Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

he would not willingly have perish with him, but slows. As he spoke to her, Mary fell down by the which, nevertheless, he would not utler until the bedside and covered her face with her hands. 1 links that bound him to the earth were about sepa- could see the large lears trickling through her finrating forever.

gers. The old man laid his hand upon that of In a few moments Dr. Selwyn appeared, and in Frank and said in a voice of great solemnity—“My reply to Frank's look of solemn inquiry, he told son, it has been decreed by one, the wisdoin of him that he was indeed dying. My poor friend whose judgment we may not question, that thou heard his doom without a murmur; and pulling his should'st early yield up thy life. But if it can lend hand in the Doctor's, he affectionately thanked him any consolation to thy present feelings, believe that for his tenderness and care, and then begged me to to no mortal hand would I as willingly have confilet ihe Rector and his family know what was about ded the trust of my daughter as to thine. And I to take place. I communicated to them the intel- feel that sorrowful as is her first experience of huligence as gently as I could. But although it was man life, it is better for her to remember the affecnot unexpected, yet it threw the family into deep tion of one such as thou art, though he live not, distress. The sweetness of Frank's disposition, than to expect all that the breathing world often and his palience during his illness, had endeared yields to the human heart." He took his daughhim to the old man's heart. Mrs. Allen loved him ter's hand as she knelt and placed it in Frank's, as a son. Mary as she followed her agitated pa- Seldom," said he, “has there been such a berents to the chamber where he lay, seemed more trothal, the betrothal of the living with one about self-possessed than either ; but there was in her to die. But its recollection will be to my beloved face an expression of tearless sorrow, that showed child, as the presence of an angel, keeping her her heart was too deeply shaken co find relief in steadfast in that life of innocence and truth, which outward signs of grief.

has made her seem beautiful to this departing soul." As they stood around his bedside, he requested Hand in hand they remained, while a long silence to be raised upon pillows. And then in a voice dwell in the chamber. My poor friend struggled firmer and stronger than I could have expected to speak, but his lips moved without a sound. He from his dying condition, he spoke to the Rector. opened his eye languidly, and for a moment he He thanked him for having sheltered him in his seemed half unconscious of all about him, but as last hours, with the care and affection of a parent, his gaze rested upon Mary's, he turned his face a kindness that he more deeply appreciated, be- more toward her, and with a look long and earnest, cause he had come among them a stranger. as if all his departing energies were summoned to

“ Bui," he said, and his voice for a moment fix her image indelibly opon his remembrance, he choked with emotion, “it is perhaps as well that I gazed mournfully and steadfastly on her. A moshould die now. I had intended to go down into ment more, and the look changed to a smile, and my grave with my secret untold. But as it is, it his face was again turned from her,—and he was seems ordered that I should not conceal those feel-dead. Without a word-without a sob~Mary Alings, which made the hope of life long dear to my len rose up from where she knelt; and bending heart; and which, whes that passed from me, ser- over him, who now could give no look of tenderved above all other things to soothe the sorrow ofness and recognition, she pressed her lips to his an early death. It cannot now do any one harm forehead, and then silently turned and lett the chamto say, Mary, how deeply I have loved you. Il was, ber. perhaps, little to give you the withering blossoms Within that house of mourning, there was no of a blighted spring. But all that my heart could loud lamentation. The family moved to and fro offer was freely yours; and I had hoped, that if it noiselessly, but calmly. Even Mary, from day to pleased heaven to spare my young life, its riper day, took her accustomed place beside her father's thoughts would have been worthy of a being as chair in the library. Their grief seemed to be gentle and innocent. But now all these hasty pros- consecrated into a holy resignation. When the pects have passed away. Yet, while I am left to day came for the funeral, all the Rector's family feel that the possession of your love is denied me followed poor Frank to the grave. There were a by an early death, I trust that the recollection of few in the church-yard beside ourselves. Mary's my affection will abide with you through all time. veil was closely drawn, so that I could not see with And that although left upon the world without bro- what feelings she looked down into the open grave, ther or parent, there are few who will remember and heard the solemn words that consigned our beme ; I trust that so long as you shall live, my me loved friend to the dust. I had frequently seen the mory will be preserved. Not to weep over, with Rector apparently more distressed than he was on vain tears, but to be recalled, as a sister shall recall this occasion. In other instances, he yielded to all that was dear and hallowed in the associations his feelings, and sympathized even to lears with of her childhood with some loved brother, whom those who wept over the burial of a departed relashe can meet no more forever."

tive. But in this case he seemed to feel the death He ceased to speak and sank back upon the pil-'of Frank as his own loss, and to consider that it

[ocr errors]

name.

became him as an humble servant of God, to bear fervent blessings opon her paler, sadder, and get meekly and without a murmur, the withdrawal of more angelic countenance. his stay.

