“For when I saw my eyes were out,With all my might and main,I jumped into another bush,And scratched them in again.”
“For when I saw my eyes were out,With all my might and main,I jumped into another bush,And scratched them in again.”
“For when I saw my eyes were out,With all my might and main,I jumped into another bush,And scratched them in again.”
“For when I saw my eyes were out,
With all my might and main,
I jumped into another bush,
And scratched them in again.”
The process was a rough one, and left a scar behind. I never saw the lady but once afterward, and that was at Niblo’s. I confess to a heart-fluttering, Jeremy, and some of that Spanish fierceness for making declarations, which you used to laugh at; but fortune or fate denied me means and opportunity; when the Vaudeville was over she was led off by her party—and I lost her.
“I saw her depart as the crowd hurried on,Like the moon down the ocean, the graceful was gone!On my ear her adieu, with its dulcimer swell,Like the gush of cool waters in melody fell.“Starry stranger! so dazzlingly distant—unknown—And observed in thy luminous transit alone;By what fiat supreme must thy brilliancy quiverO’er the depths of my darkened existence forever!”
“I saw her depart as the crowd hurried on,Like the moon down the ocean, the graceful was gone!On my ear her adieu, with its dulcimer swell,Like the gush of cool waters in melody fell.“Starry stranger! so dazzlingly distant—unknown—And observed in thy luminous transit alone;By what fiat supreme must thy brilliancy quiverO’er the depths of my darkened existence forever!”
“I saw her depart as the crowd hurried on,Like the moon down the ocean, the graceful was gone!On my ear her adieu, with its dulcimer swell,Like the gush of cool waters in melody fell.“Starry stranger! so dazzlingly distant—unknown—And observed in thy luminous transit alone;By what fiat supreme must thy brilliancy quiverO’er the depths of my darkened existence forever!”
“I saw her depart as the crowd hurried on,
Like the moon down the ocean, the graceful was gone!
On my ear her adieu, with its dulcimer swell,
Like the gush of cool waters in melody fell.
“Starry stranger! so dazzlingly distant—unknown—
And observed in thy luminous transit alone;
By what fiat supreme must thy brilliancy quiver
O’er the depths of my darkened existence forever!”
But our old friend C——, he’s married now, and is the happy father of eight children, I believe. He alwayshadan insane passion for crowds. Do you remember the night he escorted the whole boarding-school home with his umbrella; he alwayswould, like the author of “Calavar,” have his umbrella with him—a green one—and this night the gods were propitious. It blew a hurricane, and the rain came pitching down in sheets, as if Niagara had attached a spout to the passing clouds. C—— plied between the concert-room and the boarding-school, with the regularity and precision of a Brooklyn ferry-boat, showing his regard for thefair. After having deposited the fifteenth damsel safely, he totally upset the propriety of an elderly lady who opened the door with a polite invitation for him to “walk in”—an opensesame worth a ducat—with the information that “he was afraidsome more of the folks were without umbrellas, and he mustsee them home!” A spirit of self-denial and enlarged philanthropy worthy of a martyr.
Do you remember the exploits of S—— with those gay girls? He was a determined dandy and lady-killer, and resolved to take the whole school by storm, and to punish the refractory. But some how or other they wouldn’t be taken; so after firing into the flock a dozen times, with his most distinguished bow, and letting off a whole volley of passionate verses upon imprisoned damsels generally without execution—for no enamored Julia threw herself at his feet, or replied—he resolved to pick his bird. S—— had a cousin who visited a Miss T——, who was immured in that dungeon which frowned most terrifically, in S.’s mind, upon those within as well as those without; and he made, through this channel, her acquaintance. A walk to church in company with his cousin and Miss T—— perfected his little plot of taking the whole castle by this entrance; but a simple incident destroyed the forces of the enemy, and routed him, horse, foot, and dragoons. A violent storm came on while they were at church one Sunday evening, and the streets were flooded when they came out. The storm had passed, however, and a dull moon lent but a feeble light to the escort. S—— dropped his cousin at her door—it was the first chance he had, and starting on with Miss T——, opened the batteries of the sentimental upon his victim in most magnificent strength and style. As they crossed Canal street, S——, who had been carefully piloting the way, releasing the lady’s arm gently from his, and taking hold of the tips of those taper fingers with a grace that D’Orsey could not have excelled, requested her to “please step upon that stone,”—which the dull moon hadmadein the water—and,presto!the lady stepped into a pool which would have discolored thebeltof a grenadier of six feet; and in his horror at his mistake, S—— missed his footing, and plunged in with a dive that would have gained him admirers infrogdom.
