as still concealed themselves within the ruins of their houses, the French Count, aided by the clear light of the moon, which now sailed from behind the clouds, that had hitherto obscured her brilliancy, still continued his progress along a narrow bye street, at the termination of which he entered a spacious court-yard, one side of which was occupied by the buildings of a large mansion , apparently the residence of some Spanish grandee. The entrance to the lofty hall within was unobstructed, the door having been forced from its hinges, and the fragments of magnificent furniture, antique statuary, and broken vases, which were scattered upon the pavement, sprinkled here and there with dark spots, plainly showed that after a most sanguinary conflict the house had been attacked and taken by the besieging army, but for some cause abandoned with such precipitation, that heaps of valuable property still remained unremoved. Prompted by curiosity to see the more elaborate decorations of this noble fabric, the Count, after surveying the baronial relics of by-gone grandeur, which adorned the walls of the great hall, ascended the staircase, and passed through the reception room into the presence chamber. Melancholy was the picture which this once superb apartment presented. The ancestral tapestry, torn by rude hands, hung in shreds from the walls ; and the


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. will be the penance, that I shall sin again to weep for mercy at thy feet !"

" Fiend !" cried Isandra, her eyes flashing with indignation, as she struggled violently to free herself from his grasp. "Is your soul so steeped in iniquity, that not one thought of the awful doom which awaits you can startle you from your foul purpose ?" and the maiden, by a convulsive effort, tore herself from his embraces, and with the speed of lightning fled from the apartment to the reception room.

The Count roused all his energies for the pursuit, determined not to lose his prey a second time. Nearer and nearer came her hated pursuer. Already had his fingers touched the extremities of her long curls, as they waved from her neck in wild disorder ; a moment more, his hand rested upon her shoulder, when a female form glided swiftly from behind the arras of the window, and before the Count could check his forward movement, she plunged a dagger into his side. With a yell of agony he bounded a few paces into the air, and then fell heavily upon the floor. Isandra, unconscious of this new diversion in her favor, so noiseless and silent had been the movements of her almost unseen ally, with the frenzy of desperation, still imagining her persecutor to be upon her, flung herself down the stairs, swept through the hall, and at length she sunk exhausted upon the pavement of the narrow lane upon which the court-yard of the mansion opened.

Beside the body of the Count, as he writhed in torture, stood his executioner, the moonbeams painting her death-wan features and loose robes as, with the fire of delirium in her eye, she seemed to count with vengeful accuracy each throe of mortal torture that palsied his quivering frame ; and then she burst into a loud strain of triumphant rhapsody, as she addressed the dying soldier : " Adolphe Count St. Croix, dost thou know me ? 'Twas the arm of Adelè, the earliest victim of thy falsehood and treachery, that struck the blow that rids the world of a monster. A moment more, and another name had been added to the dark catalogue of thy crimes." And she continued in a strain of mocking, as his limbs moved with pain, " aye, spurn me now, as of old, from your feet, when I knelt and prayed, as the dying sinner to his God, for one tender look, one short word of kindness from your lips . Yes, writhe on in your torment till your guilty soul oozes from your finger ends. Each pang is a thrill of delight that stirs anew the pulses of this withered heart. For years did you escape my vengeance ; and my ceaseless cry to Heaven was, that no hand but mine should antedate your doom, and I shall die contented since my prayer was heard. I searched among the stark and ghastly dead of many a bloody field, that I might tear from its mangled casement your treacherous heart, and feed the vulture with it. But kind fate guarded thee for this hour to make vengeance more complete by the manner of your death. Aye, let it make hell of your last moments here, that the soldier's honored death shall not be yours, nor martial tread or the cannon's roar your funeral dirge ; nor yet shall you rest in the ancestral tomb, but unknelled and uncoffined, the vulture's maw and the mongrel throat shall be your sepulchre." Then, as the purple tide gushed from the wound, she shrieked, "not yet, Death- not yet rob me of my victim ! one more mortal throe of agony to quench this burning thirst within. Oh, that this bubbling stream of life would filter thy soul away drop by drop through centuries of torture." But the Count's last breath was breathed ; his whole . frame shook with nature's last convulsive effort- one flutter more of the pulse of life and all was done. When Adele saw that the spirit had gone to its reckoning, she flung herself upon her knees and again screamed at the highest pitch of her voice—“ vengeance -more vengeance, Heaven ! -he shall not die yet. Can'st thou not bring the monster back again to life, and chain him to existence ? There is the one spell that bound me to this earth broken. Adolphe, I will be thy accusing spirit." So saying, she plunged the dagger, yet warm with his blood, into her heart. At that moment the building shook to its very foundation, and the bodies of the seducer and his victim were blown into a thousand fragments by the explosion of a barrel of gunpowder in the vaults, ignited by the bursting of a shell. But little more remains to be told. The garrison of Saragossa, exhausted by fatigue, famine, and the sword, capitulated, Pallafox, their heroic leader, having become delirious from over exertion. Isandra, with her father and Raymond de Beauvoir, escaped that night to Tarragona, from whence, after a lapse of a few days, they sailed for England, and were subsequently united in the holy bonds of matrimony.

A REMEMBERED SCENE. BY EDWARD J. PORTER. AND years have fled since I have lingered o'er The silvery waters of that moonlit baySo beautifully still as if it lay Hushed o'er its spirit's dreams- and yet before My vision it springs up, bright as of yore ; I gaze upon its loveliness, and stray Listless where sweeps my shallop's noiseless way, While joyous tones of sweetness steal from shore, Where happy groups are dancing to the sound Of flute or castanet ; and some beneath A bending olive, flowers and song enwreathe, While all the air seems passion-fraught around ; "Till, 'mid the gush of splendor bursting free, The soul awakens.-Could it dream eternally!


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. But if we were to instance all that Tennyson has written, which is distinguished for its melody, we should have to quote the larger portion of his poems. The softness and liquid flow of his verse is no where more remarkable than in that exquisite poem " The Lady of Shalott," a few stanzas of which we have quoted above. The choric song in the 66 Lotos Eaters" is also characterized for its melody. The copiousness of language, without which such music could not be produced, is a distinguishing feature with Tennyson. We have no doubt that many, who have been charmed with his poetry, might trace their admiration of it, in a great measure, to its almost feminine sweetness.

We have thus proved that Tennyson's writings possess -and that in an eminent degree- one of the two requisites for poetry. But do they possess the other ? Are they always addressed either directly or indirectly to the feelings ?