When I last saw her, more than a year had passWhen the funeral was over, I returned home. I ed since Frank's death; her seclusion was then had in my possession a miniature of Frank, which even deeper than it had been during the first few he had sent me from London the year before. It months after his loss. Although not eighteen, she was a striking likeness, and I valued it as almost seemed many years older. The sorrow of her the only memorial remaining to me of an inter- heart was gradually wearing her life away. She course that had lasted for many years, without a was as calm and apparently as resigned as ever, single interruption to our friendship. But I re- but it needed only one look at her wasting frame, membered that there was one whose claim upon to know that she was maintaining an unequal strug. his memory was holier than mine. I sent her his gle with her grief. But in nothing had her wonpicture, and a lock of his hair which I had secured derful beauty altered. One expression of her dark the day he died. None save her father and mo- blue eye was even more spiritual than it had been ther and myself knew of the singular relation which in the innocent, careless days of childhood, and Mary Allen held 10 Frank Hastings. And when, the rich clusters of her sunny hair, seemed even therefore, it was observed that for many weeks af- more lovely when they were contrasted with tbe ter his death, she mingled in the society of the marble whiteness of her cheek. neighborhood even less frequently than before, her I felt that she could not remain long on this earth. absence was attributed to the distressing influence And it was, therefore, with no feeling of surprise that a death, under her father's roof, would be likely that I heard two years after, when residing in this to exert. I was the only stranger whom she ap- country, from my venerable friend, that he was peared always glad to see. She had grown thinner childless. He said that she had gradually given and paler, bu: her rare beauty remained undimin- way, perfectly resigned to her approaching fate, ished. It was if possible even heightened by an and seeming even happy in her knowledge that she expression of subdued sadness, which her counte- must soon die. He told me that she lay buried nance habitually wore. I never referred to what beside him, whom she had loved better than life, had passed, until she one day mentioned Frank's and that he now waited patiently until the time

She begged that I would tell her all I knew should come, in which he could sleep beside his of his past life. For she said with a melancholy beloved children. smile, that she had been with him but a few days, although they seemed like years in her life-time. But yet she would feel as if she had dwelt yet longer with him, if I would tell her of all that had gone before. Whenever we met it was of him that she wished to hear. Of this theme she never wearied, and as it seemed to lighten the continuing THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. burden of her sorrow, I did all that I could to make the memory of his past life a picture familiar to her

“The sky was cloudless . the sun was in the West; heart.

but shining in his broadest beams; the whole spare before As time went by, I thought that her manner me was flooded with his light; when as I gazed upon the would regain something of that gaiety which had Martyr, I saw a gleam issue from his upturned face ; it is. marked her girlhood. But although she was not creased to brightness, to strong radiance, to an intense gloomy, yet I could see that the recollection of her lustre that made the sunlight uiterly pale. A lofty joy, 3 sad betrothal was never absent from her mind. look of supernal grandeur, a magnificent, yel ethereal beauShe still sat through the long days at her father's ty transformed the features of the old man into the likeside ; still smiled cheerfully when he spoke to her; ness of the Sons of Immortality." and watched over him with silent love. The flow

Croly's Salatkie. ers in the garden,-her favorite birds,-all things that she had tended in a happier day, were still cared for with patient attention. But the careless

I hear triumphant trumps above me ringing, fancy and corrowless heart of the girl, were gone

I see angelic pinions floating byforever. She was yet more constant in her errands And soft-toned voices sacred anthems singing, of mercy and charity than before. The home of

In rapturous melody roll down the sky. poverty, the bed of sickness, and the house of mourning, were now her familiar haunts. And the But 'mid them all, a tone of solemn sweetness, murmured thanks that used to follow her happy Thrills through each fibre of my bursting beart, face as she glided around the couch of suffering And whispers to the entrancéd soul its meetness, and the chamber of desolation, now deepened into In that celestial choir to bear a part.

