THE BRIDAL.

A SCENE FROM REAL LIFE.

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BY ROBERT MORRIS.

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The scene was one of mirth, and joy, and loveliness, and beauty. Two spacious parlors had been thrown open in one of the largest houses in Arch street. Lights had glittered in the various chambers since early sundown—carriages by dozens had driven up to the door, each freighted with friends or relatives, so that the world without found little difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that some extraordinary scene of festivity was in progress within the walls of that spacious mansion.

It was about nine o’clock when we entered. The two large parlors, brilliantly illuminated by gas, and glittering with a rich collection of young and beautiful females, each dressed in the most tasteful or gorgeous manner, presented a scene truly magnificent. For a moment the eye seemed to quail before the general flash, while the mind also grew dizzy; but these feelings lasted but for the instant, as friends were to be met on all sides, and we soon found ourselves mingling in the giddy and trifling conversation that too many of our fair countrywomen seem to delight in on such occasions. Still, as the first flash passed by, we paused to contemplate the scene in a calmer and more meditative spirit.

The party was a “Bridal” one, and the bride was the daughter of one of our most respectable merchants, a worthy, good-hearted man, who had devoted himself to his business, and paid no attention whatever to the frivolities of fashionable life. The bride seemedveryyoung—not more than sixteen or seventeen. She could not be regarded as beautiful in the general appreciation of the word, and yet she had one of the sweetest faces that we ever saw. She had soft blue eyes, brown hair which fell over her shoulders in ringlets, a pretty and expressive mouth, with teeth that appeared to us faultless. Her complexion was clear, but her face looked rather pale, although at times it became flushed and ruddy as the rose. Her dress was of the richest white satin, and the ornaments of her hair and neck and wrists consisted almost exclusively of pearls. Her frame was slight and full of symmetry, and her voice was remarkable for the gentleness and amiability of its tone. We gazed upon her calmly for many minutes, and the thought passed through our mind—“So young, so fair, so delicate, so happy, and yet so willing to enter upon the severe responsibilities of the wife and the mother.” “Who,” we inquired of ourselves, “may read that young creature’s destiny? Doubtless she loves the object of her choice with a woman’s virgin and devoted love—doubtless she believes that the next sixteen years of her life will prove radiant with happiness, even more so than the girlish and sunny period which has but just gone by—and doubtless the youth who has won that gentle heart believes that he possesses the necessary requisites of mind and disposition to render her happy. And yet how often has the bright cup of joy been dashed from the lips of woman when about to quaff it! How often does man prove recreant and false! How often is he won from his home and his young wife, whose heart gives way slowly, but fatally and steadily, under the influence of such indifference and neglect!” But we paused and dismissed these gloomy reflections. The nuptial ceremony was pronounced—for a moment all was breathless silence—and then the busy hum broke forth as audibly as ever. The wedding was a brilliant one in all respects. It was followed up by party after party, so that nearly a month rolled away before the giddy round was over. The only one who did not appear to mingle fully in the general feeling, was the mother of the bride. She loved her daughter so tenderly that it seemed impossible for her to consign her to other hands. She was one of those women who devote themselves wholly to their children, and who have no world without them. On the night of the wedding, a tear would occasionally roll down her cheek as she gazed upon her chaste child, and as a tide of maternal recollections melted all her soul!

The world rolled on. We frequently saw the young bride in the streets, and her cousin, who was our immediate neighbor, spoke of her prospects as cheering and happy. But one evening, just after sundown, and less than a year since we had seen each other at the wedding, he called, and with rather a grave aspect invited us to accompany him for a few minutes to the house of his aunt—the same house that had glittered with so much light, and re-echoed with so much laughter on the night of the Bridal. We proceeded along calmly, for although somewhat struck by the sedate aspect of our friend, it did not excite much surprise. On arriving at the house, the first objects that attracted attention were the closed and craped windows, and the awful silence that seemed to “breathe and sadden all around.” Our friend still refrained from speaking, but led on to theChamber of Death! Our worst apprehensions were realized. The fair young creature, who less than a year before had stood before us radiant with loveliness and hope, was now still, pale, and cold in the icy embrace of death. Her last agonies were dreadful, but the sweet, soft smile, that told of a gentle heart, still lingered on her features. Her infant survived,—but the sudden decease of that cherished one shed a gloom over that home and its happy household, which is not yet totally dispelled. The windows of the dwelling are still bowed, and the afflicted mother, although a sincere Christian, and anxious to yield in a Christian spirit to the decrees of Divine Providence, frequently finds herself melting in tears, and her whole soul convulsed with grief at the memory of her dearClara.

And such are human hopes and expectations!

THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS.

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BY MRS. FRANCES S. OSGOOD.

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Serene in the moonlight the pure flowers lay;All was still save the plash of the fountain’s soft play;And white as its foam gleamed the walls of the palace;But within were hot lips quaffing fire from the chalice;For Herod, the Tetrarch, was feasting that nightThe lords of Machærus, and brave was the sight!Yet mournful the contrast, without and within,Herewere purity, peace,—therewere riot and sin!

Serene in the moonlight the pure flowers lay;

All was still save the plash of the fountain’s soft play;

And white as its foam gleamed the walls of the palace;

But within were hot lips quaffing fire from the chalice;

For Herod, the Tetrarch, was feasting that night

The lords of Machærus, and brave was the sight!

Yet mournful the contrast, without and within,

Herewere purity, peace,—therewere riot and sin!

