MISS DIX, THE PHILANTHROPIST.

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BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.

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Fromthe deep heart of Wo went up a groanThat, piercing the cerulean vault of heaven,Found access to the great Eternal’s throne,Amid the prayers of such as are forgiven: —When, from that throne—where none but seraphs gaze,And only they as reverent worshipers —Like lightning through th’empyrean did blazeA mandate writ in shining characters!And then a spirit meek, yet pure as snow,The mission craved, and swiftly winged to earth,Where, in the modest form of woman, lo!That angel took a new, terrestrial birth!The form was woman’s—but the voice that spokeTo love’s key-note attuned—the dauntless heart —The smile, that on Wo’s night like morning broke,Were still the angel’s—still of Heaven a part.And when the man of crime that eye beheld,And felt the power of that transforming smile,Beneath sin’s iron breastwork beat and swelledThe heart that seemed in contrast doubly vile.Next to that glance of calm divinity,Through which the Saviour’s eye could guilt disarm,Was her mild look, from human passion free,Subduing evil by its silent charm.And as Christ’s voice made frantic demons flee,Or lulled the raging elements at will;So her soft tone made discord harmony,And frenzied minds obeyed its “peace, be still!”She through the dungeon’s gloom did fearless grope —Herself a light that on the sufferer gleamed —As if the day-star of celestial HopeSerenely through his grated window beamed.The eye, whose intellectual ray obscured,Had fixed on vacancy its soulless stare,Grew lucid from a spirit reassuredIn faith and trust, through Mercy’s brooding care.The ear, that only jarring sounds had heard,Now, listening to Love’s heavenly dialect,Was moved, as when an exile’s heart is stirredBy native tones, ’mid strangeness and neglect.And Madness soothed, coherently replied —The arm resistant raised, submissive fell,And sunken eyes, by burning anguish dried,Grew moist again from feeling’s latent well.Chaotic Intellect took Beauty’s shapeAt the omnipotence of gentle speech,And hands unbound, exulting in escape,Wrought works that taste to saner minds might teach.[2]Oh, wondrous power of holy, heaven-born Love!Whose spirit, in that woman’s humble form,Doth noiseless yet ’mid human suffering move,Unchecked by frenzy’s strife, or passion’s storm.And when her mission to this earth shall end —When love’s pure essence seeks its native heaven,Her glory there the angels’ shall transcend,And loftier place than theirs to her be given.

Fromthe deep heart of Wo went up a groanThat, piercing the cerulean vault of heaven,Found access to the great Eternal’s throne,Amid the prayers of such as are forgiven: —

Fromthe deep heart of Wo went up a groan

That, piercing the cerulean vault of heaven,

Found access to the great Eternal’s throne,

Amid the prayers of such as are forgiven: —

When, from that throne—where none but seraphs gaze,And only they as reverent worshipers —Like lightning through th’empyrean did blazeA mandate writ in shining characters!

When, from that throne—where none but seraphs gaze,

And only they as reverent worshipers —

Like lightning through th’empyrean did blaze

A mandate writ in shining characters!

And then a spirit meek, yet pure as snow,The mission craved, and swiftly winged to earth,Where, in the modest form of woman, lo!That angel took a new, terrestrial birth!

And then a spirit meek, yet pure as snow,

The mission craved, and swiftly winged to earth,

Where, in the modest form of woman, lo!

That angel took a new, terrestrial birth!

The form was woman’s—but the voice that spokeTo love’s key-note attuned—the dauntless heart —The smile, that on Wo’s night like morning broke,Were still the angel’s—still of Heaven a part.

The form was woman’s—but the voice that spoke

To love’s key-note attuned—the dauntless heart —

The smile, that on Wo’s night like morning broke,

Were still the angel’s—still of Heaven a part.

And when the man of crime that eye beheld,And felt the power of that transforming smile,Beneath sin’s iron breastwork beat and swelledThe heart that seemed in contrast doubly vile.