There is no doubt that Tennyson is an artist, and that he can give a reason for every word he has written, and for the manner in which it has been written. He does not compose at random. Whether his verses flow smoothly from him in all the furor of the poetic phrenzy, or are as carefully composed as those of Gray, we feel that they are constructed after certain fixed rules, which, in the eye of the author, are true canons of poetry. Tennyson's theory is that poetry is the embodiment of the beautiful, in other words that by raising images of beauty in the reader's mind, and clothing these images in a metrical guise, you produce poetry. There is some truth in this idea ; but its fault is that it presents too confined a view of the subject. The love of the beautiful is an emotion ; and whatever is addressed to that emotion may be poetry. In a measure, therefore, the theory of Tennyson is correct. The sight of a beautiful woman, the sound of a fine strain of music, a lovely landscape, a setting sun, the galaxy, a single star, a flower, a fawn, all these raise the emotion of the beautiful in the mind, and the poet who sings of these, or by delicate allusions waking up a long train of associa tions, brings them before our mind, is so far forth a follower of the canon we have laid down- viz. that all poetry appeals either directly or indirectly to the emotions. But his fault is that he does not cover the whole ground. He forgets that the love of the beautiful is not the only emotion of the mind-that in fact there are other feelings and passions infinitely more powerful, all of which are susceptible of being excited, and to which, therefore, the poet ought to address himself. The love of country-hatred of wrong-emulation of great deeds -admiration of brave warriors -sympathy for the suffering-a feeling of brotherhood toward all men-veneration for the good of every age-the awe which the notions of Eternity and Deity excite, and a thousand other emotions have been successfully appealed to by Homer, Eschylus, Dante, Shakspeare, Milton, and in short every great poet, since the morning stars first sang together, or God gifted men with the prophetic faculty of song. But these emotions are disregarded, in the narrow view taken of the subject, by such poets as Tennyson. The consequence is that, cramped and confined by their theory, they can never rise to the loftiest heights of poetry, unless by a partial disregard of their creed. Their whole time is consumed in searching after and embodying the beautiful, so that they became at length mystical and emasculated. This effeminacy is noticeable in Keats, this mysticism in Tennyson and Jones Verey- all of whom write after this false creed, though the first continually violated its rules, and by that violation produced his best works. ' So the finest poem of Tennyson is opposed to his own theory of poetry ; for what is there of the beautiful in the ballad of Oriana ? a poem where passion is all in all. As it will exemplify our views, and is, moreover, the most glorious of Tennyson's poems, we give it entire. ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my wo, Oriana ; There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dull wolds are ribbed with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow. Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana, Winds were blowing, waters flowing, We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana ; And the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew wood, black as night, Oriana, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight, By the starshine and moonlight, Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana ; She watched my crest among them all, Oriana ; She saw me fight, she heard me call, When forth there stepped a foeman tall, Oriana, Between me and the castle wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana ; The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana ; The damned arrow glanced aside, And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana! Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana!


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 exquisitely lovely, and only a shade damper than the rest of things. Seeing this I solemnly fold up my umbrella and give it to Kefalla. My relations, nay, even Mrs. Roy, who is blind to a large percentage of my imperfections, say the most scathing things about my behaviour with regard to water. But really my conduct is founded on sound principles. I know from a series of carefully conducted experiments, carried out on the Devonshire Lynn, that I cannot go across a river on slippery stepping-stones; therefore, knowing that attempts to keep my feet out of water only end in my placing the rest of my anatomy violently in, I take charge of Fate and wade.

This particular stream, too, requires careful wading, the rocks over which it flows being arranged in picturesque, but perilous confusion; however all goes well, and getting to the other side I decide to "chuck it," as Captain Davis would say, as to keeping dry, for the rain comes down heavier than ever.

Now we are evidently dealing with a foot-hillside, but the rain is too thick for one to see two yards in any direction, and we seem to be in a ghost-land forest, for the great palms and red-woods rise up in the mist before us, and fade out in the mist behind, as we pass on. The rocks which edge and strew the path at our feet are covered with exquisite ferns and mosses—all the most delicate shades of green imaginable, and here and there of absolute gold colour, looking as if some ray of sunshine had lingered too long playing on the earth, and had got shut off from heaven by the mist, and so lay nestling among the rocks until it might rejoin the sun.

The path now becomes an absolute torrent, with mud-thickened water, which cascades round one’s ankles in a sportive way, and round one’s knees in the hollows in the path. Five seconds after abandoning the umbrella I am wet through, but it is not uncomfortable at this temperature, something like that of a cucumber frame with the lights on, if you can clear your mind of all prejudice, as Dr. Johnson says, and forget the risk of fever which saturation entails.

On we go, the path underneath the water seems a pretty


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. Did our limits permit it we might give numerous instances. Still, with all these faults, Tennyson is a fine poet, and has proved himself to be a man of genius. His style is based on that of Keats, but he is still original. His peculiarities have won him astonishing favor among men disposed to the same mystic cast of thought ; and more than one imitator has sprung up in our country. Much of Professor Longfellow's style has been borrowed from Tennyson, and it is evident that the latter has often been in the former's eye when writing.

Tennyson is singularly deficient in that feeling of brotherhood which has characterized all the great poets, and especially Shakspeare. Now and then a glimpse of it may be caught in the writings of our author ; but it does not spring from his heart-we feel it is wrote carelessly, and that it irks the wearer. He does not breathe that love for humanity which ought ever to be a part of the true poet's character. We rarely rise from his writings better men ; we rarely have our sympathies enlarged by his poems. All is cold and lifeless, though beautiful-the winter moon twinkling on the sharp icy snow, instead of the warm and blushing sun diffusing health through our limbs and happiness through our hearts. The chilling aristocracy, of which he is a member, has frozen all the best sympathies of Tennyson's bosom. How differently he writes of his fellow men and of love ! The one scarcely wakes a feeling of enthusiasm in his bosom, the other enlists his sympathies and fires his imagination. He has not come as the prophet of a people, but as the priest of love. He neglects the most god-like portion of his mission, and instead of appealing to the universal heart of man, strikes his lyre only for the effeminate few. Verily he shall have his reward !

The volumes on our table contain the later as well as the earlier effusions of Tennyson. We cannot see that he has improved with years. If we except Godiva, the Gardener's Daughter, and one or two other poems, there is nothing in the second volume equal to the general contents of the first ; and there are one or two pieces, "Walking to the Mill," and " Simon Stylites" for instance, which are insufferably bad. That the best of his later poems display more finish, as well as more compactness than his earlier ones cannot be doubted ; but much of the airy and seductive grace which charmed us in "Madeline," 66 Mariana," " Adeline," "The Lotos Eaters," and other poems is wanting in the productions of his maturer age. But with all his faults Tennyson takes high rank among the present generation of English poets. We do not know indeed but what he stands at their head, for Wordsworth, Moore, Campbell and Southey belong to our fathers and not to ourselves. They are men of the past ; but Tennyson belongs to the present. C. THE STRANGE CAVALIER.

A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME.