The vast and magnificent banquetting roomWas of marble, Egyptian, in form and in gloom;And around, wild and dark as a demon’s dread thought,Strange shapes, full of terror, yet beauty, were wrought.Th’ ineffable sorrow, that dwells in the faceOf the Sphynx, wore a soft and mysterious grace,Dim, even amid the full flood of light pouredFrom a thousand high clustering lamps on the board;Those lamps,—each a serpent of jewels and gold,⁠—That seemed to hiss forth the fierce flame as it rolled.Back flashed to that ray the rich vessels that layProfuse on the tables in brilliant array;And clear thro’ the crystal the glowing wine gleamed,And dazzling the robes of the revellers seemed,While Herod, the eagle-eyed, ruled o’er the scene,A lion in spirit, a monarch in mien.

The vast and magnificent banquetting room

Was of marble, Egyptian, in form and in gloom;

And around, wild and dark as a demon’s dread thought,

Strange shapes, full of terror, yet beauty, were wrought.

Th’ ineffable sorrow, that dwells in the face

Of the Sphynx, wore a soft and mysterious grace,

Dim, even amid the full flood of light poured

From a thousand high clustering lamps on the board;

Those lamps,—each a serpent of jewels and gold,⁠—

That seemed to hiss forth the fierce flame as it rolled.

Back flashed to that ray the rich vessels that lay

Profuse on the tables in brilliant array;

And clear thro’ the crystal the glowing wine gleamed,

And dazzling the robes of the revellers seemed,

While Herod, the eagle-eyed, ruled o’er the scene,

A lion in spirit, a monarch in mien.

The goblet was foaming, the revel rose high.There were pride and fierce joy in the haughty king’s eye,For his chiefs and his captains bowed low at his word,And the feast was right royal that burden’d the board.Lo! light as a star thro’ a gathered cloud stealing,What spirit glanced in ’mid the guard at the door?Their stern bands divide, a fair figure revealing;She bounds, in her beauty, the dim threshold o’er.Her dark eyes are lovely with tenderest truth;The bloom on her cheek is the blossom of youth;And the smile, that steals thro’ it, is rich with the rayOf a heart full of love and of innocent play.Soft fall her fair tresses her light form around;Soft fall her fair tresses, nor braided nor bound;And her white robe is loose, and her dimpled arms bare;For she is but a child, without trouble or care;Now round the glad vision wild music is heard,⁠—Is she gifted with winglets of fairy or bird;For, lo! as if borne on the waves of that sound,With white arms upwreathing, she floats from the ground.Still glistens the goblet,—’tis heeded no more!And the jest and the song of the banquet are o’er;For the revellers, spell-bound by beauty and grace,Have forgotten all earth, save that form and that face.It is done!—for one moment, mute, motionless, fair,The phantom of light pauses playfully there;The next, blushing richly, once more it takes wing,And she kneels at the footstool of Herod the King.Her young head is drooping, her eyes are bent low,Her hands meekly crossed on her bosom of snow,And, veiling her figure, her shining hair flows,While Herod, flushed high with the revel, arose.Outspake the rash monarch,—“Now, maiden, impart,Ere thou leave us, the loftiest hope of thy heart!By the God of my fathers! what e’er it may be,⁠—To the half of my kingdom,—’tis granted to thee!”The girl, half-bewildered, uplifted her eyes,Dilated with timid delight and surprise,And a swift, glowing smile o’er her happy face stole,As if some sunny wish had just woke in her soul.Will she tell it? Ah, no! She has caught the wild gleamOf a soldier’s dark eye, and she starts from her dream;Falters forth her sweet gratitude,—veils her fair frame,⁠—And glides from the presence, all glowing with shame.

The goblet was foaming, the revel rose high.

There were pride and fierce joy in the haughty king’s eye,

For his chiefs and his captains bowed low at his word,

And the feast was right royal that burden’d the board.

Lo! light as a star thro’ a gathered cloud stealing,What spirit glanced in ’mid the guard at the door?Their stern bands divide, a fair figure revealing;She bounds, in her beauty, the dim threshold o’er.

Lo! light as a star thro’ a gathered cloud stealing,

What spirit glanced in ’mid the guard at the door?

Their stern bands divide, a fair figure revealing;

She bounds, in her beauty, the dim threshold o’er.

Her dark eyes are lovely with tenderest truth;The bloom on her cheek is the blossom of youth;And the smile, that steals thro’ it, is rich with the rayOf a heart full of love and of innocent play.

Her dark eyes are lovely with tenderest truth;

The bloom on her cheek is the blossom of youth;

And the smile, that steals thro’ it, is rich with the ray

Of a heart full of love and of innocent play.

Soft fall her fair tresses her light form around;Soft fall her fair tresses, nor braided nor bound;And her white robe is loose, and her dimpled arms bare;For she is but a child, without trouble or care;

Soft fall her fair tresses her light form around;

Soft fall her fair tresses, nor braided nor bound;

And her white robe is loose, and her dimpled arms bare;

For she is but a child, without trouble or care;

Now round the glad vision wild music is heard,⁠—Is she gifted with winglets of fairy or bird;For, lo! as if borne on the waves of that sound,With white arms upwreathing, she floats from the ground.

Now round the glad vision wild music is heard,⁠—

Is she gifted with winglets of fairy or bird;

For, lo! as if borne on the waves of that sound,

With white arms upwreathing, she floats from the ground.

Still glistens the goblet,—’tis heeded no more!And the jest and the song of the banquet are o’er;For the revellers, spell-bound by beauty and grace,Have forgotten all earth, save that form and that face.

Still glistens the goblet,—’tis heeded no more!

And the jest and the song of the banquet are o’er;

For the revellers, spell-bound by beauty and grace,

Have forgotten all earth, save that form and that face.

