Taking care of number one
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
"Everyone for himself." This was one of Lawrence Tilghman's favorite modes of expression. And it will do him no injustice to say that he usually acted up to the sentiment in his business transactions and social intercourse; though guardedly, whenever a too manifest exhibition of selfishness was likely to affect him in the estimation of certain parties with whom he wished to stand particularly fair. In all his dealings, this maxim was alone regarded; and he was never satisfied unless, in bargaining, he secured the greater advantage, a thing that pretty generally occurred.
There resided in the same town with Tilghman—a western town—a certain young lady, whose father owned a large amount of property. She was his only child, and would fall heir, at his death, to all his wealth. Of course, this young lady had attractions that were felt to be of a most weighty character by certain young men in the town, who made themselves as agreeable to her as possible. Among these was Lawrence Tilghman.
"Larry," said a friend to him one day—they had been talking about the young lady—"it's no use for you to play the agreeable to Helen Walcot."
"And why not, pray?" returned Tilghman.
"They say she's engaged."
"To whom?"
"To a young man in Columbus."
"Who says so?"
"I can't mention my authority; but it's good."
"Engaged, ha! Well, I'll break that engagement, if there's any virtue in trying."
"You will?"
"Certainly. Helen will be worth a plum when the old man, her father, dies; and I've made up my mind to handle some of his thousands."
"But certainly, Larry, you would not attempt to interfere with a marriage contract?"
"I don't believe any contract exists," replied the young man. "Anyhow, while a lady is single I regard her as in the market, and to be won by the boldest."
"Still, we should have some respect for the rights of others."
"Every one for himself in this world," replied Tilghman. "That is my motto. If you don't take care of yourself, you'll be shoved to the wall in double quick time. Long ago, I resolved to put some forty or fifty thousand dollars between myself and the world by marriage, and you may be sure that I will not let this opportunity slip for any consideration. Helen must be mine."
Additional evidence of the fact that the young lady was under engagement of marriage soon came to the ears of Tilghman. The effect was to produce a closer attention on his part to Helen, who,greatly to his uneasiness, did not seem to give him much encouragement, although she always treated him with politeness and attention whenever he called to see her. But it was not true, as Tilghman had heard, that Helen was engaged to a young man in Columbus; though it was true that she was in correspondence with a gentleman there named Walker, and that their acquaintance was intimate, and fast approaching a love-like character.
Still, she was not indifferent to the former, and, as he showed so strong a preference for her, began, gradually, to feel an awakening interest. Tilghman was quick to perceive this, and it greatly elated him. In the exultation of his feelings, he said to himself—
"I'll show this Columbus man that I'm worth a dozen of him. The boldest wins the fair. I wouldn't give much for his engagement."
Tilghman was a merchant, and visited the east twice every year for the purpose of buying goods. Last August, he crossed the mountains as usual. Some men, when they leave home and go among strangers, leave all the little good breeding they may happen to have had behind them. Such a man was Tilghman. The moment he stepped into a steamboat, stage, or railroad car, the every-one-for-himself principle by which he was governed manifested itself in all its naked deformity, and it was at once concluded by all with whom he came in contact that, let him be who he would, he was no gentleman.
On going up the river, on the occasion referred to, our gentleman went on the free and easy principle, as was usual with him when in public conveyances; consulting his own inclinations and tastes alone, and running his elbows into any and everybody's ribs that happened to come in his way. He was generally first at the table when the bell rang; and, as he had a good appetite, managed, while there, to secure a full share of the delicacies provided for the company.
"Every one for himself," was the thought in his mind on these occasions; and his actions fully agreed with his thoughts.
On crossing the mountains in stages as far as Cumberland, his greedy, selfish, and sometimes downright boorish propensities annoyed his fellow-passengers, and particularly a young man of quiet, refined, and gentlemanly deportment, who could not, at times, help showing the disgust he felt. Because he paid his half dollar for meals at the taverns on the way, Tilghman seemed to feel himself licensed to gormandize at a beastly rate. The moment he sat down to the table, he would seize eagerly upon the most desirable dish near him, and appropriate at least a half, if not two-thirds, of what it contained, regardless utterly of his fellow-passengers. Then he would call for the next most desirable dish, if he could not reach it, and help himself after a like liberal fashion. In eating, he seemed more like a hungry dog, in his eagerness, than a man possessing a grain of decency. When the time came to part company with him, his fellow-travelers rejoiced at being rid of one whose utter selfishness filled them with disgust.
In Philadelphia and New York, where Tilghman felt that he was altogether unknown, he indulged his uncivilized propensities to their full extent. At one of the hotels, just before leaving New York to return to Baltimore, and there take the cars for the West again, he met the young man referred to as a traveling companion, and remarked the fact that he recognized and frequently observed him. Under this observation, as it seemed to have something sinister in it, Tilghman felt, at times, a little uneasy, and, at the hotel table, rather curbed his greediness when this individual was present.