And when the man of crime that eye beheld,

And felt the power of that transforming smile,

Beneath sin’s iron breastwork beat and swelled

The heart that seemed in contrast doubly vile.

Next to that glance of calm divinity,Through which the Saviour’s eye could guilt disarm,Was her mild look, from human passion free,Subduing evil by its silent charm.

Next to that glance of calm divinity,

Through which the Saviour’s eye could guilt disarm,

Was her mild look, from human passion free,

Subduing evil by its silent charm.

And as Christ’s voice made frantic demons flee,Or lulled the raging elements at will;So her soft tone made discord harmony,And frenzied minds obeyed its “peace, be still!”

And as Christ’s voice made frantic demons flee,

Or lulled the raging elements at will;

So her soft tone made discord harmony,

And frenzied minds obeyed its “peace, be still!”

She through the dungeon’s gloom did fearless grope —Herself a light that on the sufferer gleamed —As if the day-star of celestial HopeSerenely through his grated window beamed.

She through the dungeon’s gloom did fearless grope —

Herself a light that on the sufferer gleamed —

As if the day-star of celestial Hope

Serenely through his grated window beamed.

The eye, whose intellectual ray obscured,Had fixed on vacancy its soulless stare,Grew lucid from a spirit reassuredIn faith and trust, through Mercy’s brooding care.

The eye, whose intellectual ray obscured,

Had fixed on vacancy its soulless stare,

Grew lucid from a spirit reassured

In faith and trust, through Mercy’s brooding care.

The ear, that only jarring sounds had heard,Now, listening to Love’s heavenly dialect,Was moved, as when an exile’s heart is stirredBy native tones, ’mid strangeness and neglect.

The ear, that only jarring sounds had heard,

Now, listening to Love’s heavenly dialect,

Was moved, as when an exile’s heart is stirred

By native tones, ’mid strangeness and neglect.

And Madness soothed, coherently replied —The arm resistant raised, submissive fell,And sunken eyes, by burning anguish dried,Grew moist again from feeling’s latent well.

And Madness soothed, coherently replied —

The arm resistant raised, submissive fell,

And sunken eyes, by burning anguish dried,

Grew moist again from feeling’s latent well.

Chaotic Intellect took Beauty’s shapeAt the omnipotence of gentle speech,And hands unbound, exulting in escape,Wrought works that taste to saner minds might teach.[2]

Chaotic Intellect took Beauty’s shape

At the omnipotence of gentle speech,

And hands unbound, exulting in escape,

Wrought works that taste to saner minds might teach.[2]

Oh, wondrous power of holy, heaven-born Love!Whose spirit, in that woman’s humble form,Doth noiseless yet ’mid human suffering move,Unchecked by frenzy’s strife, or passion’s storm.

Oh, wondrous power of holy, heaven-born Love!

Whose spirit, in that woman’s humble form,

Doth noiseless yet ’mid human suffering move,

Unchecked by frenzy’s strife, or passion’s storm.

And when her mission to this earth shall end —When love’s pure essence seeks its native heaven,Her glory there the angels’ shall transcend,And loftier place than theirs to her be given.

And when her mission to this earth shall end —

When love’s pure essence seeks its native heaven,

Her glory there the angels’ shall transcend,

And loftier place than theirs to her be given.

[2]Some of the most ungovernable subjects of insanity have been so changed in afew days, by the soothing kindness of Miss Dix, as to execute various articles of fancy-work, under her teaching, with remarkable neatness and taste.

[2]

Some of the most ungovernable subjects of insanity have been so changed in afew days, by the soothing kindness of Miss Dix, as to execute various articles of fancy-work, under her teaching, with remarkable neatness and taste.

GODS AND MORTALS.

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BY A. K. GARDNER, M. D., AUTHOR OF “OLD WINE IN NEW BOTTLES.”