BY H. SYMMES.

" LET me tell your fortune, pretty ladies-very good fortune to you, ma'am," cried a dark-eyed gipsy, as two ladies turned the corner of a beautifully-sequestered lane, while the last rays of a gorgeous sun were merging into the more voluptuous tinge of a summer twilight. " Oh, do let us have our fortune told-I should so like to know my fortune !" exclaimed the younger of the ladies, who leant upon the arm of her companion. " Nonsense, Annette," rejoined her friend, and by this time they had reached the spot where the sibyl was standing. Her appearance fully demonstrated her tribe ; her face was of the most swarthy hue, but interesting in the expression ; her eyes were jet black ; and her dark elf-locks, which hung dishevelled over her neck and shoulders, were partly concealed by a small hat that was tied under the chin by a party-colored handkerchief; while her figure, of no ordinary mould, was encumbered by the tattered fragments of an old red cloak. The ladies paused for an instant to contemplate the object before them. "I can tell you," said she, addressing the younger lady, " what, mayhap, you will not like to hear. You will love, but you will not be loved again ; you will sigh, but no sigh will be returned to you ; you will weep, but your tears will fall on your cheek like dew on the summer flower, that dries but to receive fresh moisture." Without uttering a word, the ladies now turned, and hastily pursued their way homeward. They had wandered, attracted by the beauty of the evening, farther than they had intended. The Baroness D-, for so we must introduce her to our readers, had taken under her protection Annette De M-, who was an orphan, and the sole remaining branch of a noble family. The Baroness D had herself been left an orphan at an early age. She had afterward married the Baron D , who had been dead about two years at the time our tale commences, leaving her without progeny, her only child having died in its infancy. She had inherited her husband's vast estates, and was at this time residing in her favorite castle, situated in the most beautiful of the midland counties of England. The ladies silently pursued their way until they reached the extensive avenue that formed the barrier to the noble domain. Trees of regular but enormous height were thickly studded on either side, and the Baroness frequently started at the echo of their footsteps as she pressed forward with her young companion. The moon had risen and now shone in silvery brightness, while not a zephyr fanned the foliage, nor a whisper broke upon the stillness of the night. They had reached


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. About an hour elapsed, during which time the two ladies sat in a trembling state of anxiety and apprehension. At length a heavy tread announced the return of the besiegers. Their voices were raised as if in deep altercation ; as they approached near the saloon, it sunk into audible murmurs, accompanied by muttered threats and imprecations. The leader of the band re-entered the apartment, and said, " we find that we have been mistaken, lady ; but beware that you do not harbor any traitor, for you would sorely repent your rashness."

The man then quitted the room, and commanding the soldiers to follow him, the portal once more closed upon the unwelcome visitants. The Baroness having assured herself that peace was restored, hastened to that part of the Castle where she had secured the unfortunate stranger. As she trod along the spacious apartments, she often paused to listen, and in imagination, thought she could hear the dreadful imprecations that had escaped the soldiers ; but all was still, and she reached the door of the captive Knight. Great was the Cavalier's joy at beholding her, and profusely did he pour forth his expressions of thankfulness to his deliverer. They continued to converse upon what had passed for some time after they had reached the saloon. The Baroness posted two of her domestics in the great hall for the night in case of a second alarm ; and her guest entreated permission to watch with them, but this his kind hostess would not consent to. They now separated for the night.

The next morning, when they met at the breakfast table, they recapitulated the events of the preceding night, and a general thanksgiving was offered to that Power which had protected them. If the Baroness and her young friend had been charmed with the elegant deportment of the Cavalier on the previous evening, they were now not less delighted at the graceful polish of his manners, and the refined intelligence that pervaded his conversation. When breakfast was over he proposed to depart ; but the Baroness so warmly urged the necessity of his remaining until his pursuers had quitted the precincts of the Castle, and so strongly animadverted upon the probability that some secret emissary might be lying in wait for him, that he consented to remain for a few days.

The time passed uninterruptedly in agreeable and interesting discourse, which was occasionally varied by the sweet tones of the lyre, to which Annette sung in a strain of touching melody, and at the request of the stranger would frequently repeat her lay. It was on the fifth day of the Knight's sojourn at the Castle. The Baroness, Annette, and the Cavalier were all seated in the saloon, watching the shades of evening closing around them.

" To-morrow, my kind friends, I must depart," exclaimed the Knight ; "by dawn of day my steed must be in readiness ; and," continued he, addressing the Baroness, at the same time unclasping from his neck a gold chain of exquisite workmanship, "let me present you with this, and remember that you may claim every thing at my hands, for my debt to you cannot easily be repaid." Saying this, he imprinted a kiss on the hand that was extended toward him. On the following morning, at dawn of day, Morden was in the court-yard, holding the bridle-rein of the noble charger. In an instant the Knight had vaulted in his saddle ; the old porter presented the stirrup-cup, then gave the parting benediction. The Knight gave one glance at a window, where stood the Baroness and Annette, who had both risen at that early hour in compliment to their guest ; thrice he saluted the fair inmates in another minute the horse and his rider had disappeared. It was on the twentieth of May, 1661, that the Baroness and her friend were seated by an open window in the spacious library ; the castle clock had tolled the hour of noon-then the accustomed dinner-hour for all persons of quality. " We must begin our journey to-morrow, dear Annette," exclaimed the Baroness, " for I would behold our beloved Monarch's triumphal entry to the throne of his ancestors ; and who knows," continued she, as she gazed anxiously upon her young friend's pallid countenance-" who knows but we may see him who once sought shelter within these walls ; such an event would, I know, give my dear friend pleasure." Annette spoke not ; but a pale blush overspread her fine features ; still she remained silent. The remainder of the day was spent in making preparations for their departure. On the following morning, the two friends, attended by a train of domestics, set out for the metropolis ; and at the expiration of a week, during which nothing particular happened, arrived at the entrance of the vast city. It was on the very day that the populace were assembling to welcome their sovereign. Triumphal arches, decorated with flowers and interspersed with oak-boughs were raised across the road, and at intervals through every street. The windows in all the houses were adorned with garlands, or hung with costly drapery ; the bells of the neighboring churches were sending forth a joyous peal, while drums and trumpets resounded from every quarter. An îmmense multitude, both in carriage and on foot, thronged every avenue. The Baroness commanded her coachman to drive up one side, as a deafening shout rent the air, intimating the monarch's approach. Another shout-and another ascended from the people ; all eyes were turned to one individual. Mounted on a milk-white charger, his head uncovered, and repeatedly bowing to the multitude, sat- Charles II! The Baroness's attention was suddenly called to her young friend. She, too, had looked that way ; but


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. enjoyed by any barrister of his years. He was now as celebrated in the forum, as he had been before in politics. Wealth poured in on him. His services were required in every case of importance, and his party undertook no measure unless it had met his concurrence and was sure of his support.