Finally, he left New York in the twelve o'clock boat, intending to pass on to Baltimore in the night train from Philadelphia, and experienced a sense of relief in getting rid of the presence of one who appeared to know him and to have taken a prejudice against him. As the boat swept down the bay, Tilghman amused himself first with a cigar on the forward deck, and then with a promenade on the upper deck. He had already secured his dinner ticket. When the fumes of roast turkey came to his eager sense, he felt "sharp set" enough to have devoured a whole gobbler! This indication of the approaching meal caused him to dive down below, where the servants were busy in preparing the table. Here he walked backwards and forwards for about half an hour in company with a dozen others, who, like himself, meant to take care of number one. Then, as the dishes of meat began to come in, he thought it time to secure a good place. So, after taking careful observation, he assumed a position, with folded arms, opposite a desirable dish, and awaited the completion of arrangements. At length all was ready, and a waiter struck the bell. Instantly, Tilghman drew forth a chair, and had the glory of being first at the table. He had lifted his plate and just cried, as he turned partly around—"Here, waiter! Bring me some of that roast turkey. A side bone and piece of the breast"—when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and the clerk of the boat said, in a voice of authority—
"Further down, sir! Further down! We want these seats for ladies."
Tilghman hesitated.
"Quick! quick!" urged the clerk.
There was a rustling behind him of ladies' dresses, and our gentleman felt that he must move. In his eagerness to secure another place, he stumbled over a chair and came near falling prostrate. At length he brought up at the lower end of the table.
"Waiter!" he cried, as soon as he had found a new position—"waiter, I want some of that roast turkey!"
The waiter did not hear, or was too busy with some one else to hear.
"Waiter, I say! Here! This way!"
So loudly and earnestly was this uttered, that the observation of every one at that end of the tablewas attracted towards the young man. But he thought of nothing but securing his provender. At length he received his turkey, when he ordered certain vegetables, and then began eating greedily, while his eyes were every moment glancing along the table to see what else there was to tempt his palate.
"Waiter!" he called, ere the first mouthful was fairly swallowed.
The waiter came.
"Have you any oyster sauce?"
"No, sir."
"Great cooks! Turkey without oyster sauce! Bring me a slice of ham."
"Bottle of ale, waiter," soon after issued from his lips.
The ale was brought, the cork drawn, and the bottle set beside Tilghman, who, in his haste, poured his tumbler two-thirds full ere the contact of air had produced effervescence. The consequence was that the liquor flowed, suddenly, over the glass, and spread its creamy foam for the space of four or five inches around. Several persons sitting near by had taken more interest in our young gentleman who was looking after number one than in the dinner before them; and, when this little incident occurred, could not suppress a titter.
Hearing this, Tilghman became suddenly conscious of the ludicrous figure he made, and glanced quickly from face to face. The first countenance his eyes rested upon was that of the young man who had been his stage companion; near him was a lady who had thrown back her veil, and whom he instantly recognized as Helen Walcot! She it was who stood behind him when the clerk ejected him from his chair, and she had been both an ear and eye-witness of his sayings and doings since he dropped into his present place at the table. So much had his conduct affected her with a sense of the ridiculous, that she could not suppress the smile that curled her lips; a smile that was felt by Tilghman as the death-blow to all his hopes of winning her for his bride. With the subsidence of these hopes went his appetite; and with that he went also—that is, from the table, without so much as waiting for the dessert. On the forward deck he ensconced himself until the boat reached South Amboy, and then he took good care not to push his way into the ladies' car, a species of self-denial to which he was not accustomed.
Six months afterwards—he did not venture to call again on Miss Walcot—Tilghman read the announcement of the young lady's marriage to a Mr. Walker, and not long afterwards met her in company with her husband. He proved to be the traveling companion who had been so disgusted with his boorish conduct when on his last trip to the east.
Our young gentleman has behaved himself rather better since when from home; and we trust that some other young gentlemen who are too much in the habit of "taking care of number one" when they are among strangers, will be warned by his mortification, and cease to expose themselves to the ridicule of well-bred people.
BY J. E. P.
Come, see Ro Appo, my sweet Hindoo belle;On Burra deen, a holiday, full dressed,Glittering with gems, she shineth in the sun,Superior far to maidens of the west.Her Dahka veil, light as the fleecy cloud,Enshrines her form in fairy-like attireHer every move is made with Eastern grace,She walks a queen of beauty with her lyreO'er the Midan, or in the cooler shadeOf scented shrubs or spreading banian grove,Touching the strings where music sleeps till whenShe wakes all into song of joy and love.See her maunteeka,[C]with its splendid star,Throws radiating beauty from her brow,Where diamond amethyst and emerald beamsBlend with the pride that sparkles from her now.Her champank necklace, glittering round her neck,Loose dangles down low on her glowing breast,Whose rise and fall, as inward passion stirsOft, like the Ganges, drown its zealous guest.See, as she raises slow her tiny hand,How rich her fingers are in jewels rare!Her thumb she nears, for in her inah[D]glassShe loves to see her beauty shining thereMusic is in her step, for, as she stirs,Listen to Paunjcho merry, tinkling bell,Betaking well the native cheerfulnessOf my sweet-tempered Hindostanee belle.I love to see thee in thy pride of show;Thy sable face, illum'd with Eastern smile,Wins o'er my soul, in spite thy Pagan creed,To court thy heart and worship thee awhile.Doff off thy dark idolatry, and come,Be one with me; be married, and derideThy parents' wrath, thy Bramin's deadliest curse;Join Europe and Asia, bridegroom and the bride.