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Monday19th of March, 1849, was one of those beautiful days which make Spring so delightful. The smiles of nature never appear more charming than when they expel the frowns of winter. At the time above-mentioned, the world had just thrown off its fleecy mantle, preparatory to making a new toilet for the coming season. One would have imagined that the wardrobe of mother earth was very scantily provided, for the day previous her soiled coat of snow was sent to the washerwoman, who had employed the whole twenty-four hours in soaking the poor garment, scouring it with sand, and drenching it with continual showers of rain-water, so that when finally in a state to hang up to dry, scarcely a patch could be found, and those not apparently much benefited by its severe laundress. Mother Earth was surely in a most unfortunate state! Her old clothes not come home from the wash, and the new ones not ready to put on. She determined at first to lie a-bed till one or the other were ready for use. But Dame Luna was then mistress, and absolutely refused to harbor such an impoverished individual. “Credit, indeed!” she echoed. “To trust you I shall truly be a Luna-tic.” You should have seen this individual, as she stood with arms akimbo, in the fullness of her pride. Her face pale with anger, and her eyes losing their usual mildness, glared forth upon our unfortunate mother. None could account for this unwonted spirit. Some of the fixed stars, however, very different from our M. P.’s, who sometimes sleep on their posts, had noticed Mistress Luna walking in the Milky Way; and it was charitably supposed that she had been taking a little too much of the celebrated punch of that locality. These celestial M. P.’s had winked at the matter, and hence all the trouble.

Hinc illæ lachrymæ.

The irate Luna was inflexible. In spite of all that could be said, she persisted in turning our mother out of the house.

Think of the mortification of our common parent, standing on the threshold of night, without a rag to cover her nakedness. Just then came Aurora on her morning’s work to put out the gas. Her beautiful face and neck were covered with crimson blushes, as she discovered the situation of our poor mother Earth.

“Hide yourself quickly,” she cried, “for Phœbus is coming, riding in the chariot of day.”

Now our mother had for some time carried on a little flirtation with him. She called him Apollo in those happy days; but for some time there had been a coldness between them. He was of a warm and impetuous disposition, and fond of having every thing bright about him. He objected to her white dress, which he considered to reflect upon his taste. It is true that this colorless robe, with only a few green pine sprigs upon it, did give mother rather a frigid and puritanical air. If he should be so offended at this dress, she thought, though a gay youth, I fear me much he will be greatly scandalized at seeing me with none.

Aurora’s lantern, by good fortune, showed to my mother a little strip of Crocuses, with which she hastily covered her bosom. It was truly a scanty scarf—merely a pattern of the spring fashions, which the manufacturer had sent on in advance of the season for a specimen—nevertheless it was some protection. Her benumbed form she wrapped in a rosy mist, which was found overhanging the horizon, and by the time that Mr. Apollo, Hyperion Phœbus, came up, she was in a most delightfuldemi-jourready to receive him. Mr. Phœbus was entranced; and, to tell the truth, our mother was warmed up at his presence.

From that time an ardent attachment commenced. Throwing aside the mists of formality, and the fogs of prejudice, they appeared imbued with a mutual spirit, created for one another, and shortly after parson Summer united them together in the happiest of states.

I have described to you the proceedings of celestials; but we mortals have a commonplace way of doing up these little matters, far more interesting to us to my fancy. A ferry crossed—a short trip in the cars, and we are landed in the centre of a charming neighboring city. A bright sky and balmy air give vivacity, and life, and joy to all. Still a step further, where the tall spire casts its lengthened shadow across the way.

We enter the church, and many colored lights from diamond panes shed a mellowed hue around. Its oaken benches are filled with the smiling faces of friends and neighbors. There are few greetings for us, and the solemnity of the place, and the occasion, have an opportunity to exert that influence which the most thoughtless cannot entirely escape in a similar situation.