You remember the wit of Miss T——; she was out of the water almost before he was in it, and turning round with a gay laugh at the discomfited dandy, begged that “if his thoughts of suicide were confirmed, to try the river the next time, but she must decline being either the disconsolate mourner, or a party to the folly!” and with a light trip was off, up the steps, and had rung the bell before S—— could gasp an apology.
This, with most men, would have been a settler, but S——’s vanity was water and bullet-proof both. He dispatched the whole affair, to hisownsatisfaction, in a sonnet; and the next day, at two, strode past the school with the step of a conqueror, the mark of a score of quizzing-glasses and laughing faces. S—— bore the inflictionthis oncewith a nerve that would have taken any man to the cannon’s mouth. But he grew fiery and retaliatory under its repetition. “I will settle this business with a twenty-four pounder,” said he; and he did. The next day S—— begged the spy-glass of an old pilot, and walking calmly down with his dexter-eye on the enemy, surprised his forces by a cool, steady, deliberate gaze through his blunderbuss with glasses. The mistress ended the flirtation and supposed conquest by a threat, delicately conveyed, that “any future conduct of the kind would be intimated to the police.”
S—— determined to “die game,” and marched by with his Spanish mantle on each particular cold day, with the step of a grenadier; but fate, jealous of his valor, tripped him up one exceedingly wintry afternoon, when boys were experimenting with skates upon the side-walk. Poor S——, who had given his cloak an extra turn over his shoulders, fell at full length exactly opposite the window of the boarding-school, and floundered in his vain attempts to extricate himself, like a salmon thrown upon the land, his “Oakford” most ruinously crushed by a passing omnibus; and to crown his confusion, in the midst of a dozen windows suddenly thrown up, an Irish cabman hastened to his rescue, and having unrolled him and placed him on his feet, considerately asked, within hearing of two score of ears, “whether he had been long there?” The glory of the conqueror was gone!
“So fades, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,All that this world is proud of.”
“So fades, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,All that this world is proud of.”
“So fades, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,All that this world is proud of.”
“So fades, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,
All that this world is proud of.”
The bright faces, laughing eyes, and happy hearts of our youth, with its early friendships, have been replacedwith sadder views of life, and you and I, Jeremy, are older—the world would say, wiser—but are we happier, Jeremy, think you?
G. R. G.
Mrs. Davidson.—We present our reader this month with a well engraved portrait of Mrs. Davidson, the mother of the celebrated and talented girls Margaret and Lucretia Davidson, made immortal as well by their own genius as by the beautiful volumes of their works, edited by Washington Irving and Miss Sedgwick, and published by Lea & Blanchard in 1841. Lucretia was born in Plattsburg, New York, on the 27th of September, 1808, and died on the 27th of August, 1825, just one month before her 17th birth-day. Margaret was born at the same place, on the 26th of March, 1823, and died on the 25th of November, 1838, at the early age of fifteen years and eight months. The early fate and singular genius of these youthful poets occupied for so long a time the attention and sympathy of the literary world, that it is needless for us to say much here, but we cannot refrain from quoting two passages from a distinguished critic upon their works.
“The name of Lucretia Davidson is familiar to all readers of poetry. Dying at the early age of 17, she has been rendered famous not less, and certainly not more, by her own precocious genius than by three memorable biographies, one by President Morse of the American Society of Arts, one by Miss Sedgwick, and a third by Robert Southey. Mr. Irving had formed an acquaintance with some of her relatives, and thus, while in Europe, took great interest in all that was written or said of his young countrywomen. Upon his return to this country, he called upon Mrs. Davidson, and then, in 1833, first saw the subject of the memoir, a fairy-like child of eleven. Three years having again elapsed, the MSS., which formed the basis of his volume, were placed in his hands by Mr. Davidson, as all that remained of his daughter. Few books have interested us more profoundly. Yet the interest does not appertain solely to Margaret. In fact, the narrative, says Mr. Irving, ‘will be found almost as illustrative of thecharacter of the mother as the child;they were singularly identified in taste, feeling and pursuits: tenderly entwined together by maternal and filial affection, they reflected an inexpressibly touching grace and interest upon each other by this holy relationship, and, to my mind, it would be marring one of the most beautiful and affecting groups in modern literature to sunder them.’ In these words the biographer conveys no more than a just idea of the loveliness of the picture here presented to view.”