A SEQUEL TO "THE NIEBELUNGEN."BY PROFESSOR CHARLES E. BLUMENTHAL.(Continued from page 261.)
Develourand his associates left the little house in the Ruelle des Jardiniers and marched down the Rue de Charenton, in order to avoid being seen by any sentinel which the revelers of the Rue Montgallet might have had the precaution to place before the door. Caleb and Develour walked at the head of the troop, followed by Bertram and Filmot with thepèrebetween them. When they reached thebarrière, they met with an unexpected interruption from a small body of municipal guards, who stood like statues in the gloomy shade of a temporary guard-house. Their sudden appearance, and the quick and decisivequi viveof their brave young Captain St. Leger, disconcerted Develour for a moment; but Caleb whispered to him—
"Halt the men, while I give this young fire-eater the watchword, which he begins to suspect is not in our possession."
Then advancing a few steps, he, in a low tone, but loud enough for the officer to hear, spoke the word "Philippe and Amelia;" then immediately resumed his former position, while he said "Pass, guard of the throne." Develour's band then turned into the Ruelle de Quatre Chemins, and marched up the Rue de Trois Chandelles until they came to an alley, into which they went. About the middle of the alley, they halted before a massive gate, which opened into the garden of Madame Georgiana'spied à terre. Here a whispered conversation took place as to the best mode of gaining entrance into the garden They had expected to find it open; for so their spy had reported it to have been at an early hour of the evening. Disappointed, some proposed to break it down; but this was rejected, on account of the noise which would attend such an effort, and might give the alarm to the revelers. Others proposed to send for a locksmith; but this was considered as consuming too much time, when every moment was of the greatest value. At last Bertram, who, with Caleb, had taken no part in the discussion, said—
"If thegrilleis not surmounted with spikes too large to cross, I will soon have it open. At any rate, I will try. Come, Père Tranchard, let us have your ladder."
The silken cords were soon uncoiled, and Bertram, with one dextrous throw, fastened the hooks around the cross-bars between the spikes. He then mounted the ladder, and bade the père follow him. Poor Père Tranchard, notwithstanding his many excuses, was compelled to share the perilous ascent When the two had reached the top, Bertram ordered his frightened companion to crawl along thegrilleto the wall, and there, perched in a very uneasy position, remain a sentinel in the avenues from the house; he then coolly surveyed the ground on the other side of the gate, and, after a few seconds of deliberation, drew the ladder after him, and lowered it into the garden. Not the slightest noise betrayed the presence of a living being, and he congratulated himself already upon his success while descending the lowest rounds, when his progress was suddenly arrested by some one who seized the collar of his coat, without any warning except an inarticulate grumbling noise. The rain and the thick darkness prevented him from seeing his assailant; but, when he turned in order to lay hold of him, he found a shaggy head coming in contact with his face. As soon as he felt the hair brush against his cheek, he gave a low laugh, and said—
"Down, Carlo, down! It is Bertram."
His four-footed assailant, a large dog of the African lion breed, immediately relinquished his hold, and crouched at the feet of his old master.
"Just so," muttered Bertram. "I thought Jacquelin would not like to go the rounds to-night, and would confide his post to thee, Carlo. Come, let us go and hunt for thy new master."
He then walked cautiously towards the house, the lower windows of which opened into the garden, and showed a brilliantly illuminated apartment, in which a table, covered with all the appurtenances of an epicurean supper, was set out. The room was filled with a number of gentlemen in every variety of dress. Bertram, in his approach to the house, took advantage of every tree to conceal his person, in order to get as near as possible without being observed. When he had come near enough to distinguish the persons in the room, he stopped, and surveyed the scene and the ground with the eye of a soldier, and, after a few moments, muttered—
"A precious set of scoundrels, indeed, we have here. Grandan—I suppose come to make converts to socialism; no need of that here; Malin, Sotard, Egal, and Létour, who have no property of their own, are already too willing to divide that of other people. There, too, are Longchamp, Bouchon, and Labotte, and not a woman with them: that is strange, were it not for the wine, which accounts for their presence here. But I must hasten to obtainthe key. I wonder where that scoundrel Jacquelin has gone to."