It is done!—for one moment, mute, motionless, fair,The phantom of light pauses playfully there;The next, blushing richly, once more it takes wing,And she kneels at the footstool of Herod the King.

It is done!—for one moment, mute, motionless, fair,

The phantom of light pauses playfully there;

The next, blushing richly, once more it takes wing,

And she kneels at the footstool of Herod the King.

Her young head is drooping, her eyes are bent low,Her hands meekly crossed on her bosom of snow,And, veiling her figure, her shining hair flows,While Herod, flushed high with the revel, arose.

Her young head is drooping, her eyes are bent low,

Her hands meekly crossed on her bosom of snow,

And, veiling her figure, her shining hair flows,

While Herod, flushed high with the revel, arose.

Outspake the rash monarch,—“Now, maiden, impart,Ere thou leave us, the loftiest hope of thy heart!By the God of my fathers! what e’er it may be,⁠—To the half of my kingdom,—’tis granted to thee!”

Outspake the rash monarch,—“Now, maiden, impart,

Ere thou leave us, the loftiest hope of thy heart!

By the God of my fathers! what e’er it may be,⁠—

To the half of my kingdom,—’tis granted to thee!”

The girl, half-bewildered, uplifted her eyes,Dilated with timid delight and surprise,And a swift, glowing smile o’er her happy face stole,As if some sunny wish had just woke in her soul.

The girl, half-bewildered, uplifted her eyes,

Dilated with timid delight and surprise,

And a swift, glowing smile o’er her happy face stole,

As if some sunny wish had just woke in her soul.

Will she tell it? Ah, no! She has caught the wild gleamOf a soldier’s dark eye, and she starts from her dream;Falters forth her sweet gratitude,—veils her fair frame,⁠—And glides from the presence, all glowing with shame.

Will she tell it? Ah, no! She has caught the wild gleam

Of a soldier’s dark eye, and she starts from her dream;

Falters forth her sweet gratitude,—veils her fair frame,⁠—

And glides from the presence, all glowing with shame.

Of costly cedar, rarely carved, the royal chambers ceiling,The columned walls, of marble rich, its brightest hues revealing;Around the room a starry smile the lamp of crystal shed,But warmest lay its lustre on a noble lady’s head;Her dark hair, bound with burning gems, whose fitful lightning glow,Is tame beside the wild, black eyes that proudly flash below:The Jewish rose and olive blend their beauty in her face;She bears her in her high estate with an imperial grace;All gorgeous glows with orient gold the broidery of her vest;With precious stones its purple fold is clasped upon her breast;She gazes from her lattice forth. What sees the lady there?A strange, wild beauty crowns the scene,—but she has other care!

Of costly cedar, rarely carved, the royal chambers ceiling,

The columned walls, of marble rich, its brightest hues revealing;

Around the room a starry smile the lamp of crystal shed,

But warmest lay its lustre on a noble lady’s head;

Her dark hair, bound with burning gems, whose fitful lightning glow,

Is tame beside the wild, black eyes that proudly flash below:

The Jewish rose and olive blend their beauty in her face;

She bears her in her high estate with an imperial grace;

All gorgeous glows with orient gold the broidery of her vest;

With precious stones its purple fold is clasped upon her breast;

She gazes from her lattice forth. What sees the lady there?

A strange, wild beauty crowns the scene,—but she has other care!

Far off fair Moab’s emerald slopes, and Jordan’s lovely vale;And nearer,—heights where fleetest foot of wild gazelle would fail;While crowning every verdant ridge, like drifts of moonlit snow,Rich palaces and temples rise, around, above, below,Gleaming thro’ groves of terebinth, of palm, and sycamore,Where the swift torrents dashing free, their mountain music pour;And arched o’er all, the Eastern heaven lights up with glory rareThe landscape’s wild magnificence;—but she has other care!Why flings she thus, with gesture fierce, her silent lute aside?Some deep emotion chafes her soul with more than wonted pride;But, hark! a sound has reached her heart, inaudible elsewhere,And hushed, to melting tenderness, the storm of passion there!The far-off fall of fairy feet, that fly in eager glee,A voice, that warbles wildly sweet, some Jewish melody!She comes! her own Salomé comes! her pure and blooming child!She comes, and anger yields to love, and sorrow is beguiled:Her singing bird! low nestling now upon the parent breast,She murmurs of the monarch’s vow with girlish laugh and jest:⁠—

Far off fair Moab’s emerald slopes, and Jordan’s lovely vale;

And nearer,—heights where fleetest foot of wild gazelle would fail;

While crowning every verdant ridge, like drifts of moonlit snow,

Rich palaces and temples rise, around, above, below,

Gleaming thro’ groves of terebinth, of palm, and sycamore,

Where the swift torrents dashing free, their mountain music pour;

And arched o’er all, the Eastern heaven lights up with glory rare

The landscape’s wild magnificence;—but she has other care!

Why flings she thus, with gesture fierce, her silent lute aside?

Some deep emotion chafes her soul with more than wonted pride;

But, hark! a sound has reached her heart, inaudible elsewhere,

And hushed, to melting tenderness, the storm of passion there!

The far-off fall of fairy feet, that fly in eager glee,

A voice, that warbles wildly sweet, some Jewish melody!

She comes! her own Salomé comes! her pure and blooming child!