Oh, earth! the ties that bind me here are failing, theoretical deductions, the publication of which as

What The night of grief and sin is almost past,

tonished and delighted the scientific world. And hope and Faith no more their glories veiling,

Leverrier had inferred from the action on other Ope to my eyes the Port of Peace at last.

planets, of some body which ought to exist, was

verified, at least so it was thought at the time, by O'er the high mount of God life's morn is breaking, actual vision. Neptune was actually discovered Baihd in its light the spirit's wings unfold,

| by other astronomers, and the glory of the learned From a long dream of gloom and dread awaking, theorist shone with most dazzling lustre. But alas, Bursts on its view Heav'n's streets of pearly gold.' for the glory of Leverrier, the communication of

M. Babinet was intended to show that Neptune, the I mark the ransom'd, earth's dark trials ended,

planet discovered so à-propos, by the telescope of Stand 'round the Throne, a white-robed, glitt'ring throng' Galle, was not, after all, the planet that Leverrier From the vast concourse countless voices blended,

was searching for in the retirement of his closet. Swell in harmonious notes the conqueror's song. It had been appropriated most unjustly-M. Le

verrier must let it go-must take his collar off of There are the loved ones, whom I lost in sadness,

Neptune, and claim him no longer. Leverrier, it Bearing victorious palms in bright array

was urged, had placed his planet at a distance from No shade of care to blight their peaceful gladness,

the sun equal to 36 times the limits of the terresNo clouds of gloon l'obscure the eternal day.

trial orbit : Neptune's posilion is 30 tiines these P. H. H.

limits, making a difference of nearly 500,000,000 Charleston, S. C. 1848.

miles; Leverrier had assigned to his planet a vol. ume equal to 38 times that of the earth: Neptune was only one-third of this size. Leverrier had stated the revolution of his planet round the sun to be performed in 217 years : Neptune performs its revolution in 164 years.

• Thus,"

” exclaims M. Babi

net, “ Neptune is clearly not the planet which M. LETTER FROM OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT. Leverrier would find, and his theory so far as re

gards Neptune falls to the ground.” M. Babinet's Paris, September 28th, 1848. attack has found a smart echo in one Abbé Moigno,

a writer of feuilletons for the Presse newspaper. The Academy of Sciences, the reports of whose Leverrier is very irascible. Moved, as well he might proceedings used frequently to be of a character to be, by this attempt to dispossess him of his planet, find a welcome in the pages of the Messenger, has and provoked perhaps by the sharp barking of the for several months past emitted almost nothing of Abbé, (the lion ought to have disregarded the general interest. The journals of the day have ceased gad-fy,) he writes an article for publication in the to take any notice of its sittings. The fact is that Presse. In the note to the editor, requesting its the revolution of February, by the shock which it insertion, he says, “My answer is but an extract gave to industry, paralyzed invention and checked of the complete refutation of the assertions of M. the spirit of discovery matters connected with Babinet, which I made yesterday, Monday, at a material improvement. When trade languishes, public sitting of the Academy of Sciences.” The and enterprise withdraws its labors and its capital, article of Leverrier is 100 long for translation to the genius that invents, and takes the lead in pro- your pages, and perhaps is too abstruse to interest gress, sleeps 100.

When confidence revives, and, the majority of your readers, but I must extract as a consequence, commerce and manufactures re- from it a specimen or two of the spirit and bluntsume their activity, we may again hope to witness ness with which he contradicts the positions of M. the energetic and successful pursuit of knowledge Babinet. I fear he will quite lose his dignity bewhich tends to their development. Of late the only fore the contest is over. sittings of the Academy at which anything occur- "Is it true that the direction in which I placed red worth relating to you, have been those of the Neptune, bears with it an enormous error, except 29th ult., and of the 11th instant. Although the for the epoch of the discovery by M. Galle, or for proceedings upon these occasions had little of a a very few years before and after ? No! That is practical nature, they cannot but be of interest to false !" most readers of a literary periodical. On the 29th Again, ult., M. Babinet, a fellow member of the Institute, “ Is it true that there are enormous errors in rewith M. Leverrier, and one of the most noted phy- lation to its distance from the sun ? No! That is sical astronomers of France, made a communica- false !" tion respecting the planet, Neptune, which is usu- Again, ally called Leverrier's planet, the discovery of it " Is it true that the theoretic mass of Neptune, having, as was sopposed, been made by him from differs from the mass deduced by observation of the

He says,

VOL. XIV-88

satellite, 10 such an extent as to furnish an irresis- make her appearance in the new and trying cbaruble argument against the identity of the theoretic acter of Desdemona in the Moor of Venice. Al. Neptune, with the observed Neplune? No! This fred de Vigny's translation of this, one of the finest is false !"