The next Congress was regarded by all men as the one on which hung the destinies of the nation ; and in every section of the Union the most talented members of each party were placed on the ticket. Howell was solicited to run in the district where he resided. At first he declined on account of his youth, modestly replying that there were many older and wiser heads which could much better uphold the party, and advance the interests of the people. But no denial would be taken, and he was placed on the ticket. Howell's extraordinary personal popularity secured his own election, though the other officers in the district in the gift of his party, fell to the lot of the opposition. Here was another triumph sufficient to have made most men dizzy ; but it produced no effect whatever on the calm, self-sustained student.

Men, as well as members of our own sex, had often wondered why Howell had never been in love ; for his former history was unknown in the place where he now resided. What made his apathy to the charms of the other sex remarkable, was the fact that no person was less unsocial. Indeed men wondered how Howell could discharge the multiform duties of his profession, and yet find leisure for the relaxation of salons. Yet so it was ; and except the professed followers of fashion few were more often found in society than the student. He did not, however, become one of the crowd, but rather stood aloof, the observer of others. The company of scientific men, of historians, poets, and authors in general, he especially courted ; but he would also often trifle with the belle of a ball, though he never suffered his attentions to become those of an admirer. No man could excel Howell in the delicacy of his compliments, and when he choose to stoop to pay them, the usually elegant but inane flatterers of the ball-room had to retire from the field. Many were the fair hearts that beat for his conquest, many were the nets spread for him by designing mammas ; but all in vain. He remained callous to every effort, still continuing to be admired, but indifferent alike to admiration or censure, for his was a soul above the petty eclat of fashion.

When the session began, and Howell repaired to Washington, one of the first items of intelligence he heard was that the husband of Miss Eldrington had been returned a member from the south, and was said to be the leader of a contemplated movement, to which Howell particularly was known to be opposed. you Mr. Stratton, for such was the new member's name; had never before been at Washington, but his reputation stood high at home, and a rumor of his eloquence and talents had preceded him to the capitol. "If Stratton pushes his measure," said one of Howell's friends to him one day, " you will have to reply to him -for, indeed you are the only one of the party sufficiently acquainted with the subject to attempt it. He is said to be a powerful man-his society is certainly much courted, and his wishes deferred to by his party. By the bye, have you seen his wife ? She is a magnificent woman, and, though it is said she does not love her husband, she is as proud of him as if he were a demi-god." "I have seen her," quietly responded Howell, " but when did you say Mr. Stratton will be likely to bring forward his measure ?” "Oh ! it is uncertain, but rumor says in about a fortnight. Mind-we shall depend on you." " Ay ! I will be ready," said Howell when left alone, " my hour of triumph approaches-false Kate ! You do not love your husband, but are proud of his talents. If I can humble this haughty man, who ruffles it so bravely every where, I shall be more bitterly revenged on you than I had ever thought possible. We will try," and he turned to his toilet to prepare for a magnificent party which was to be given that evening by the lady of the Secretary of State. CHAPTER V.

WHEN Howell entered the magnificent suite of rooms, which Mrs. H- had that evening thrown open for her guests, his eye was, for a moment, dazzled by the brilliancy and variety of the scene. The walls blazed with lights ; music from unseen performers floated around ; gay laughter and happy voices were heard on every hand, and the array of female loveliness was such as had never before been collected even at the capitol of the nation. Nor was the company wholly composed of the gay and trifling. Learned scholars, who had pored over all the erudition of the past ; orators whose eloquence had thrilled their hearers with a power that seemed that of a god ; and gray-haired statesmen, to whom had been confided the destinies of nations, were there-there with their time-honored knowledge- there with their flashes of genius- there with their deep insight into the human heart, and their anecdotes of courts and of the world. Poets, authors, artists, ambassadors ; men of science, and men of wit ; philosophers and dreamers ; artificers and actors, in short every one who had become distinguished in his peculiar walk, had been gathered together at the magic summons ofthe fair mistress of the revels. Many came to see other celebrated individuals of whom they had heard ; and not a few came to study human nature-for, after all, there are worse places than a ball-room to read the great book of man.


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. you is a bitter draught. Happy is Edith in despising such things."

CHAPTER VI. CONGRESS was now at the most exciting period of its session, and the galleries were thronged daily with anxious listeners. In both the Senate and House measures of the most vital importance to the nation were under discussion, and the votes often ran so close that it was almost impossible to calculate on the result. All was excitement. Rumors were continually afloat respecting the defection of this one, or the accession of that : in short a session so deeply absorbing, had not occurred for years. At length Stratton brought forward his contemplated measure. It was one involving vast interests, and as strenuously advocated by one party as it was opposed by another. For some days before the bill was reported, the public curiosity became excessive to know who would reply to its framer. Nothing, however, was known on this subject, for whatever was understood behind the scenes, no intimation whatever had reached the public ear. This very uncertainty heightened the interest usually felt on such occasions, so that when the day arrived, the Hall of the House of Representatives was crowded to excess, and at an early hour. Prominent among the audience, and occupying seats on the floor of the House, were the two most beautiful women of the day- Mrs. Stratton and the still more admired Edith Wharton.

When the mover of the bill rose to advocate it, the buzz of conversation which had ran through the hall hitherto subsided into silence, and every ear was inclined to hear the first words of the orator who was now to make his debut on that floor. Stratton soon proved that his reputation had not belied his powers. His mind was one of considerable range, and his eloquence was by no means overrated. His opponents were astonished, and even some of them alarmed at the impression he was visibly making on the House, and uneasy glances were, from time to time, directed, by various members of the party, to their champion. The subject was unquestionably one in which the speaker had taken great interest, and he had deeply studied not only what arguments to use, but how to present them to his hearers. Few speeches of greater power had been heard for years in the House. In fact, it was well understood that, on the success of this favorite measure, depended Stratton's standing with his constituents, and therefore his schemes of ambition-to him it was a matter of life or death.