“In the way of criticism upon these extraordinary compositions, Mr. Irving has attempted little. . . . In respect to a poem entitled “My Sister Lucretia,” he thus speaks, ‘We have said that the example of her sister Lucretia was incessantly before her, and no better proof can be given of it than the following lines, which breathe the heavenly aspirations of her pure young spirit, in strains quite unearthly. We may have read poetry more artificially perfect in its structure, but never any more truly divine in its inspiration.’”
“Lucretia Maria Davidson, the elder of the two sweet sisters, who have acquired so much fame prematurely, had not, like Margaret, an object of poetical emulation in her own family. In her genius, be it what it may, there is more of self-dependence—less of the imitative.Her mother’s generous romance of soul may have stimulatedbut did not instruct. Thus, although she has actually given lessevidenceof power than Margaret—less written proof—still itsindicationmust be considered at higher value. Margaret, we think, has left the better poems—certainly the more precocious—while Lucretia evinces more unequivocally the soul of a poet.”
We had intended to have said more of the mother—since deceased—of these remarkable girls, but our space warns us, that in this number, it is impossible. Enough has been indicated above, to show her strong sympathy with her daughter’s tastes, and how much she aided in forming them.
The January Number.—We confess to a great degree of pride, from the reception of our January number, by the newspaper press all over the country, and from the regular subscribers to the work. It has been pronounced, indeed, in several influential quarters, “The best number of a monthly magazine ever issued in the language,” and this not alone from the number and beauty of the embellishments—every one of which imparted a value as a work of art to the number—but from the worth, variety andamountof literary matter. In issuing adouble numberto our readers, we were fully aware that we were repaying but a part of what we owe them, for the liberal encouragement extended to us for a period of ten years, without deviation or diminution; but we were scarcely prepared for the large increase to our list of new friends which, in two cities alone, extended to over three thousand new names.
From every part of the country each mail comes freighted with clubs from persons with whose subscriptions we have not heretofore been honored, and our old friends, with astonishing unanimity, continue to cling to “Graham as the best and only good Magazine” amidst the mass of periodicals which now make up in noise and promises, what they lack in merit and ability to perform. To say that we are not flattered by this mark of favor extended to us by the readers of this country would be useless, but so far from this fact lessening our exertions, it only spurs us on to new endeavors to maintain that ascendancy over all others which we have always held, by issuing a Magazine incomparably better than any that attempts to rival it.
Our February number, we think, will show no falling off in our exertions, and the two numbers of the volume are an earnest of what our readers may expect during the whole year of 1849. May it prove a prosperous and happy one to our subscribers, as it has opened auspiciously for ourselves.
A New Sea Story.—We are gratified to be able to announce a new Sea Story for the pages of Graham’s Magazine, by W. F. Lynch, of the navy, whose recent explorations of the Dead Sea and vicinity, have so much occupied the attention of the newspapers and scientific bodies generally. The story is written with marked ability, and will be quite an attraction in the coming numbers of Graham.
Our Premium Plate.—We shall forward promptly to clubs and subscribers entitled to our large premium plate, copies, carefully done up for preservation, as soon as the artist completes it. It will be a very beautiful parlor ornament when properly framed.
Our Fashion Plate for this month has been delayed by the ocean steamer, and as we issue this number early, we postpone it till next month.
Painted by Cook Engdby Rawdon, Wright & Hatch(OUR CONTRIBUTORS)Mrs. M. M. Davidson
Painted by Cook Engdby Rawdon, Wright & Hatch(OUR CONTRIBUTORS)Mrs. M. M. Davidson
Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine
THE BELLS OF OSTEND.
WRITTEN ON A BEAUTIFUL MORNING AFTER A STORM,
BY W. L. BOWLES,
THE MUSIC COMPOSED AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO
SAMUEL MOFFAT JR. ESQ. OF ALBANY,
BY J. HILTON JONES.
No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end,Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend!The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud,And rung as it pass’d thro’ each
No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end,Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend!The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud,And rung as it pass’d thro’ each
No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end,
Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend!