productions of the great English Dramatist, is to M. Leverrier follows each of these strong as- be revived for this occasion. sertions by an array of argoments, which abler per- Last night, at the French opera, was given the sons than myself must appreciate and value. Le 3081h representation of “Robert le Diable.” verrier has also published an edition of his de

Gen. Cavai ac, in order to encourage as much fence for general circulation. He there gives to as possible all species of legitimate amusement, and the writers of the Presse and of the National, ihe keep the people from getting up 308 representafollowing side-wipe, en passant.

lions of the Revolution in Paris, is announced, with “It is evident to all persons, that the feuilleto several members of his government, as having ennists of the Presse and National are nothing but gaged boxes for the season at the Italian opera. instruments whose excuse is found in this Proverb: The papers asserted too a few days ago, that he Every body must live. Every one will pronounce and other high functionaries had resolved to spend with severity upon these Bravi of the pen, who their whole salaries to the last franc in balls and would perfidiously assassinale a man in his scien- feles: in hope thereby to set examples which would tific honor, without affording him the opportunity be followed, imparting aetivity and life to several of self defence."

branches of industry peculiar to Paris, and which I ought to add, in Leverrier's behalf, that the the events of the revolution have completely prosgreat majority of his brethren side with him in trated. In fact, all the papers have rung lately the contest : and that in the Academy of Sci- with accounts of several grand official entertainences, when M. Babinet ventured to assert that ments. “the identity of the planet, Neptune, with the the- There is quiet still in the political world here: oretic planet, was no longer admiited by any body," but there are evident signs of a fermentation in MM. Biot, Cauchy, and Faye immediately declar- progress, which will before many months cause ed themselves exceptions from this broad assertion. another explosion. The sooner some military ty.

But the caricaturists are not sparing Leverrier.rant puts his rein and curb upon France, the betWhat does a French caricaturist spare ? He is ter, I believe, for herself and the world. The represented in ridiculous attitude and with piteous elections just concluded rivet my conviction, that face, his clothes all bedizzened with stars, cres- the French are unfit for self-government and the cenis, and suns, as approaching Gen. Cavaignac Republic impracticable. and asking him if he has suppressed his planet ? The Napoleon excitement is rising again ; ocThe General laughs, and tells him no! He has not casioned by the re-election of Louis Napoleon Bosuppressed it, but nobody can be sure of his star in naparte and his arrival in Paris to take his seat as times of revolution.

a member of the National Assembly. His adheIn the mean time, popular amusements in the rents are obtruding him upon the public notice in erstreets, of the kind so much in vogue here since ery possible form,-prints, newspapers, pamphlets, February, being now no more practicable under statuettes. Some of these are so bare-faced that Cavaignac's provisional dictatorship, and that other Gen. Caraignac has had to suppress them and resource, the clubs, which for three months com- arrest the authors. Louis Napoleon is, I thiok, pletely carried the day against the theatres, being destined to give the Republic much trouble. In a but moderately attractive under the severe rule now short speech, on the day of his entrance into the in force, the theatres have resumed their ancient assembly, he pronounced his adhesion to the Reéclat. The Italian opera opens next Tuesday for public, but in terms which, if compared with what the season. The principal singers are already at he has formerly written, will appear not to be iatheir posts, and the New Director has at last fol- consistent with persistence in bis ambitious projects. lowed the example of the other theatres, and es.

W. W. M. tablished a considerable reduction of prices of ad. mission.

Meyerbeer has arrived in Paris, and his new opera of " Le Prophete," is definitively to be proda- According to Lord Bolingbroke, Virgil preferred Livy ced at the French opera, where the roles are alrea- and Tacitus to any Grecian historians. He founds this dy distributed.

idea

upon the celebrated lines commencing, “ Excodent Balzac is engaged writing a new róle for Bouffé. alii,” &c. This is a singular blunder on his Lordship's an actor of Paris of extraordinary versatility of part, for Virgil died before Livy had written his bistory,

and before Tacitus was born. powers. A new Comedy of Scribe has just been accepted well-known “ Song by a Person of Quality," to be a seri

Gilbert Wakefield in his edition of Pope, supposes the at the French theatre; where M’dlle. Rachel, re-ous composition, and in a long commentary goes about to turned from her tour in the provinces, is about 10 prove the whole a disgrace to its author.