"A magnificent oration, by the gods," said a mercurial member of Howell's party, when Stratton sat down, "see with what exultation that proud woman, his wife, looks around the house. Would to heaven Howell was a few years older-great as are his talents I almost fear for his success against one so much his senior, and who has devoted years to the consideration of his subject." "Hist ! he rises," said his companion. Every eye was directed to the young orator, as he slowly rose in his seat ; and a murmur of astonishment ran through the House that one so young should have been chosen for so difficult a task. Stratton, who was now receiving the congratulations of his party, looked with a smile of exulting triumph on his rival, and turned to receive the compliments of the crowd around him. At this instant his wife raised her glass, and took a long stare at Howell. The looks of both stung the young man to the heart, and the momentary flutter, which he had felt at first, on rising to make his debut, and before such an audience, passed away. He was calm and collected, but with every faculty sharpened, and every indignant feeling aroused. He had not spoken a dozen words before the looks of triumph from the opposition began to be exchanged for uneasy glances ; for the strain of scorching invective in which he began, assured them that an enemy had been aroused whom few could quell. They became even more uneasy, when, gliding with consummate tact into the argument, he began dispassionately to examine and refute the sophistry of his adversary. Again he resumed his tone of invective, now giving vent to the most keen and polished sarcasm , and now denouncing his adversary and his clique in direct terins. As the speaker proceeded, Stratton turned white as ashes, and would have started to his feet, had not his friends interposed ; but Howell, notwithstanding he saw all this, proceeded in the same scathing strain, until he had completely annihilated his opponent. There was, indeed, in the young member's mind, no motive to spare him. Howell sat down amid murmurs of applause from the galleries. As he resumed his seat every eye was turned, as if instinctively, to the haughty wife of his rival. She was deadly pale, and notwithstanding her efforts to conceal her emotion, all saw in her compressed lip and blanched cheek, the agony of the heart within. In that hour Howell was revenged, ay ! how bitterly revenged. As his faithless mistress looked at him, and noticed the curious eyes fixed on herself, she felt that she was utterly degraded, and that too in the sight of the whole nation. Nor was the torture of her situation lessened, but rather tenfold increased, when she saw the glad tears gathering into Edith's eyes, and beheld the crowd who so lately flocked around her, hurrying to her rival's side. “ You have done wonders- your fame is established forever," said the gray-headed leader of Howell's party "your antagonist is annihilated. During thirty years experience I have never heard such a speech on this floor." The encomiums lavished on him would have made any other man dizzy ; but they had no other effect on


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 equal mixture of rock and mud, but they are not evenly distributed. Plantations full of weeds show up on either side of us, and we are evidently now on the top of a foot-hill. I suspect a fine view of the sea could be obtained from here, if you have an atmosphere that is less than 99¾ per cent. of water. As it is, a white sheet—or more properly speaking, considering its soft, stuffy woolliness, a white blanket—is stretched across the landscape to the south-west, where the sea would show.

We go down-hill now, the water rushing into the back of my shoes for a change. The path is fringed by high, sugar-cane-like grass which hangs across it in a lackadaisical way, swishing you in the face and cutting like a knife whenever you catch its edge, and pouring continually insidious rills of water down one’s neck. It does not matter. The whole Atlantic could not get more water on to me than I have already got. Ever and again I stop and wring out some of it from my skirts, for it is weighty. One would not imagine that anything could come down in the way of water thicker than the rain, but it can. When one is on the top of the hills, a cold breeze comes through the mist chilling one to the bone, and bending the heads of the palm trees, sends down from them water by the bucketful with a slap; hitting or missing you as the case may be.

Both myself and my men are by now getting anxious for our "chop," and they tell me, "We look them big hut soon." Soon we do look them big hut, but with faces of undisguised horror, for the big hut consists of a few charred roof-mats, &c., lying on the ground. There has been a fire in that simple savage home. Our path here is cut by one that goes east and west, and after a consultation between my men and the Bakwiri, we take the path going east, down a steep slope between weedy plantations, and shortly on the left shows a steep little hill-side with a long low hut on the top. We go up to it and I find it is the habitation of a Basel Mission black Bible-reader. He comes out and speaks English well, and I tell him I want a house for myself and my men, and he says we had better come and stay in this one. It is divided into two chambers, one in which the children who attend the mission-school stay, and wherein there is a fire,


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Rh problem in Southeast Asia and different assumptions as to how the United States Government should proceed to achieve its policy goals. During the early months of 1964, these are well illustrated in the different approaches taken to the problem of determining the extent and implications of the movement of men and supplies through Laos.

At the end of 1963 and early in 1964, there was general agreement among all Washington agencies that we lacked adequate information concerning the nature. and magnitude of whatever movement of men and materiel was occurring along the Laotien infiltration routes. For example, citing the "lack of clarity" on the "role of external intrusion" in South Vietnam, Walt Rostow urged William Sullivan on the eve of his March visit to attempt to "come back from Saigon with as lucid and agreed a picture" as possible on the extent of the infiltration and its influence on the Viet Cong. A few days later, the Defense Intelligence Agency informed Secretary Mellamara that "certain intelligence gaps" were "related primarily to the types and amounts of weapons and materiel coming into South Vietnam, Lane the number of, Viet Cong personnel infiltrating into South Vietnam To alleviate this situation, the JCS favored such measures as ground probes into Leos by CVI reconnaissance teams and low-level reconnaissance flights over the trail areas by GN and U.S. aircraft. The State Department, supported by CSD/ISA, opposed such operations as potentially damaging to our relations with the Laotian government.

In supporting Its recommendations and in its comments on State-ISA proposals, the JCS argued that an integrated approach should be taken to the security of Southeast Asia, with our actions in Laos closely related to those taken on behalf of South Vietnam. They saw the key problem for all of Southeast Asia as the DRV's aggressive intent. As they stated, "the root of the problem is in North Vietnam and must be dealt with there." Moreover, they felt that reconnaissance operations into and over Iaos were justified because they say Laotion security as dependent on that of South Vietnam. "Laos," they argued, "would not be able to endure the establishment of a communist -- or pseudo neutralist -- state on its eastern flank." They criticized our "self-imposed restrictions" as tending to make the task in Vietnam "more complex, time-consuming, and in the end, more costly" and for possibly signalling enemies "Irresolution to our Accordingly, they Implied that the United States should convince the Laotian Premier of the need to take direct action against the Viet Minh Infiltration through low-level reconnaissance and other cross: border operations -- but above all,

to carry out these actions in order to impress the DR with our resolve to deny its insurgents a sanctuary. In the specific context of recommending these kind of actions, they stated "that the time has come to lift the restrictions which limit the effectiveness of our military operations."

The State-ISA policy view also regarded Laos and Vietnam as parts of the overall Southeast Asian problem, but in early 1964 their conception of how U.S. objectives might be achieved extended beyond the need to thwart the communist guerrilla threat. In this view, policy success meant Rh


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 virtue. Job has been written and read; the tower of Siloam fell nineteen hundred years ago; yet we have still to desire a little Christianity, or, failing that, a little even of that rude, old, Norse nobility of soul, which saw virtue and vice alike go unrewarded, and was yet not shaken in its faith.