She comes, and anger yields to love, and sorrow is beguiled:

Her singing bird! low nestling now upon the parent breast,

She murmurs of the monarch’s vow with girlish laugh and jest:⁠—

“Now choose me a gift and well!There are so many joys I covet!Shall I ask for a young gazelle?’Twould be more than the world to me;Fleet and wild as the wind,Oh! how I would cherish and love it!With flowers its neck I’d bind,And joy in its graceful glee.“Shall I ask for a gem of light,To braid in my flowing ringlets?Like a star thro’ the veil of night,Would glisten its glorious hue;Or a radiant bird, to closeIts beautiful, waving wingletsOn my bosom in soft repose,And share my love with you!”She paused,—bewildered, terror-struck; for, in her mother’s soul,Roused by the promise of the king, beyond her weak control,The exulting tempest of Revenge and Pride raged wild and high,And sent its storm-cloud to her brow, its lightning to her eye!Her haughty lip was quivering with anger and disdain,Her beauteous, jewelled hands were clenched, as if from sudden pain.“Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried, “Forgive my childish glee!’Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus! but let me ask forthee!”Then smiled,—it was a deadly smile,—that lady on her child,And “Swear thou’ll do my bidding, now!” she cried, in accents wild:“Ah! when, from earliest childhood’s hour, did I thine anger dare!Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—by Judah’s hopes, I swear!”Herodias stooped,—one whisper brief!—was it a serpent’s hiss,That thus the maiden starts and shrinks beneath the woman’s kiss?A moment’s pause of doubt and dread!—then wild the victim knelt,⁠—“Take, takemyworthless life instead! Oh! if thou e’er hast feltA mother’s love,—thou canst not doom—no, no! ’twas but a jest!Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more, confiding, to thy breast!”A hollow and sepulchral tone was hers who made reply:“The oath! the oath!—remember, girl! ’tis registered on high!”Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood as marble, save in breath,Half senseless in her cold despair, her young cheek blanched like death!But an hour since, so joyous, fond, without a grief or care,Now struck with wo unspeakable,—how dread a change was there!“It shall be done!” was that the voice that rang so gaily sweet,When, innocent and blest she came, but now, with flying feet?“It shall be done!” she turns to go, but, ere she gains the door,One look of wordless, deep reproach she backward casts,—no more!But late she sprang the threshold o’er, a light and blooming child,Now, reckless, in her grief she goes a woman stern and wild.

“Now choose me a gift and well!

There are so many joys I covet!

Shall I ask for a young gazelle?

’Twould be more than the world to me;

Fleet and wild as the wind,

Oh! how I would cherish and love it!

With flowers its neck I’d bind,

And joy in its graceful glee.

“Shall I ask for a gem of light,To braid in my flowing ringlets?Like a star thro’ the veil of night,Would glisten its glorious hue;Or a radiant bird, to closeIts beautiful, waving wingletsOn my bosom in soft repose,And share my love with you!”

“Shall I ask for a gem of light,

To braid in my flowing ringlets?

Like a star thro’ the veil of night,

Would glisten its glorious hue;

Or a radiant bird, to close

Its beautiful, waving winglets

On my bosom in soft repose,

And share my love with you!”

She paused,—bewildered, terror-struck; for, in her mother’s soul,Roused by the promise of the king, beyond her weak control,The exulting tempest of Revenge and Pride raged wild and high,And sent its storm-cloud to her brow, its lightning to her eye!Her haughty lip was quivering with anger and disdain,Her beauteous, jewelled hands were clenched, as if from sudden pain.

She paused,—bewildered, terror-struck; for, in her mother’s soul,

Roused by the promise of the king, beyond her weak control,

The exulting tempest of Revenge and Pride raged wild and high,

And sent its storm-cloud to her brow, its lightning to her eye!

Her haughty lip was quivering with anger and disdain,

Her beauteous, jewelled hands were clenched, as if from sudden pain.

“Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried, “Forgive my childish glee!’Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus! but let me ask forthee!”Then smiled,—it was a deadly smile,—that lady on her child,And “Swear thou’ll do my bidding, now!” she cried, in accents wild:“Ah! when, from earliest childhood’s hour, did I thine anger dare!Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—by Judah’s hopes, I swear!”Herodias stooped,—one whisper brief!—was it a serpent’s hiss,That thus the maiden starts and shrinks beneath the woman’s kiss?A moment’s pause of doubt and dread!—then wild the victim knelt,⁠—“Take, takemyworthless life instead! Oh! if thou e’er hast feltA mother’s love,—thou canst not doom—no, no! ’twas but a jest!Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more, confiding, to thy breast!”A hollow and sepulchral tone was hers who made reply:“The oath! the oath!—remember, girl! ’tis registered on high!”Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood as marble, save in breath,Half senseless in her cold despair, her young cheek blanched like death!But an hour since, so joyous, fond, without a grief or care,Now struck with wo unspeakable,—how dread a change was there!“It shall be done!” was that the voice that rang so gaily sweet,When, innocent and blest she came, but now, with flying feet?“It shall be done!” she turns to go, but, ere she gains the door,One look of wordless, deep reproach she backward casts,—no more!But late she sprang the threshold o’er, a light and blooming child,Now, reckless, in her grief she goes a woman stern and wild.

“Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried, “Forgive my childish glee!

’Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus! but let me ask forthee!”

Then smiled,—it was a deadly smile,—that lady on her child,

And “Swear thou’ll do my bidding, now!” she cried, in accents wild:

“Ah! when, from earliest childhood’s hour, did I thine anger dare!

Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—by Judah’s hopes, I swear!”

Herodias stooped,—one whisper brief!—was it a serpent’s hiss,

That thus the maiden starts and shrinks beneath the woman’s kiss?

A moment’s pause of doubt and dread!—then wild the victim knelt,⁠—

“Take, takemyworthless life instead! Oh! if thou e’er hast felt

A mother’s love,—thou canst not doom—no, no! ’twas but a jest!

Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more, confiding, to thy breast!”

A hollow and sepulchral tone was hers who made reply:

“The oath! the oath!—remember, girl! ’tis registered on high!”

Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood as marble, save in breath,

Half senseless in her cold despair, her young cheek blanched like death!

But an hour since, so joyous, fond, without a grief or care,

Now struck with wo unspeakable,—how dread a change was there!

“It shall be done!” was that the voice that rang so gaily sweet,

When, innocent and blest she came, but now, with flying feet?

“It shall be done!” she turns to go, but, ere she gains the door,

One look of wordless, deep reproach she backward casts,—no more!

But late she sprang the threshold o’er, a light and blooming child,

Now, reckless, in her grief she goes a woman stern and wild.

With pallid check, dishevelled hair, and wildly gleaming eyes,Once more before the banquetters, a fearful phantom flies!Once more at Herod’s feet it falls, and cold with nameless dreadThe wondering monarch bends to hear. A voice, as from the dead,From those pale lips, shrieks madly forth,—“Thy promise, king, I claim,And if the grant be foulest guilt,—not mine,—not mine the blame!Quick, quick recall that reckless vow, or strike thy dagger here,Ere yet this voice demand a gift that chills my soul with fear!Heaven’s curse upon the fatal grace that idly charmed thine eyes!Oh! better had I ne’er been born than be the sacrifice!The word I speak will blanch thy cheek, if human heart be thine,It was a fiend in human form that murmured it to mine.To die forme! a thoughtless child! formemust blood be shed!Bend low,—lest angels hear me ask!—oh! God!—the Baptist’s head!”

With pallid check, dishevelled hair, and wildly gleaming eyes,

Once more before the banquetters, a fearful phantom flies!

Once more at Herod’s feet it falls, and cold with nameless dread

The wondering monarch bends to hear. A voice, as from the dead,

From those pale lips, shrieks madly forth,—“Thy promise, king, I claim,

And if the grant be foulest guilt,—not mine,—not mine the blame!

Quick, quick recall that reckless vow, or strike thy dagger here,

Ere yet this voice demand a gift that chills my soul with fear!

Heaven’s curse upon the fatal grace that idly charmed thine eyes!

Oh! better had I ne’er been born than be the sacrifice!

The word I speak will blanch thy cheek, if human heart be thine,

It was a fiend in human form that murmured it to mine.

To die forme! a thoughtless child! formemust blood be shed!

Bend low,—lest angels hear me ask!—oh! God!—the Baptist’s head!”

THE LIGHTNING OF THE WATERS.

———

BY DR. REYNELL COATES.

———

There are few phenomena observable on the ocean, more striking than the phosphorescence of the water, when seen in high perfection. It has forcibly attracted the attention of poets and philosophers in all ages, and many and curious have been the speculations of those who have endeavored to explain the brilliant apparition. In later times, however, the progress of natural science has dissipated the mystery to a considerable extent, destroying a portion of its romantic interest, without, thereby, diminishing its exquisite beauty.

We are well informed, at present, that all the brilliant pyrotechny of Neptune is the effect of animal secretion, not differing essentially in cause from that which ornaments our groves and meadows, when the glow-worms of Europe, the fire-flies of North America, or the fulgoure of the Indies are lighting their fairy love-lanterns beneath the cool, green leaves, or filling the air with their mimic meteors.

To those who are not familiar with microscopic researches, it may seem almost impossible that animal life can be multiplied to such excess in the transparent waters, where not a mote is visible by daylight, as to give rise to the broad and bright illumination of the sea, so frequently observed within the lower latitudes; and many, for this reason, have attributed these night-fires of the deep to the impurity and occasional fermentation of the ocean,—a cause which they esteem more nearly commensurate with the magnificence of the result. Such theorists regard this phosphorescence as similar to that so constantly produced by putrifying fish and decaying wood.

These ideas, as I have stated, are no longer tenable, and the real origin of the phenomenon is better understood. But even now, the few who have witnessed it in full extent, variety, and grandeur—a privilege rarely enjoyed, except by those who have made long voyages, and have become familiar with many seas—are lost in wonder; and, unless professionally devoted to the study of natural history, they find it difficult to credit the assertion, that all these vast displays are mere results of living action.

It may prove interesting, then, to those who are fond of such investigations, to offer some remarks on the multitudinous character of those tribes of simple and transparent beings, which swarm about the surface of the ocean, and may be found continually changing in race and habits, with almost every degree of latitude we traverse.

If you will take the trouble, on some suitable occasion during the month of November or December, to descend into afashionable oyster cellar, and ask admission to the pile of freshly opened shells stowed in the usual receptacle, which is in some dark vault or closet about the premises, you may chance to witness, on a diminutive scale, the far-famed phosphorescence of the sea, without enduring the heavyimmigration taxlevied, with unrelenting severity, by the old trident-bearer upon all novices, except, perhaps, a few fortunate favorites.

Take up the shovel that leans against the wall, order the light removed and the door closed, and then proceed to disturb the shells. If they have been taken from the water, where it is purely salt,—and still more certainly if gathered from the beds of blue marine mud that are the favorite resort of the finest oysters—the moment you throw a shovelful upon the top of the pile, the whole mass, jarred by the blow, will become spangled with hundreds of brilliant stars—not in this case pale and silvery, but of the richest golden-green or blue. None of these stars may equal in size the head of the finest pin; but so intense is the light emitted by them, that a single, and scarcely visible point will sometimes illuminate an inch of the surrounding surface, even casting shadows from the little spears of sea-grass growing in its neighborhood.