A moment longer and the organ’s roll announces the entrance of the surpliced priest. The pure lawn bespeaks respect for the unspotted character of the man of God. And now a general rustle of dresses and smothered whispers say that the bridal party approach. The gentle bride whose color rivals the hue of the camellias that adorn her jetty hair, leans on the arm of one who henceforth is to be her all in all—for whom she leaves parents, family, friends, home and country. Is it strange that the cheek is blanched and the eye moist? His is a firm step and a manly form, and a gentle eye. Affection looks out at every glance, while pride and good-fortune rejoice together. “Happy is the bride that the sun shines upon,” runs the adage. But the sun is not more ominous for good, than the mutual affection which gilds all around with its beams. Next comes the sister, whose sympathies, from nearness of age and common interests are strongest, herwarm heart evincing itself by a hurried breath and a nervous step. Behind follow the dear friends of her youth, whose path so long the same, now separates, and the only brother, on whom falls the hope of the family, its perpetuated name, future reputation, and influence.

Now as they kneel about the altar, while parents, sisters, friends, stand silent around, one wish animates all that “God may have them in his holy keeping.” The service goes on. Those pledges of mutual love and fidelity—oaths, not lightly to be taken, never to be broken—vows, registered in heaven by the Great Jehovah, the almighty witness—are said. The warm-hearted father gives away the bride. The ring—the benediction—and again the fresh air salutes us. The most important of all earthly rites is finished. It is a solemn occasion. Those who have passed through this scene, are forced to recall it to themselves, to examine if they have kept the faith—to make good resolutions for the future. To the young a lesson is given. Thoughtfulness is compelled to the importance of proper care in the selection of a partner, so that inclination and duty may go hand in hand together. The rolling peals of the organ grow fainter and fainter behind us.

Still another scene. A lordly mansion, whose wide-oped doors invite our entrance. From the sanctity of the church, the sanctuary of home receives us. The voices of friends and the merry laugh greet our ears. All is gay and joyous. Out of thepaleof the church the lovely bride, with blushing cheeks, receives the envious congratulations of her friends.

The table that groaned with the feast now yields its rich supplies. The wassail bowl spreads gayety around. But hush! the clang of glasses, and the busy tongues are stilled. A manly voice, with mellowed cadence, reads a heartfelt epithalamium—an ode becoming a laureat—to the health and prosperity of the young couple.

The occasion was indeed worthy of the brilliant pen of the gifted authoress. Its reading produced various effects upon its auditors. Some wondered at its beauty, some were impressed with the honor done. Those of sensibility wiped their overflowing eyes, wondering whether it was the intrinsic beauty of the poem or its peculiar appropriateness that so moved them. All felt its influence, for the children of the heart, like the carrier-pigeons, fly always to their native home.

A toast! a toast! To the bride and the poetess—and on went the feast.

The hour for separation approaches. The rolling ocean is to divide the daughter from her tender mother, beloved father, and friends. Their pangs of parting cast the only gloom upon the occasion. But now all is over. The business of every day life, with its noise, and bustle, and heartlessness, is again resumed. The scenes just described have left their subjects of contemplation too lightly treated in this day of frivolity and Fourierism, viz., the sacredness and responsibilities of marriage, and the affectionate devotedness of loving, trusting woman.

INVOCATION TO SLEEP.

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BY ENNA DUVAL.

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Throughthe night’s weary vigilsMy pulse doth keep timeWith the clock’s never ceasingAnd passionless chime.Sweet Hope with my spiritIn daylight doth dwell,But Sadness at nightfallWeaves o’er me her spell.In the twilight of dream-landDear forms hover near,And their sweet, tender love tonesSooth each rising fear.Come, come to my pillow,Thou dreamy-eyed Sleep!For thou bringest with theeCharms potent and deep.Through my casement the moon beams,I look on the sky,And my fancy there picturesSleep’s form soaring high.I see in the white cloudsHer head drooping low,Her thin, trailing garments.Her poppy-bound brow.She is queen of the dream-land,That pure, blest retreat:And the loved that are partedIn spirit there meet.Come, come to my pillow,Thou poppy-crowned queen!Bear off my sad spirit,Of Hope let it dream.Cruel Love by my pillowKeeps hovering near:Of the absent he murmurs—Quick starts the sad tear.I know that the flutteringOf his tiny wingDrives away the dear formsSleep only can bring.For with sleep come the loved ones,In dream-land we meet,And our spirits there mingling,Hold commune most sweet.Come, come to my pillow,Thou poppy-crowned queen!And bring to my spiritSweet Hope’s soothing dream.