IMPROMPTU STANZAS

EDITOR'S TABLE.

TO A CHRISTIAN FRIEND.

BY MRS.

In the roseate morn of joyous years,
Ere darkling care, or sorrow's tears
Were on my cheek-when sunlight streamed
Across my joy-wreathed path, that gleamed
With starry Hope-when fragrant flowers,
Made an Elysium of Youth's bowers,
I had no wish to breathe, save one-
That Earthly joys were but begun.

The autumn leaves, that fall around us in the chill November, have ever suggested to man the mortality of his earthly being, and the poets of all ages, from the elegaic bards of Greece to our own Bryant, by an allusion to the decadence of nature, have typified the common end of humanity. We

have our seasons, as the “beauteous sisterhood" of the flowers, and the dark winter of the tomb

cometh to all. As the passing year, robing the earth with gay hues and nourishing with light and

warmth the young blossoms, which it afterwards blights with its rude breath,

When disppointment's first lone tear
Whisper'd me, care's storm-cloud was near,
I looked not up, but in the arms
of mortals frail, from its alarms,
A resuge sought, and calmly smiled,
As Lise's first looming tempest wild
Went multering by. I looked up then
To see Life's sunlight come again!

“ Even such is Time, that takes on trust

Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust;

Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days!"

But when-ah! when the winds of Fate
Lwept shrieking by with envions hate
Of mortal bliss, and stole away
From Youth's sweet morn its fairest ray-
When Hope's bright petals strew'd the ground,
And Wo's grim spectres frown'd around,
Another wish my heart then bore-
Since Earth is false, 'twere better o'er !

Rash thought!—the darkest shade is past,
The heart's worst pang is o'er at last,
Life's sun is beaming warm and bright,
Emerging from cold sorrow's night-
Sweet Hope-false Hope-blooms fresh and fair,
Beguiling Youth's gay morn of care ;
But ah! I've learned tho' free from sorrow
To-day, our hearts may bleed to-morrow !

Hope beckons on with smiling lip,
And Youth's glad pulse bids nature sip
From Pleasure's sparkling sountain fair,
While Life emits its sweetest glare ;
And Earth's gay garden falsely smiles,
Wooing with its deceptive wiles;
But ah! I know 'mid brilliant flowers,
The Serpent lurks in rosy bowers.

The recurrence of the autumnal season, while it brings to us these reflections, imposes upon us, at this time, the sad office of recording the death of two distinguished men, who were once among the number of the Messenger's contributors. Some weeks have elapsed since each of these sad events took place, and the daily press of the country has already referred in becoming terms 10 the character and high altainments of the departed. Yet it

is incumbent on us, as literary journalists, to express our sense of their merits and of the great public loss, which the South has sustained in their decease.

We do not propose to write the obituary of the late HENRY ST. GEORGE TUCKER. That affecting task has been already worthily performed. But we desire to say that in his removal from the scene of his earthly labors, society, the commonwealth,

the law, has lost a brilliant ornament. Of social qualities, the most endearing and remarkable, he had filled with honor the first offices of his native State, and illustrated the annals of her jurisprudence. And while he went down to the grave, the victim of a painful and lingering malady, attended

with the sympathising regrets of his many personal friends, the public at large felt the loss of the jurist, whose ermine had, indeed, been laid aside for some years, but whose usefulness had been afterwards most signally displayed in the Lecture. Room of the University. As for us, who had received his instructions and enjoyed the elegant hospitality of his mansion, we could not but be most painfully impressed. As a literary man, Judge Tucker was deservedly esteemed, although he never aspired to the honors of the class, and indulged a gift of easy versification, only as a means of gilding the intercourse of the social circle. Hence his productions in rhyme were, for the most part, merely rers de societé,—yet the Messenger con

And now since Lise's First Dream is o'er,
And Earth's false face is loved no more-
Since earthly Hope's most brilliant wreath,
Will fade before the north wind's breath-
Since all below is false tho' fair,
I have a wish-an ardent prayer;
'Tis not of Love nor mortal Joy,
That Time's insatiate ills can cloy,

But 'lis-that I may claim as mine
A place within all hearts like thine,
For Heaven hath said, " the fervent prayer
Of a righteous man availeth there"-
And if I may but claim a part,
In th' aspirations of thy heart,
The joyful peal, beyond the tomb,
Will thrill—"come up, there yet is room!"

« AnteriorContinuar »