Walt Whitman.—This is a case of a second difficulty which lies continually before the writer of critical studies: that he has to mediate between the author whom he loves and the public who are certainly indifferent and frequently averse. Many articles had been written on this notable man. One after another had leaned, in my eyes, either to praise or blame unduly. In the last case, they helped to blindfold our fastidious public to an inspiring writer; in the other, by an excess of unadulterated praise, they moved the more candid to revolt. I was here on the horns of a dilemma; and between these horns I squeezed myself with perhaps some loss to the substance of the paper. Seeing so much in Whitman that was merely ridiculous, as well as so much more that was unsurpassed in force and fitness,—seeing the true prophet doubled, as I thought, in places with the Bull in a China Shop,—it appeared best to steer a middle course, and to laugh with


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So like the sweet, white cherry blossom,

So tender and so fresh thou art,

And on my life’s way like an angel

Appearing thou dost light impart.

Thou scarcely touchest the soft carpet,

The silk on thee doth rustling stream,

From top to toe so light and lofty,

Thou floatest like an airy dream.

From draping folds like purest marble

Thine image unto me appears,

My whole soul on thine eyes is hanging,

Those eyes so full of joy and tears.

O happy dream of love, so happy,

Thou bride of fairy tales, so mild,

No, do not smile! Thy smile doth show me

How sweet thou art, thou gentle child.

My poor eyes thou canst close for ever

With deepest night’s eternal charms,

With thy sweet lips’ sweet fondling whispers,

Embracing me with thy cool arms.

A veiling thought at once now passes

Thy glowing eyes thus covering:

It is the dark renunciation,

The sweetest yearning’s shadowing.

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 Thou go’st away and, well I know it,

To follow thee must I no more,

Thou art for me now lost for ever,

My soul’s dear bride, whom I adore.

My only guilt was that I saw thee,

Which I to pardon have no might,

Mine arm I’ll stretch for ever vainly

To expiate my dream of light.

Like holy Virgin’s purest image

In my fond eyes thou wilt rise now,

The brightest crown on forehead bearing,

Where dost thou go? When comest thou?

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. brought beyond the frontiers of his empire, on my way to France. After such a decision, I might well believe, as well as all those who took an interest in my fate, that I was saved from the fury of my enemies ; but it turned out otherwise, for my foes were numerous and powerful. Notwithstanding the decision of the Emperor, they obtained my incarceration anew, until I had made a full payment of a sum of sixty thousand roubles, equal to about two hundred thousand francs, in which I was amerced as ' damages,' for in Russia, it seems, that a price is set upon the life of a human being.

"I was again arrested ; but, thanks to some friends, I was able to escape, and reached Germany, from whence I wrote that I recognised myself a debtor to the amount of the sixty thousand roubles, and promised to send them, in the shortest possible time-and then I determined to conceal myself with the greatest possible care. Had I acted differently, I should have been given up to the Russian government.

By means of the forced loan from yourself, and the aid of some friends, I was able to meet the pecuniary demand of my enemies, and to obtain a full acquittance, as well as an order for my perfect freedom from arrest for the future. Once having this order in my hands, I knew that I could appear in public. Your secret removal from Munich prevented me from seeing you before now ; but now, having discovered it, I determined to play out my part of the mysterious visitor to the end." It was thus that the Colonel terminated his recital. Since then he has lived in happiness with his wife at the chateau at Walstein which is but a few leagues distant from Vienna.

EVENING.

BY JOSEPH H. BUTLER. THE wings of evening, tinged with blue, Are folding softly o'er the globe ; The western clouds, of golden hue, The face of heaven in glory robe ; Majestic, on the mountain brow, The green-robed forests frowning rise ; And rocks, which tempests fail to bow, Bask brightly in the pale blue skies. The bosom of yon Western main Is rich with lurid tracks of light, Its billows have no earthly stain, They glow with heavenly radiance bright : Light's holy mantle drops on ALL, Ocean- and rock-and tree-and spire, Softly the shadowy glories fall, As dew-drops of ethereal fire! Above-around-beneath, it glows With mystic beauty, all supreme, Blending the blushes of the rose With the rich sapphire's golden gleam !

A SKETCH

OF THE FEVER OF '93.

BY HENRY J. VANDYKE.

" And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation." BYRON. A DEATH-LIKE stillness reigned throughout the streets of the almost deserted city; and the green grass was springing from the pavements of the once crowded thoroughfares. The hum of business was no longer heard ; and even the voice of revelry was hushed in the deep silence of despair. Many a bright eye had become dim, many a fair cheek had grown pale ; thousands had fled from the path of the awful pestilence, or been swept to the tomb as with the besom of destruction. In the stillness of the grassy meadow or the shady woods, where spring scatters her fragrant flowers and her opening blossoms with so bountiful a hand, there is an influence which calms the soul. Each bursting bud, each rustling leaf, each blossom that opens its bright cup to catch the falling dew, speaks a familiar language and teaches a delightful lesson ; and the glad music of the happy birds, or the murmuring stream finds an echo in every heart. But when we follow the silent tread of the pestilence through the ruins of departed greatness ; when we walk amid the stillness of some deserted habitation, where the spirits of the dead seem still to linger amid the mouldering productions of art, a sadness steals over the heart, and the still, small voice within whispers, " dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." The shadows of night once more environed the silent city ; and Mary P still sat an anxious watcher by the bedside of her husband. With a woman's constancy she had used every exertion to divert the dart of death, and save him from an early grave. But all was vain. The last ties which bound soul and body together seemed to be fast yielding beneath the touch of the pestilence. And now that faithful wife, clasping her sleeping infant to her bosom, sat gazing upon the livid features of the dying man. She spoke not- she wept not. The warmth of her affection, and the violence of her sorrow seemed to have dried the fountain of her tears. 66 Mary !" said the dying man, “ Mary, my faithful wife, it has been a hard struggle between life and death ; but now it is nearly over. I feel that I am dying. May God bless you for your faithfulness, and spare our child for your sake. Fare-." The death-rattle stopped his utterance. One slight convulsion and he was a lifeless corpse. 66 Throw out your dead !" cried a gruff voice in the street ; and the solemn echo sounded like a summons from the land of spirits. The doleful lumbering of the cart wheels, and the still more doleful call of the rude undertaker died away in the distance.


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When Death was not, and nothing immortal had been wrought,

Nor light’s divinest kernel the world its life had brought,

When yesterday, to-morrow, to-day had yet no name,

When one was all, wherever, and all was one, the same;

When earth, and air, and heavens, the whole world that is seen

Were in the deep abysm like things that have not been—

Thou wast alone, and anxious myself I’m asking now:

Who is the God, to whom we, with hearts most humble, bow?

Sole God he was, when others were not, and in the dark

Unfathomable ocean gave force to light’s first spark,

He is mankind’s great saviour and source of happiness,

To gods gives soul and power and everything doth bless:

Cheer up your hearts! Adore him and praise in sacred hymn,

For life and resurrection from death all come through him!