He then gave a low and prolonged whistle. It was answered, after a few seconds, by another from an upper window, and soon afterwards a man came out of the house and looked around in the garden; but the darkness prevented him from distinguishing anything. Bertram repeated, in the mean time, his signal, while he drew off from the house towards a thick clump of trees, to which the man followed, guided by the signal whistle. As soon as they had reached the trees, Bertram seized him in his powerful arms, and, after he had put his handkerchief over his mouth, told him to give up the key of the garden gate. The terrified gardener placed the keys in his hands. Bertram then tied him to a tree, and left the poor wretch, almost frightened to death, exposed to the drizzling rain which now began to fall.
When he returned to the gate, he found his companions impatient to gain admittance, and poor Père Tranchard begging in whispers to be released from his elevated situation, assuring them that it was too dark to see anything or anybody from his post, and that the place was too narrow for him to continue there any longer. Bertram laughed, and told him to come down; that they had no need any longer for his valuable services as a look-out.
When Develour and his companions entered the garden, Caleb, who had hitherto remained inactive, took the command of the little party, and every one obeyed at once, as if it had been expected that he would lead the attack. He divided them into two divisions, one to be led by Develour and Bertram, and the other by himself and Filmot, but told them that they were to separate only when the servants and followers should have been secured in the hall of the domestics. He then ordered them all to cover their faces with the masks, and advance. A few minutes brought them to the very door of the hall in which the domestics and others in the pay of the conspirators were already carousing, and were so completely absorbed in political disputes and drinking wine, filched from the supply for the supper-room, that they did not observe the intruders until they were surrounded. Before they had time to recover from the surprise, they were seized, disarmed, and tied, and instant death was threatened to everyone in case of any attempt at an alarm. After the servants and guards had been thus disposed of, Caleb said to Develour—
"Thou and Bertram must now secure the masters. Let Bertram speak; it is better that thy voice be not recognized. Endeavor, above all things, to gain the lower part of the room, and lock the small door thou wilt see there. Here we separate. I leave the men with thee, if thy friend will volunteer to be my companion."
"Willingly," replied Filmot. "Lead the way."
When the two had passed out of the room, Bertram said to Tranchard—
"Now, worthy père, can you tell us how many doors lead out of that supper-room into some of the secret recesses of this rat-trap?"
"Your companion with the broad-brimmed hat seems to know; for he has told you to take care of the lower door."
"Is there no other, worthy père? For, remember, if any of these men escape into a secret hiding-place, I will provide you with a higher perch than yonder wall, and will secure you to it by a rope around the neck."
Tranchard turned pale at these words, and replied, with a trembling voice—
"There is another; but promise me that you yourself will not enter it, and I will point it out to you. Otherwise," he continued, with a firmer voice, heaving a deep sigh, "you may hang before I'll tell you."
"Never fear," said Bertram, with a laugh; "we have no idea—at least not to-night—to trust our heads into any of the traps which this she-devil may have contrived here."
"Well, then, if you touch the golden rose by the side of the large mirror over the Cupid, it will slide aside, and you may enter by a stairs into the cellar underneath the room."
"We will take care of it, but you must now remain by my side, worthy père, till I have tested your veracity."
Then turning to his men, he dispatched two squads to different parts of the house, with directions to secure the two regular places of egress from the room.
Theconspirators, in the mean time, unconscious of the danger which threatened them, were discussing with one another the various topics which were uppermost in their minds. Joubart, who had just joined the party, after listening for a few moments to some remarks from Egal, exclaimed—
"Gentlemen, our situations, our precedents are very different, and our parts are very singular. You are all republicans at all hazards. I am not a republican of that school. And yet at this moment I am going to be more republican than you are. The fact that I am now here is itself a decisive declaration of it. Let us understand one another. Like you, I regard a republican government as the only instrument for the advancement of the general truth which a nation should incorporate in its laws. But I have just come from the chamber, and I fear we are not strong enough, not prepared as yet to accomplish this. I have still misgivings. I am not therefore an absolute republican like yourselves; but I am a politician, and a politician of the highest cast." At these words, smiles were exchanged among the conspirators. "Well, as a politician, I now thinkit is my duty to refuse the support you are willing to offer me at this hour."
"Well, refuse and play the part of a coward, if you will; that of a traitor you dare not play," exclaimed Bouchon, in his brutal manner.
"There is no need of falling out by the way," said Grandan. "We need Joubart, and he needs us. That little speech will do very well for the chamber; there it would tell. Here we understand one another. Not one of us will risk his head without a probability of success. Joubart has not seen Delevert; else he would know that the mine is well dug, and will andmustexplode before to-morrow evening. The chiefs of theCabet,St. Simon,Lébout,Carac,Tuvir, and five others, whose names I must not mention now, have drawn their followers together to act under the orders of the secret council. The council has decreed a permanent sitting until its object is accomplished; and accomplished it will be at all hazards."