Throughthe night’s weary vigils

My pulse doth keep time

With the clock’s never ceasing

And passionless chime.

Sweet Hope with my spirit

In daylight doth dwell,

But Sadness at nightfall

Weaves o’er me her spell.

In the twilight of dream-landDear forms hover near,And their sweet, tender love tonesSooth each rising fear.Come, come to my pillow,Thou dreamy-eyed Sleep!For thou bringest with theeCharms potent and deep.

In the twilight of dream-land

Dear forms hover near,

And their sweet, tender love tones

Sooth each rising fear.

Come, come to my pillow,

Thou dreamy-eyed Sleep!

For thou bringest with thee

Charms potent and deep.

Through my casement the moon beams,I look on the sky,And my fancy there picturesSleep’s form soaring high.I see in the white cloudsHer head drooping low,Her thin, trailing garments.Her poppy-bound brow.

Through my casement the moon beams,

I look on the sky,

And my fancy there pictures

Sleep’s form soaring high.

I see in the white clouds

Her head drooping low,

Her thin, trailing garments.

Her poppy-bound brow.

She is queen of the dream-land,That pure, blest retreat:And the loved that are partedIn spirit there meet.Come, come to my pillow,Thou poppy-crowned queen!Bear off my sad spirit,Of Hope let it dream.

She is queen of the dream-land,

That pure, blest retreat:

And the loved that are parted

In spirit there meet.

Come, come to my pillow,

Thou poppy-crowned queen!

Bear off my sad spirit,

Of Hope let it dream.

Cruel Love by my pillowKeeps hovering near:Of the absent he murmurs—Quick starts the sad tear.I know that the flutteringOf his tiny wingDrives away the dear formsSleep only can bring.

Cruel Love by my pillow

Keeps hovering near:

Of the absent he murmurs—

Quick starts the sad tear.

I know that the fluttering

Of his tiny wing

Drives away the dear forms

Sleep only can bring.

For with sleep come the loved ones,In dream-land we meet,And our spirits there mingling,Hold commune most sweet.Come, come to my pillow,Thou poppy-crowned queen!And bring to my spiritSweet Hope’s soothing dream.

For with sleep come the loved ones,

In dream-land we meet,

And our spirits there mingling,

Hold commune most sweet.

Come, come to my pillow,

Thou poppy-crowned queen!

And bring to my spirit

Sweet Hope’s soothing dream.

MINNA.

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BY W. S. SOUTHGATE.

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Inthe midst of a beautiful valley on the Rhine, known as the “Vale of Peace,” stood the cottage of an honest peasant. The lofty mountains, with their woody sides, seemed to shut out every thing but peace and contentment. A bubbling brook ran close by the cottage-door, and sweet-scented flowers grew along its sides. Merry birds sung sweetly the live-long day, and unaffrighted, built their nests around the peasant’s door. It was as if Paradise had been restored. Well might Peace love such a dwelling-place. Here the peasant had lived for years in the enjoyment of that quiet contentment which only peasants know. Every year he had reaped his unblighted grain, and gathered his purple grapes. No cruel wolf entered his sheep-fold, no disease carried off his cattle. For the fairies of the valley delighted to protect him, and would only do him good. Often would they come by moonlight, and play their merry pranks near the cottage, and he would wake and lie listening to their joyous shouts, blessing them in his heart.