Choose one of the most conspicuous of these diminutive tapers, and, without removing it from the shell, carry it towards the gas-lamp. As you approach, the brilliancy of the star declines; and when the full flood of light is thrown upon the shell, it nearly, or entirely disappears. If you press your finger rudely upon the spot, you will again perceive the luminous matter diffused, like a fluid, over the surrounding surface, and shining, for an instant, more brightly than ever, even under the immediate glare of the gas. Then all is over. You have crushed one of the glow-worms of the deep—an animal, once probably as vain of his golden flame as you of any of your brilliant endowments—perhaps some sentinel there stationed to alarm his sleeping brethren of the approach of danger—perhaps an animalcular Hero trimming her solitary lamp to guide her chosen one, through more than Leander’s dangers, along the briny path to her rocky bower, beset by all the microscopic monsters of the corallines! At all events, despise it as you may, this little being was possessed of life, susceptible of happiness, and endowed with power to outshine, with inborn lustre, the richest gem in Europe’s proudest diadem!

The sea is filled in many regions, and at various seasons, with incalculable multitudes of living creatures, in structure much resembling this little parasite, but often vastly more imposing in dimensions. The smallest tribes that are able to call attention to their individual existence generally wander, like erratic stars, beneath the waves. They may be seen by thousands shooting past the vessel, on evenings when the moon is absent or obscured, suddenly lighting their torches when the motion of the bow produces a few curling swells and breakers on either hand, and whirling from eddy to eddy, as they sweep along the side and are lost in the wake. From time to time the vessel, in her progress, disturbs some large being of similar powers, who instantly ejects a trail of luminous fluid which, twining, and waving about among contending currents, assumes the semblance of a silver snake. But the most surprising of all proofs of the infinity of life is furnished by those inconceivably numerous bands of shining animalcules, too small for human vision, which in their aggregate effect perform, perhaps, the grandest part in beautifying the night scene on the ocean.

The crest of every wave emits a pale and milky light and every ripple that, urged onward too rapidly before the breeze, expires in spreading its little patch of foam upon the water, increases the mysterious brightness. On a starless evening the novice may find it very difficult to account for the distinctness with which even the distant billows may be traced by their whitened summits, while every other object is thrown into the deepest shade. The gentle radiation from within the foam deceives the eye:—it seems a mere reflection from the surface; and he turns again and again towards the heavens, with the constantly renewed impression, that the moon has found some transient opening in the cloudy canopy through which descends a thin pencil of rays to be glinted back from the edges of the waves.

Though certain portions of the ocean, generally, present but slender proofs of phosphorescence,—such being peculiarly the case within the gloomy limits of the Gulf Stream, for reasons not to be appropriately mentioned here—yet no observing person can have passed a week upon the ocean, or rowed his skiff by night on any of our principal harbors, without becoming familiar with most of the appearances to which allusion has been made. A mere voyage to Europe frequently presents much grander examples; but he who would enjoy the view of the phenomenon in its fullest glory, must “cross earth’s central line” “and brave the stormy spirit of the Cape.”

Let me transport you for a few moments into the midst of the Indian Ocean! The sultry sun of February has been basking all day upon the heated waters from a brassy sky without a cloud—the vapors of the upper regions resembling a thin veil of dust, fiery and glowing, as if recently ejected from the mouth of some vast furnace! But the tyrant has gone to his repose, and we enjoy some respite from his scorching influence. It is not cool, but the temperature is tolerable,and this is much! Leave the observation of the barometer to the captain! You cannot prevent a hurricane, should it be impending. Then trust such cares to those in whom is vested the responsibility, and come on deck with me.

There is no moon—but the “sentinel stars” are all at their post. Observe those broad flashes reflected upward from beneath the bows, and playing brightly upon the jib! At every plunge of the vessel, as she sinks into the trough of the sea, you might read a volume fluently by that mild radiance; and beautiful indeed is the view from the fore stay-sail nettings, looking down upon the curling wreaths on either side of the cut-water, and the long lines of foam thrown off by the swell as the vessel gracefully breasts the coming wave, all glowing like molten silver intermingled with a thousand diamonds!

But I will not lead you thitherward—a noble sight awaits us in our wake. Step to the stern and lean with me over the taffrail. What a glorious vision! For miles abaft, our course presents one long and wide canal of living light—the clear, blue ocean, transparent as air, filling it to repletion; while the darker waters around appear like some dense medium through which superior spirits have constructed this magic path-way for us and us alone, so nicely are its breadth and depth adjusted to the form of our gallant bark. Has not the galaxy been torn from heaven, and whelmed beneath the waves to form that burning road? No! no! Though thousands of bright orbs are set in that nether firmament to strengthen the delusion, yet it cannot be. Night’s stormy cincture never gleamed like this, nor bore such dazzling gems. There it still glimmers with its myriad sparks, athwart the dark blue vault, paled by the radiance of its sea-born rival, while huge globes of fire roll from beneath the keel, and blaze along the silvery track like showers of wandering meteors, but all too gentle in their aspect to be deemed of evil-augury.

Those stars are literallyliving stars,—that ocean galaxy is formed of living beings only,—and even those meteors, invisible by day, except when they approach unusually near to the surface, are active in pursuit of prey. Observe one closely, and you perceive its motions. Formed like a great umbrella of transparent jelly, with fibres, yards in length, trailing from its margin, and the handle carved into a beautiful group of leaves, it flaps its way regularly through the water with a stately march, and wo to the unfortunate creature that becomes involved in the meshes of its stinging tendrils.