"What can keep Madame Georgiana so long?" whispered Labotte to Longchamp. "She promised to be with us by ten o'clock, and bring with her the fair Louise. It is past ten now, and I told the coachman to draw up before the little door in the wall on the Ruelle des Trois Chandelles."
"I am afraid," replied Longchamp, "that you and Bouchon will get into trouble by your intrigues, and draw your friends also into difficulties.Diable!are there no pretty girls in France besides this Louise? and what possessed Bouchon to fall in love with the picture of this American half savage?"
"Hist! hist! Bouchon will hear you. As to his affair, all I can say there is no accounting for taste. Mine is of a different nature. Louise has charms besides those of her person. The happy possessor of that fair devotee will also be entitled to receive an annual revenue of one hundred thousand francs; no trifling consideration. But the girl is not aware that she is heir to such wealth; and, if she were, would not be able to establish her claim without the aid of certain papers, which I alone know where to find."
"Well, there maybe some reason in your passion, but I see none in that of Bouchon. However, let us go in quest of our fair hostess. We can do so without any one being aware of our object."
Before they had time to rise from their seats the door flew open, and Bertram, with Develour and his followers, all armed to the teeth, entered the room. Not a word was spoken by either party for a few seconds. The conspirators were speechless from surprise and momentary fear; while the others executed their movements rapidly and in silence, according to Bertram's orders, who wished to surround them before they would have time to alarm the house. M. Trouvier was the first who recovered from his surprise, and, seizing his pistols, was about to rise from his chair; when Bertram, who had now placed himself behind Malin's chair, with his back to the large mirror, leveled a short rifle at his head, while he said, with his deep guttural voice—
"Down, sir! down to your seat! Let not a man stir from his place, if he wishes to keep his life!"
"What is the reason of this attack?" inquired Trouvier. "Do you come to rob us? If so, we will give you our purses, and free us from the intrusion."
"Your purses," exclaimed Bertram, with a mocking laugh, "would not be heavy to carry. Joubart's poetry and purse are chaff, easily carried away by a breath. Grandan and Egal might furnish better stores, if they had sufficiently gulled the people to entrust them with their money for a common stock. And you, M. Trouvier, with Sotard and Malin, have enough to do to keep your seditious paper afloat; you certainly have nothing to offer except empty promises to pay."
"Betrayed!" groaned Joubart, as he threw himself back in his chair.
"What, then, is your object in coming here?" inquired Trouvier. "Why are we surrounded by armed men hiding their faces beneath masks?"
"To compel you not to leave this room for two hours from this time; and, to this end, to tie your hands and feet and fasten you to the chairs which you now occupy," replied Bertram, with the utmost nonchalance, when he saw that the men had by this time managed to place themselves behind nearly every chair around the table.
"Never!" exclaimed Bouchon, who was a large and powerful man—"never will I submit to such disgrace while I can defend myself!"
And, with one bound, he sprang across his chair towards Bertram, but dropped almost on his knees when he felt the iron grasp of the veteran upon his shoulders. And that grasp continued until the burly form was bent like that of a child by a man.
Labotte had risen during the confusion which this scene created, and endeavored to escape by the lower door, while others had sought to leave by the ordinary entrances; but Develour stood a fierce sentinel before the only safe passage for escape, and repulsed the miscreant with a bitterness which would have led him to kill the mercenary wretch, if higher obligations had not interposed.
The other conspirators were also met everywhere by leveled pistols and drawn swords. They finally submitted to their fate, and were bound one by one by Bertram and his attendants. When Père Tranchard pretended to assist in tying Létour, he managed to whisper to him—
"In two hours you will be freed. Take care to remove the deposits from the secret chamber underneath; the secret is betrayed."
As soon as they had secured the prisoners. Bertram and Develour locked the outer doors, and then passed through that over which Develour had stood guard into a smaller chamber without any apparent outlet. Bertram ordered Tranchard to show them the means of egress from that room.
"There are two," replied the père, who had managed to lay hold of a bottle of wine before he left the supper-room, and with which he had fortifiedhis inner man. "One, here to the right, leads into the garden, and the other, to the left, opens on a staircase which brings you into Mademoiselle Develour's boudoir."
"Open the one to the left. Quick, quick! Caleb may need help!" exclaimed Bertram.
The père obeyed by touching a spring, which caused one of the panels to slide aside. They all then rushed up the stairs into the room, into which the reader has been introduced in a previous chapter. But the room was now vacant, the windows open, and not a sign of a human being anywhere. Develour, who had hitherto acted in silence, absorbed in his anxiety for the safety of Louise, now broke forth in bitter reproaches to Bertram—
"This, then, is your boasted wisdom! this the end of all your promises of success! Caleb assured me that in this room I should find her, and receive her safely into my arms. Where is she now? Where is Caleb, and what has become of Filmot? Have I lost both Louise and my friend? But here is another door; let us see what it conceals."