The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud,
And rung as it pass’d thro’ each
murmuring shroud.My forehead was wet with the foam of the spray,My heart sighed in secret for those far away;When slowly the morning advanc’d from the east,The toils and the noise of the tempest had ceased:The peal from a land I ne’er saw seemed to say,Let the stranger forget all his sorrow to-day.SECOND VERSE.Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain—I thought of those eyes I should ne’er see again;I thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave,And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave;I thought of the schemes fond affection had planned,Of the trees, of the towers of my own native land;But still the sweet sounds, as they swelled on the airSeemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear;And I never, till life and its shadows shall end,Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend.
murmuring shroud.My forehead was wet with the foam of the spray,My heart sighed in secret for those far away;When slowly the morning advanc’d from the east,The toils and the noise of the tempest had ceased:The peal from a land I ne’er saw seemed to say,Let the stranger forget all his sorrow to-day.SECOND VERSE.Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain—I thought of those eyes I should ne’er see again;I thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave,And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave;I thought of the schemes fond affection had planned,Of the trees, of the towers of my own native land;But still the sweet sounds, as they swelled on the airSeemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear;And I never, till life and its shadows shall end,Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend.
murmuring shroud.
My forehead was wet with the foam of the spray,
My heart sighed in secret for those far away;
When slowly the morning advanc’d from the east,
The toils and the noise of the tempest had ceased:
The peal from a land I ne’er saw seemed to say,
Let the stranger forget all his sorrow to-day.
SECOND VERSE.
Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain—
I thought of those eyes I should ne’er see again;
I thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave,
And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave;
I thought of the schemes fond affection had planned,
Of the trees, of the towers of my own native land;
But still the sweet sounds, as they swelled on the air
Seemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear;
And I never, till life and its shadows shall end,
Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend.
Transcriber’s Notes:
For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals available for preparation of the ebook. In the storyThe Wager of Battle, the Chapter VI heading is missing due to being absent from the original publication. Hyphenation and archaic spellings have been retained. Punctuation has been corrected without note. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as noted below.
page 90, leaves are sear, ==> leaves aresere,page 93, to make their ==> to maketotheirpage 104, whispered a page ==> whisperedtoa pagepage 106, cylinders and guaging ==> cylinders andgaugingpage 107, for thedenouément==> for thedénouementpage 107, I glad ==> Iamgladpage 110, from all wordly ==> from allworldlypage 111, none waspolitec==> none waspoliticpage 111, of their Lupercalla ==> of theirLupercaliapage 113, the wordly advantages ==> theworldlyadvantagespage 113, Mendelsshon’s music ==>Mendelssohn’smusicpage 114, Druid chorusses ==> Druidchorusespage 119, Greydon, then she ==> Greydon,thanshepage 121, tonge of flame ==>tongueof flamepage 125, from aregime forcé==> from arégimeforcépage 127, merchans of celebrity ==>merchantsof celebritypage 128, ask him them ==> ask himthenpage 132, sod have been ==> sodhadbeenpage 132, sear turf of ==>sereturf ofpage 145, havn’t told us ==>haven’ttold uspage 146, physican arrived ==>physicianarrivedpage 150, maiden-thought be- becomes ==> maiden-thoughtbecomespage 151, style and rythm ==> style andrhythmpage 152, invaluabte companion ==>invaluablecompanionpage 153, with the orginal ==> with theoriginalpage 154, down and mak ==> down andmakepage 155, was her’s ==> washerspage 155, an open sessame ==> an opensesame
page 90, leaves are sear, ==> leaves aresere,
page 93, to make their ==> to maketotheir
page 104, whispered a page ==> whisperedtoa page
page 106, cylinders and guaging ==> cylinders andgauging
page 107, for thedenouément==> for thedénouement
page 107, I glad ==> Iamglad
page 110, from all wordly ==> from allworldly
page 111, none waspolitec==> none waspolitic
page 111, of their Lupercalla ==> of theirLupercalia
page 113, the wordly advantages ==> theworldlyadvantages
page 113, Mendelsshon’s music ==>Mendelssohn’smusic
page 114, Druid chorusses ==> Druidchoruses
page 119, Greydon, then she ==> Greydon,thanshe
page 121, tonge of flame ==>tongueof flame
page 125, from aregime forcé==> from arégimeforcé
page 127, merchans of celebrity ==>merchantsof celebrity
page 128, ask him them ==> ask himthen
page 132, sod have been ==> sodhadbeen
page 132, sear turf of ==>sereturf of
page 145, havn’t told us ==>haven’ttold us
page 146, physican arrived ==>physicianarrived
page 150, maiden-thought be- becomes ==> maiden-thoughtbecomes
page 151, style and rythm ==> style andrhythm
page 152, invaluabte companion ==>invaluablecompanion
page 153, with the orginal ==> with theoriginal
page 154, down and mak ==> down andmake
page 155, was her’s ==> washers
page 155, an open sessame ==> an opensesame