This is no exaggerated picture, for such are the beautiful phenomena occasionally witnessed in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. The animals upon whose agency they are dependent, generally become invisible by daylight in consequence of their transparency; but there are certain tribes among them whose peculiar structure renders them conspicuous: and of these one of the most remarkable is known to naturalists by the title of Salpa.

There are many species of the salpæ, but they bear a closer likeness to each other than do most of these simple tribes of being. In form they all resemble diminutive purses, composed of highly transparent jelly, with wide mouths like the ordinary clasp—and strengthened by a net-work of ribbons interwoven with the general texture of the purse. These are designed to supply the place of muscles. The salpæ move through the water by contracting the net-work, so as to render the cavity smaller and expel the water from it with some force; then, relaxing the fibres, they allow their natural elasticity to expand them to their original form; thus drawing in a fresh supply of fluid with which to renew the effort. In this manner they are driven onward, always retreating from the principal orifice of the sac. But I will not detain you with a detailed description of their singular organization. It is enough for our present purpose to state that near the bottom of the purse, within the thickness of its walls, there is a golden spot, as if a solitary coin was there deposited. This spot alone enables us to see the animal distinctly when floating in the water.

When young, these little creatures adhere together in strings or cords arranged like the leaflets of a pinnated leaf, in consecutive pairs, to the number of twenty or more. At that period, the most common species in the South Atlantic rarely exceed one half an inch in length, and the yellow spot hardly equals in size an ordinary grain of sand; yet, in certain regions of the ocean these salpæ swarm in such inconceivable multitudes that the sea assumes the appearance of a sandy shoal for miles in length and breadth. To the depth of many fathoms their delicate bodies are closely huddled together, until the constant repetition of the diminutive colored spots renders the water perfectly opaque, and so increases its consistence that the lighter ripple of the surface breaks upon the edge of the animated bank, while the heavier billows roll on smoothly, with the regular and more majestic motion of the ground swell. In passing through such tracts the speed of the vessel is sometimes sensibly checked by the increased resistance of the medium in which she moves; and when a bucket full of brine is lifted from the sea, it may contain a larger portion of living matter than of the fluid in which it floats.

There can be no reasonable doubt that most of those false shoals which disfigure the older charts—their existence proved upon authorities of known veracity and denied by others no less credible—have really been laid down by navigators who have met with beds of salpæ, and were ignorant of their true nature.

I have never seen these animals emitting light, but it is well known that many phosphorescent animalcules shine only in certain stages of the weather or at certain seasons of the year: and as several distinguished travellers have spoken of their luminous properties, it is at least probable that they or their congeners act an important part in dramas similar to that which has been just described. At all events, their history clearly shows the vastness of the scale of animal existence in the superficial waters of the ocean. But for the little yellow spot within their bodies, they would be totally invisible at the distance of a few feet in their native fluid, and could not interfere appreciably with the progress of the rays of light.

If further proof were necessary to show the incalculable increase of many oceanic tribes, it might be found in the history of living beings much more familiar to the mariner. Most persons have met with notices of the Portuguese man-of-war, called, by naturalistsphysalia, a living air sac of jelly provided with a sail, armed with a multitude of dependant bottle shaped stomachs, all capable of seizing prey, and colored more beautifully than the rainbow. This splendid creature pursues its way over the waves with all the skill of an accomplished pilot, and furnishes, when caught, one of the most astonishing examples of the adaptation of animal structure to the peculiar wants, and theatre of action of living beings, one of the most striking evidences of Omniscient Wisdom which nature offers to the moralist. The physalia rarely sails in squadrons, but wanders solitary and self-dependent over the tropical seas, a terror even to man, by the power which it possesses of stinging and inflicting pain upon whatever comes in contact with its long, trailing cables.

But there is another little sailor called thevelella; unprovided with offensive weapons, though formed in most respects upon a model somewhat similar to that of the physalia, unguarded as the peaceful trader against the piratical attacks of a thousand enemies, its very race would soon become extinct, were it not for its unlimited increase.

Provided with a flat, transparent, oval scale of cartilage, for the support of a gelatinous body, it floats by specific levity, alone, for it has no air vessel—and employs its hundreds of stomachs for ballast. Another scale arising at right angles with the first and covered with thin membrane, supplies it with a sail. This unprotected creature serves as food for many predatory tribes, and of these, the most voracious is the barnacle. The flesh devoured, the scales still float for many days, mere wrecks of these gay vessels.

The velellæ are usually found in fleets, and to convey some idea of their numbers, I may state that on one occasion, when sailing before the western winds, beyond the southern latitude of the Cape of Good Hope, our ship encountered a group of globular masses of a pale yellow color swimming upon the surface and surrounded by fringes of an unknown substance. Each mass resembled the eggs of some great sea-bird, reposing on a nest of buoyant feathers. Taking them with a dip net, from the chains, we found the yellow masses to be globular cryptogamous plants, to every one of which adhered a group of barnacles, far larger than the largest I had ever seen before.[1]Many of these last were so intent upon demolishing their prey, that, even in leaving their native element, to fall into the hands of tyrants more dangerous than themselves, it was not always relinquished. Grasping in their horny arms the unfortunate velellæ, they continued grinding the soft jelly from the tougher cartilage, with an avidity and determination that reminded me strongly of the scene in Byron’s Siege of Corinth, where Alp, the renegade,

“Saw the lean dogs beneath the wallHold, o’er the dead, their carnival,Gorging and growling o’er carcass and limb;They were too busy to bark at him!”

“Saw the lean dogs beneath the wall

Hold, o’er the dead, their carnival,

Gorging and growling o’er carcass and limb;

They were too busy to bark at him!”