Turning the key, he beheld Madame Georgiana lying upon a sofa reading "Indiana," and making notes to it with a pencil. When Bertram saw who the occupant of the room was, he whispered—
"Speak not; she knows your voice. I will interrogate her."
But, before he had time to say a word, she rose and inquired if they had come to release her?
"Release you from what?"
"From the confinement to which a burly savage, a friend of yours, I suppose, has condemned me." She then began to relate what had taken place in that room a few minutes before their entrance.
"And whither have they gone? and how long ago?"
"They left about ten minutes before you entered; as to whither, I do not know. If you have not met them, they must have left either by the window or through the green panel-door, which opens on a passage by which one can reach the Ruelle."
Bertram then compelled the lady to open the panel-door, and after ordering his men to remain for one hour in the house, and to suffer no one to enter or leave it, he accompanied Develour down to the street. When they reached the pavement, they saw a carriage just turn the Rue des Trois Labres, and a few loiterers looking after it. Bertram inquired of one of them if that carriage had passed the house? He replied that it had halted there for more than an hour; but that, a few minutes ago, two gentlemen came out with a lady and entered the carriage; that the elder of the two had shown a card to the coachman, and told him to driveventre à terreto the Rue des Terres Fortes.
When Develour heard this, he said, hurriedly, to Bertram—
"I must leave you; my work here is accomplished; though I have but half succeeded. I must now fulfil another duty. Before morning dawns, I shall know where Louise is. Farewell, Bertram, but not for ever. When we meet again, I shall be better able to thank you."
"Nay, nay, we may meet again before to-morrow night. Fear not; all is well which Arabacca counsels; all ends well which he undertakes."
With these words, he turned and went into the house, and Develour hastened to the Rue de Burgoigne.
(To be continued.)
BY MRS. A. A. BARNES.
Bright, balmy Spring! I greet thee nowWith a hounding pulse and joyous brow;Thy dewy breath, pure, soft, and bland,Seems like a dream of a fairy land;And open I throw the casement wide,To inhale the dewy, delicious tide:The fragrance soft of the budding treesIs borne to me on the morning breeze;The emerald turf is gemmed with dew,That gleams like stars in the vault of blue;The clouds are tinged with a rosy stain,As the rising sun illumes the plain.The early flowers, in their brightest bloom,Have waked from their dark and cheerless tomb:Sweet flowers! a halo and grace ye flingOver the brow of the smiling spring;Ye gladden the hearts in cottage homesAs freely as those in stateliest domes.And the birds, the truants I watched for long,Are greeting me now with carol and song;From the "sunny south" they breathe to me,In joyous chirp and wild song free,The sweetest lays of a summer sky,Where birds of glossiest plumage fly;Where flowers are seen of the loveliest hue,And the bending skies are softly blue;Where the rippling waves of the dancing streamAre kissed by the golden sunlight's gleam,Whose banks are bright with the sheen of flowersThat rarely bloom in this clime of ours—Blooms gorgeous enough to grace, I ween,The brow of Oberon's fairy queen.Sweet friend, I marvel, with skies like these,Thou e'er shouldst tempt our northern breeze;Yet welcome thou art as Spring's first green,Pleasant to me as a bright "day-dream,"That illumes for a while the sober sky,And yet, like thee, too soon dost fly.
Fig. 1.Fig. 1.Fig. 2.Fig. 2.
UNDERSLEEVES.
Opensleeves are still in vogue, and being more than ever worn for light summer materials, we continue our cuts in illustration of various favorite styles.
Fig. 1 is of embroidered muslin, intended to come just above the elbow, where it is fastened by a small gum-elastic bracelet, which will be found the neatest support for a demi-sleeve. The wrist has three rows of rich cambric edging, made to fall over the hand. This is more suitable for a spring silk than a lighter dress.
Fig. 2. of plain cambric, with embroidered cuff and band. The edging in this case is made to fall back towards the elbow. It will be noticed that undersleeves are worn as full as ever, and make the most elegant finish to a tasteful toilet.
Fig. 3.Fig. 3.Fig. 4.Fig. 4.
CAPS.
Fig. 3 is a breakfast cap of spotted muslin, with double rows of quilling, arranged in a very graceful roll, extending around the crown. The broad strings are of the muslin, with a delicate edging of Valenciennes lace. Pale violet ribbon may be used instead, and also for the bow on the cap.
Fig. 4, also a breakfast cap, is in a similar, though more tasteful style, the bow of rose-colored ribbon in the centre being a novelty, and the square crown preferred by many. The border is closely quilled, as in Fig. 3. Many ladies prefer to quill for themselves, which may easily be done, an iron intended for the purpose being easily procured at a small expense.
Lace Cuff
Use crochet thread Nos. 8 and 9.
Make a chain of 106 loops with thread No. 80; turn back and work in double crochet, always working on one side, commencing at the right-hand side of foundation.