He gave me eyes most happy that they may see the light,

He filled my heart with pity, with high, divine delight,

How through the world he paces in roaring winds I heard,

I heard in songs most holy his sweetest voice, his word,

And still one thing I ask him from inmost bosom’s core:

That he may now allow me to rest for evermore!

To curse all those who pity will show for me, to bless

All those who make me suffer and ruthlessly oppress,

To those who spurning mock me to listen, and believe,

And to the arm that kills me the utmost force to give,

And he among all others as first may praisèd be

Who e’en my stony pillow will steal away from me.

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 the scorners when I thought they had any excuse, while I made haste to rejoice with the rejoicers over what is imperishably good, lovely, human, or divine, in his extraordinary poems. That was perhaps the right road; yet I cannot help feeling that in this attempt to trim my sails between an author whom I love and honour and a public too averse to recognise his merit, I have been led into a tone unbecoming from one of my stature to one of Whitman's. But the good and the great man will go on his way not vexed with my little shafts of merriment. He, first of any one, will understand how, in the attempt to explain him credibly to Mrs. Grundy, I have been led into certain airs of the man of the world, which are merely ridiculous in me, and were not intentionally discourteous to himself. But there is a worse side to the question; for in my eagerness to be all things to all men, I am afraid I may have sinned against proportion. It will be enough to say here that Whitman's faults are few and unimportant when they are set beside his surprising merits. I had written another paper full of gratitude for the help that had been given me in my life, full of enthusiasm for the intrinsic merit of the poems, and conceived in the noisiest


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 extreme of youthful eloquence. The present study was a rifacimento. From it, with the design already mentioned, and in a fit of horror at my old excess, the big words and emphatic passages were ruthlessly excised. But this sort of prudence is frequently its own punishment; along with the exaggeration, some of the truth is sacrificed; and the result is cold, constrained, and grudging. In short, I might almost everywhere have spoken more strongly than I did.

Thoreau.—Here is an admirable instance of the "point of view" forced throughout, and of too earnest reflection on imperfect facts. Upon me this pure, narrow, sunnily-ascetic Thoreau had exercised a great charm. I have scarce written ten sentences since I was introduced to him, but his influence might be somewhere detected by a close observer. Still it was as a writer that I had made his acquaintance; I took him on his own explicit terms; and when I learned details of his life, they were, by the nature of the case and my own parti-pris, read even with a certain violence in terms of his writings. There could scarce be a perversion more justifiable than that; yet it was still a perversion. The study indeed, raised so much ire in the breast of Dr. Japp (H. A.


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. WORLD OF FASHION.

THE RETURN.

BY PERCIE H. SELTON.

THE summer sun was sinking in the west, purpling the embattled clouds around, and shooting long lines of light across the green hills, as a lady, attended by a cavalier, stepped forth on the terrace of Langly Manor, a noble edifice in one of the most beautiful counties of England. The sunset scene arrested their attention, and they paused to gaze on the landscape. Far away before them rolled a succession of undulating hills, spotted with woods, lanes, farms, villages, and lordly mansions, all bathed in the mellow radiance of the declining luminary. A silvery river, winding in and out among the hills, skirted the distant landscape, while immediately beyond a bold ridge towered up against the empurpled sky. Above this ridge lay piles of massy clouds, heaped one above another, and tinged with every shade of crimson, gold and purple, until, at length, toward the zenith, they faded into a pale apple green.

" How glorious !" exclaimed the lady.

"Beautiful indeed," said her attendant, " this scene reminds me of Italy. It is not often we have such a sunset in our foggy clime."

A silence of some minutes ensued, during which each gazed on the landscape, wrapt in thought. While they are thus engaged let us describe them.

The cavalier was a man of noble aspect, though a shade of melancholy hung over his countenance, and seemed illy to accord with the rich dress in which it was the fashion of that day for gentlemen of birth to be attired. His face was strikingly handsome, with finely cut features, and an eye of extraordinary beauty, though withal tinged with sadness. His hair fell in flowing ringlets down his neck and over the deep lace collar which adorned his throat and shoulders. He wore the mantle then in common use among the gallants of the day, and had throughout the air of a wealthy and high born cavalier. But all peculiarities in his dress were forgotten when you came to regard his face, but especially when that prevailing expression of melancholy forced itself on you.

His companion was more beautiful than imagination can conceive or pen describe. Tall and queenly in her person, with black, majestic eyes, and tresses that were darker than the darkest midnight, she seemed one born to captivate all observers. Her dress was a boddice of dark velvet, with a skirt of white satin, while a mantle that an empress might have been proud to wear, fell in graceful folds from her shoulders. Her exquisitely small hands and feet betokened her high lineage quite as much as the eagle glance of her eyes, and her proud majestic port. She seemed, indeed, a being above the ordinary rank of mortals, one who might have personated a Juno under the old mythology-one who would deign to love only a monarch and scarcely him. She lingered long gazing on the landscape, but at length turned away and began to trail a vine around a gigantic urn which stood on the balustrade. She had been occupied in this feminine employment some time before the cavalier spoke, though he looked furtively at her more than once, and seemed wishing to say something which he yet was half afraid to utter. At length, suddenly turning from the landscape, he approached the lady, and standing a pace or two behind her, said,

" Kate !"

The lady turned with a look of enquiry on her countenance. "Kate," he began again, and then stopped, abashed by the proud, steady look of her majestic eyes. "Kate," he repeated a third time, not daring to lift his gaze to hers, "hear me for a few minutes, and let me be free from this horrible suspense. I love you. I have long loved you, but I fear hopelessly. There is that in your haughty port, in your unembarrassed air which convinces me you love me not. But yet, hopeless as I know my case to be, like the criminal at the scaffold, it is a relief to me to unburthen myself to you. Turn not away, dear lady Katharine. If you cannot love, do not hate, but oh ! pity me. God grant that you may never know the pangs of unrequited love." The lady was touched. A tear gathered into her eye, and she suffered her companion to retain the hand which he had taken. But there was no encouragement in her emotion. Her demeanor was only the sympathy of one noble heart for another, whose distress it grieves at, but cannot redress. "Edward," she said at length, " you pain me- and oh ! would that I could return your love. I know your heart is noble and true-I know that your love is a prize for which the haughtiest of my sex might strive, and had we met under other circumstances I might have loved you, loved you as you deserved, loved you with a love which would have daily grown stronger until 99 death"Bless you ! bless you !" said the cavalier affected to tears. His companion resumed sadly. "But it must not be. Long before you returned I had lost my heart, and become the affianced bride of Edward Percy. This I have never told you before, and for that silence I now blame myself. But it was agreed that our engagement should remain a secret until he returned from his travels, and I did not, therefore, feel justified in speaking of it until now. When I tell you that I love him with all the ardor of a first passion, with all the depth of which I am capable, you will feel that I hear with pain your declaration, because I can appreciate the agony of a disappointment. Believe me, it cuts me to the very heart to hear your words.