This drew our attention to the source from which such plentiful supplies of food were obtained, and on examination, the ocean was found literally covered with the scales of the murdered velellæ, faintly distinguishable by their glistening in the sunshine, and interspersed with a few living specimens waiting their turn in the general massacre. We scooped them up by thousands; and for three long days the ship swept onward “dead before the wind” with the steady and scarcely paralleled speed of more than ten knots an hour, thus accomplishing a change of more than seven hundred miles in longitude, before the last remnant of this unhappy fleet was passed.

Though it is not pretended that these little sea-boats possess the phosphorescent quality, their numbers and the wide extent of their flotilla will suffice to render far less wonderful the vastness of those beautiful results of animal secretion which have furnished the subject of this sketch.

But there are other similar and more remarkable phenomena attendant on these brilliant night scenes, that can only be explained, either by supposing that myriads of these aquatic beings are endowed with a community of instinct, or, that the changes of the weather influenced them in such a way as to awaken all their luminous powers upon the instant, without the intervention of any mechanical disturbing cause, in the mere frolic mood of nature.

Those who have visited the Chinese islands, or either of several other well known regions in the Pacific, have been occasionally surprised, on a calm moon-light night, when scarce a swell, and not a ripple is perceptible, to see the ocean suddenly converted into one wide pool of milk! As described by a few observers who have been so fortunate as to witness this rare and strange appearance, the color is so equally diffused over the whole field of view, that all resemblance to the ordinary hue is lost, and yet no wandering stars,—no scattered torches can be seen—not even beneath the bows—so feeble is the intensity of the light emitted, that several have denied the agency of phosphorescence in producing this remarkable effect, and were convinced there was a real change in the nature of the fluid; but others, less enamored of the supernatural, have clearly proved that even this phenomenon is due to the activity of an infinity of animalcules.

The very rarity of such occurrences distinctly shows that the microscopic beings which produce it do not emit their light at all times, and there must exist some cause for this wide-spread and consentaneous action. To community of instinct it can hardly be attributed.

We may understand the fact, wonderful as it may be, that an army of emmets should cross a public road or open space, from field to field, or from forest to forest, fashioning themselves, as they are sometimes known to do, into the form of a snake, by crawling over each other’s backs, by dozens, from the tail to the head of the figure; thus shortening it at one extremity, while they lengthen it at the other, and cause it to advance slowly towards their desired retreat! We may understand this evidence of untaught wisdom, for we see its purpose and its usefulness. Such means enable these defenceless beings to elude the vigilance of their feathery enemies, whose beaks, but for the terror of the mimic reptile, would soon annihilate the weak community.

We may even comprehend that more magnificent display of providential guidance witnessed in the habits of the coral animals, where nations of separate beings, outnumbering a thousand times the living population of the earth and air, enjoy one common life, and build up islands, for the use of man, on models definitely fixed. For here, also, there ispurpose, and were it not that every individual of the host performs his proper duty—constructing,herea buttress,therean alcove,—the dash of the billows and the fury of the storm would soon disintegrate the growing structure. The reef that lies athwart the mariner’s path, and strews itself with wrecks, would never rise above the surface, to gather the seeds of vegetation, attract the cool, fresh moisture from the air, and lay foundations for the future happiness and wealth of man.

But how shall we explain an instinct by which myriads of creatures, totally distinct and unconnected, are induced, without apparent end or object, to act in concert over leagues of sea, as it would seem merely to fright the passing voyager! It may be that the action of these animalcules, by which the milky glimmering is occasioned, is involuntary. It may be the result of atmospheric or electric influence upon the living frame, to serve some hidden purpose in their unknown economy; for many things, even in our own organic history, surpass our powers of comprehension; we know neither their nature nor their use. But analogy would lead us to infer the exercise ofwillin all the various phenomena of phosphorescence, however impenetrable the purpose of its exercise may be. Like the insect songs of a summer night, or the love-light of the glow-worm and the fire-fly, they probably control or guide the motions of the individual or of whole communities.

This idea receives some countenance from the history of a more remarkable example of this sub-marine meteor, witnessed in the southern summer of 1823-4, near the island of Tristan d’Acunha, under circumstances never to be forgotten—and with one short notice of its character I will leave the reader to his reflections upon these wonders of the deep.

The night was dark and damp—the western breeze too light to steady the vessel, and she rolled heavily over the wide swell of the South Atlantic, making it difficult for a landsman to maintain his footing on the deck. A fog-bank, which hung around the northern horizon at sunset, now came sweeping slowly down upon us in the twilight. The captain ordered the light sails furled in expectation of a squall, and we stood leaning together over the bulwarks, watching the mist, which approached more and more rapidly, till it resembled, in the increasing darkness, an immense and toppling wall extending from the water to the clouds, and seemed threatening to crush us beneath it. There was something peculiarly awful in its impenetrable obscurity; and even the crew relinquished their several occupations to gaze on the unusual aspect of the fog. It reached us;—but just at this moment, a flash, like a broad sheet of summer lightning, spread itself over the ocean as far as the eye could reach, but deep below the waves. Five or six times, at intervals, of a few seconds, the flash was repeated, and then the vessel was enveloped in the mist. The breeze immediately quickened; the sailors sprang to their stations, and, for a few minutes, the bustle of preparation for a change of wind attracted the exclusive attention of every one. In this short interval, the narrow belt of vapor had passed off to leeward, and left us bounding merrily along at the rate of ten knots an hour, with a spanking norther full upon our beam, over waves sparkling and dancing in the clear, bright moon-light. But,the lightning of the waters was gone!

[1]The Anatifa Vitrea.

[1]

The Anatifa Vitrea.

CALLORE.

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BY ALEXANDER A. IRVINE.

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