1st row.—Single open crochet, with thread No. 90.
2d row.—Double crochet.
3d row.—5 chain, 7 long; repeat.
4th row.—7 chain, 5 long; repeat.
5th row.—7 chain, 3 long; repeat.
6th row.—5 chain, 5 long; repeat.
7th row.—3 chain, 7 long; repeat.
8th row.—3 chain, 9 long; repeat.
9th row.—3 stitches of 3 chain crochet, 7 long; repeat.
10th row.—4 stitches of 3 chain crochet, 5 long; repeat.
11th row.—5 stitches of 3 chain crochet, 5 long; repeat.
12th row.—5 stitches of 3 chain crochet, 3 long; repeat.
Crochet the ends with double crochet.
13th row.—12 chain, 2 long; repeat. Work this row round each end of the cuff, and work the band in double crochet with thread No. 80, missing every fourth stitch of foundation.
Note.—Our pattern has been reduced in size from the original, but by working as above directed the true size will be given.
Note.—Our pattern has been reduced in size from the original, but by working as above directed the true size will be given.
PERIWINKLE
Caston ten stitches with white split Berlin wool.
1st row.—Make one stitch, knit two through the row.
2d row.—Purled.
Fasten on a pale and delicate shade of lavender.
3d row.—Make one stitch, knit three, turn back, purl the same stitches (take a deeper shade of lavender), and continue to work in alternate plain and purled rows (increasing only in the plain rows), until you have seven stitches on the needle.
Now fasten on a still darker shade of lavender in the ninth purled row, and knit and purl alternately six more rows, making one stitch at the beginning of the plain row, and taking two stitches together at the beginning of the purled rows. Cast off the seven stitches, which completes one petal. Break the wool about a yard and a half from the work, thread a rug needle with it, and bring the wool along the left edge of the petal first made to the next stitches on the needle. Make one stitch, knit three, turn back, and continue exactly as for the first petal. When you have thus worked all the stitches into five petals, cover a wire, by twisting one thread of split lavender wool round it, and sew it round the edges of the petals. Mount the flower on a piece of wire to form a stem, having first placed five short yellow stamens in the centre of the corolla; twist all the wires together, and cover the stem with green wool.
Leaves.—Cast on one stitch with a pretty bright shade of green split wool.
1st row.—Make one stitch, knit one.
2d row.—Make one, purl two.
3d row.—Make one, knit three.
4th row.—Make one, purl the row.
5th row.—Make one, knit one, make one, knit two.
6th row.—Make one, purl the row.
7th row.—Knit the row, increasing one before and one stitch after the middle stitch.
8th row.—Purl the row.
Knit and purl alternately four rows without, and begin decreasing one stitch at the beginning of every row, both knitted and purled, till you come to the last two stitches, which knit as one. Sew a wire round the edge of each leaf. These leaves must be made in pairs, two of each size; but as several different sizes will be required, this will be easily effected by increasing the second size to nine stitches instead of seven; the third to elevenstitches; and, if a still larger leaf be required, the fourth to thirteen stitches. The leaves must be placed two by two along the stem, opposite to each other, each pair crossing the preceding one. There must be no spring wire for the stem, as the periwinkle is a running plant.
Fig. 1.Fig. 1.Fig. 2.Fig. 2.Fig. 3.Fig. 3.Fig. 4.Fig. 4.Fig. 5.Fig. 5.Fig. 6.Fig. 6.
Fig. 1 is a small cupboard-sideboard fora neatlyfurnished cottage parlor, in which there is not much room.
Figs. 2 and 3 are plain Grecian chairs for the parlor.
Figs. 4 and 5 are parlor elbow-chairs, in the Grecian style.
Fig. 6 is an elbow-chair for the work-room. It has a work-box drawer underneath the seat.
Thehigh-toned chivalry of American men towards the female sex is remarkable, and therefore we were astonished, as well as pained, when a friend brought to our notice the following remarks, inserted in a literary work[E]of much merit, where we should not have looked for such a violation of truth and manly sentiment as is manifested in this outrageous attack on the character of Madame de Staël. We quote the article:—
"George Sand has written her 'Confessions' in the style of Rousseau, and a Paris bookseller has contracted to give her a fortune for them. The three greatest—intellectually greatest—women of modern times have lived in France, and it is remarkable that they have been three of the most shamelessly profligate in all history. The worst of these, probably, Madame de Staël, left us no record of her long-continued, disgusting, and almost incredible licentiousness, so remarkable, that Chateaubriand deemed her the most abandoned person in France, at a period when modesty was publicly derided in the Assembly as a mere 'system of refined voluptuousness.' Few who have lately resided in Paris are ignorant of the gross sensualism of the astonishing Rachel, whose genius, though displayed in no permanent forms, is not less than that of the Shakspeare of her sex, the forever-to-be-famous Madame Dudevant, whose immoralities of conduct have perhaps been overdrawn, while those of De Staël and Rachel have rarely been spoken of save where they challenged direct observation. We perceive that Rachel is to be in New York next autumn with a company of French actors."