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Rh

"bolstering the capability of all free countries in the area to resist communist encroachment." This required cooperating with the sovereign governments of these countries and being careful not to erode their authority or contribute to their instability. Thus, instead of cross-border ground probes or low-level reconnaissance missions, which might prove politically embarrassing to the shaky regime of Laotian Premier Souvanna Phouma, the State-ISA view favored extending the mission of Laotian ground reconnaissance teams, which had been sponsored covertly by the CIA with the Premier's support. Moreover, this approach to policy included the view that, within the scope of broad regional policy goals, solutions to problems in individual countries should be tailored to the unique political context of each country. Insofar as Laos was concerned, this meant not only being sensitive to Souvanna Phouma's political status, but also, adhering to the letter and spirit of the 1962 Geneva Accords, on which it was conceded the structure of a stable political future must be erected. In the State-ISA view, the only alternative to this approach would be an eventual. large-scale deployment of U.S. ground forces to drive out the Pathet LAO/NVA forces.

The meaning of these different overall policy conceptions for the planning processes of April and early May 1964 was that the U.S. government was faced with a dilemma -- whether to take remedial military actions which might ease the short-term problems in South Vietnam or whether to dramatize our commitment to all of Southeast Asia with the long-term, solution in mind The dilemma vas particularly complex because elements of one alternative were needed to enable progress toward the other. Specifically, three accomplishments were considered vital to our long-term objectives in Southeast Asia: (1) to convince Hanoi, whose direction of the Insurgencies was certain, of our resolve to prevent the success of its aggressive policies; (2) to maintain the cooperation of Souvanna Phounn and the Laothian neutralist political structure (which also required the support of the Geneva members) and thereby preserve the framework of the 1962 Geneva Accords; and (3) to build a stable, effective political authority in South Vietnam. Vital to the third accomplishment was our major short-term objective -- of permanently reversing the trends In the Guerrilla war in South Vietnam. These, in turn, were believed to be sustained in their currently deteriorating direction by the infiltration of men and supplies from North Vietnam. The possibility was recognized that determining the extent of this infiltration and eliminating it, if necessary, might be a decisive element in a solution of the short-term problem.

However, the short-term solution involved potential threats to the long-term policy elements: the most effective measures for obtaining the necessary intelligence involved actions likely to alienate Souvanna and damage the political structure in Laos. Yet, some of this same kind of intelligence would be important in convincing the Premier of the need to permit low-level reconnaissance flights and other kinds of operations. On the other hand, the impact of the infiltration on the war in South Vietnam was far from certain. For example, Ambassador Unger reported in December that the recent use of the Laotian corridor was not extensive Rh


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 Pursued by all and hunted shall pass away my years

Till they will have exhausted the fountain of my tears,

Till I shall feel that each man for me is but a foe,

Till my own self thus hated by all I shall not know,

Till endless pain and anguish my heart have so oppressed

That I may curse my mother whom I, of all, loved best—

When utmost cruel hatred like love seems to my eye,

My suffering forgetting, perhaps I might then die.

And if, by all accursèd, I die a stranger, they

Upon the street my body to dogs shall throw away,

And him who sets them on me, that they may tear my heart,

O him, my gracious Father, the highest crown impart,

And him who stones will on me with hatred throw, O give

My Lord, that he in glory eternally may live!

Thus only can I, Father, sing praises thanking Thee,

That graciously Thou gavest this earthly boon to me.

I do not bend my forehead for other gifts, Thy ire,

Thy curses and Thy hatred are all that I desire,

To feel how disappearing my breath by Thine is quelled,

And in the night eternal I traceless am dispelled.

The midnight hour of sorrow on brazen bell doth toll,

And sleep, life’s toll-collector, comes not to take the toll.

On roads so often trodden Death wants to lead for aye,

And Life and Death comparing, which is the best to weigh;

But now my reason’s balance unchangèd still doth stand,

For ’tween them both is fixèd, unmoved the pointing hand.

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 Page), Thoreau's sincere and learned disciple, that had either of us been men, I please myself with thinking, of less temper and justice, the difference might have made us enemies instead of making us friends. To him who knew the man from the inside, many of my statements sounded like inversions made on purpose; and yet when we came to talk of them together, and he had understood how I was looking at the man through the books, while he had long since learned to read the books through the man, I believe he understood the spirit in which I had been led astray.

On two most important points, Dr. Japp added to my knowledge, and with the same blow fairly demolished that part of my criticism. First, if Thoreau were content to dwell by Walden Pond, it was not merely with designs of self-improvement, but to serve mankind in the highest sense. Hither came the fleeing slave; thence was he despatched along the road to freedom. That shanty in the woods was a station in the great Underground Railroad; that adroit and philosophic solitary was an ardent worker, soul and body, in that so much more than honourable movement, which, if atonement were possible for nations, should have gone


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O Mother, sweetest Mother, thy calling voice so dear,

Through time’s dark mist resounding, in rustling leaves I hear;

Where quietly thou sleepest, o’er thy most holy tomb,

The wind now shakes the willows in heavy autumn’s gloom;

In gently rustling branches I hear the voice of yore…

The wind for ever shakes them, thou sleepest evermore.

When I shall die, belovèd, thou shalt not weep for me,

But tear a branch, my dearest, from that sweet linden-tree,

And carefully then plant it near my reposing head,

To make it grow, upon it thy loving tears shalt shed,

And on my tomb I’ll feel it, its shadows creeping o’er…

For ever grow the shadows, I sleep for evermore.

And if one day together it be our doom to die,

Not in a dreary churchyard should we be put to lie,

But near the flowing river let us for aye repose,

A single narrow coffin shall both of us enclose,

And thou shalt be for ever so near my bosom’s core…

For ever weep the waters, we sleep for evermore.

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 far to wipe away the guilt of slavery. But in history sin always meets with condign punishment; the generation passes, the offence remains, and the innocent must suffer. No underground railroad could atone for slavery, even as no bills in Parliament can redeem the ancient wrongs of Ireland. But here at least is a new light shed on the Walden episode.

Second, it appears, and the point is capital, that Thoreau was once fairly and manfully in love, and, with perhaps too much aping of the angel, relinquished the woman to his brother. Even though the brother were like to die of it, we have not yet heard the last opinion of the woman. But be that as it may, we have here the explanation of the "rarefied and freezing air" in which I complained that he had taught himself to breathe. Reading the man through the books, I took his professions in good faith. He made a dupe of me, even as he was seeking to make a dupe of himself, wresting philosophy to the needs of his own sorrow. But in the light of this new fact, those pages, seemingly so cold, are seen to be alive with feeling. What appeared to be a lack of interest in the philosopher turns out to have been a touching