"'Tis a pity when charming women talk of things that they don't understand," is as true as if it had been promulgated by aman, and the author of the above extraordinary statements will perhaps allow that, in a few cases, the same may be predicated of the other sex. Some aspirants for literary fame, before attaining much knowledge of life or of books, are fond of attempting to startle by deviating from received opinions; they advance monstrous paradoxes in morals, and strive to produce a sensation by differing from the good and the wise. They have heard the vulgar adage that genius and common sense seldom go together, and they begin by rejecting common sense as a part of genius. Common sense would suggest the advantage of knowing something of the history of an illustrious person before describing his or her character; and, as we feel assured no man who has an American heart would wish to advance or maintain falsehoods against a woman, and one over whom the tomb has closed, we take pleasure in giving the writer in the "International" some information about Madame de Staël.
In the first place, he has been grossly imposed upon concerning Chateaubriand. We have lately read the "Mémoires d'outre Tombe," a work we recommend to the author of the article, in which he will find much information, and, what perhaps he values more, amusement; and, what is to our present purpose, he will find that Chateaubriand entertained the most sincere friendship and the highest respect for this lady, whom he constantly calls "the illustrious," "the admirable." Madame de Staël was the intimate friend of his sister, the charming Lucille; and also she was, asalmostevery one knows, the friend, mentor, and protector of Madame Récamier. Chateaubriand gives a very pathetic description of the last days of Madame de Staël, to whose dying chamber he was admitted; her name is constantly recurring through his journals, andnever mentioned but in honorable terms. In one place he describes her thus:—
"The personal appearance of Madame de Staël has been much discussed; but a noble countenance, a pleasing smile, an habitual expression of goodness, the absence of all trifling affectation or stiff reserve, gracious manners, an inexhaustible variety of conversation, astonished, attracted, and conciliated almost all who approached her. I know no woman—I may say no man—who, with the perfect consciousness of immense superiority, can so entirely prevent this superiority from weighing on or offending the self-love of others."
Madame de Beaumont, a valued friend of the family of Chateaubriand, was taken by some of its members to Italy, where she died of consumption. Madame de Staël wrote to condole with Chateaubriand on this occasion; here are the reflections upon her letter made in his Journal: "This hasty letter, so affectionate and hurried, written by this illustrious woman, affected me extremely. If Heaven had permitted our friend to look back upon this earth, such a testimony of affection would surely have been grateful to her."
If Chateaubriand were "permitted to look back upon earth," what would he think of the vile aspersions upon the character of "this illustrious woman" attributed to him?
There have been many biographies written of Madame de Staël (none of which ever allude to what the writer in the "International" calls her "disgusting and almost incredible licentiousness"). We will advert here to two; one by Madame Necker de Saussure, well known in America for writings of a moral and religious nature; the other by the Duchess D'Abrantes, who thus begins her memoirs: "For a French woman to write the life of Madame de Staël is certainly a happy privilege, since France boasts the honor of her birth, though she is among those minds that belong to the entire world, and her whole sex should call her sister with a noble pride, which they may cherish with perfect safety. Madame de Staël descends to posterity with merits so great and so various, that few besides herself you claim a part of her title.Her fame is spotless, a true child of genius, but free from its aberrations. The love of right, theabhorrence of falsehood, a rare combination of generous affections, constituted the womanly heart to which nature, in a happy mood, lavished all the virtues of one sex and all the powers of the other."
It is very well known that M. Rocca, the second husband of Madame de Staël, "a man of high honorand of great intelligence" (Chateaubriandreallysays so), was unable to survive her loss, and died shortly after her, it was admitted, through grief. The Duchess D'Abrantes says, upon this: "He was of an age when life still offered pleasure, the world glory; but, being hopeless of ever again finding so perfect a being to occupy his heart, he formed no other wish, after closing her eyes, than that of rejoining her. A woman thus loved must have been truly excellent." And, we will add, this love was entirely founded upon and maintained by her moral qualities, as she was then fifty years old and in failing health.
Madame Necker de Saussure observes, "Madame de Staël's goodness was thorough; her noble, generous heart rose to heroism when the interest of her friends, or even of her foes, demanded energy." This was proved by the numbers she saved and concealed during the terrors of the Revolution. In every part of Europe she was courted and esteemed by the best society, and, if time and our pages permitted, we could quote tributes to her merits from a long list of eminent men, whose superiority places them above the petty aim of depressing female genius by slandering the woman who has well won its laurels. To advert to a few of these memorials: Schlegel, who knew her intimately, said she was "Femme grande et magnanime jusque dans les replis de son âme," which is curiously echoed by the well-known verse, that might serve as a translation—