Often would they work while he was sleeping, and in the morning peep from their hiding-places, and laugh at his surprise at what they had done for him. And it seemed as if one half their merry lives was spent in making the peasant and his good wife happy. Thus the years had passed, and they had lived in quiet, wanting nothing but the merry shouts of childhood to make their happiness complete. Soon this joy came also, and a prattling daughter was added to their household. Loud were the fairies’ rejoicings, and long their dances on Minna’s birth-night. The rising moon had just begun to cast the long shadows of the mountains over the quiet valley, and its white light was just struggling through the silent tree-tops, when the fairy-queen summoned her elfin band to their bower. And well might fairies choose such a retreat. Myriad wild-rose vines, that had crept up the trunks of the trees, met overhead, and formed the fairy hall. The vine-leaves and the branches were so thickly entwined, that even the sunbeams could find no place to enter. Each side sloped gently down to the murmuring fountain which gushed forth from the midst, gladdening every thing with its coolness. The air was filled with the fragrance of the roses as the wind stirred lightly amongst their leaves. The humming-birds built their nests in the bower, and fed upon its sweets, for the fairies love them of all birds. Here would the fairy band repose all day. And many a time, when working away from his cottage, had the peasant heard their merry songs rising above the murmur of the forest. And when the sun went down, he would hasten home, loving them more than ever.

Here they assembled, while their queen addressed them. “Listen, fairies. This night brings on its wings the sweet hope of the peasant, and a welcome care to us. Ye have long guarded this our valley against the coming of hurtful spirits; ye have many a fairy-circle in it, where ye sport in the moonlight dance; but to-night brings your greatest joy. Ye truly love the forest, the valley, and the peasant; but now Minna is your chief delight. Ye three spirits, Love, Virtue, and Peace be ever with her, nor once forsake her. And ye, Grace and Beauty, preside at her birth. Now hence to the valley, for the moonlight waits.” And to the valley they did go—scampering, flying, tumbling, and rolling, like so many dried leaves before a whirlwind. And all that night were they rejoicing, nor ceased till the dawning light heralded the approaching sun. And now the once lonely cottage echoes all day with the childish laughter of Minna. And the peasant toils daily in the valley with a lighter heart than ever. The good wife’s soul overflows with a mother’s joy. For the three spirits, Love, Virtue, and Peace abide with them.

Years passed, and with them fled the childhood of Minna. The little sporting fawn had become a stately deer. Her joyous girlhood had slipped away, and womanhood found her still playing by the silvery brook, as pure in heart as its own clear water. The twin fairies, Grace and Beauty, were ever with her. And all the fairies so loved her, that they had once even taken her to their sacred bower.

And now many noble knights had heard of the beauty of the peasant’s daughter, and many desired to see her. But one, the good knight Edchen, determined to seek her hand, for a spirit seemed to whisper to him, that she was destined to be his. One day as she sat singing by the brook, twining wild-roses and lilies in her hair, she looked up, and lo! a manly knight gazing upon her. She started to her feet, and like a surprised deer, stood wondering at the sight. And the renowned knight Edchen, for he it was that stood before her, was astonished at her beauty. For she seemed to him more like an angel or the being of a dream, than the daughter of an humble peasant. And ere either had spoken, their hearts met in love. And now he knew that some good spirit had directed him, that he might find his heart’s mate. For truly every heart has somewhere in the world a loving companion. And thus he spoke, “Fair lady, if I am bold, forgive; but when first I saw thee, a spirit whispered to my heart—‘she is thy mate.’ I am Edchen, and can boast only good. I have sought thee long, and have loved as no other since first I heard of thy loveliness. And now behold me ready to follow thy command as a faithful knight, if I may but carry with me thy love.”

Then the happy Minna answered the knight, “Noble Edchen, I heard of thy goodness even here in this lonely valley, and wished thee near me, that I might love thee as I love this little brook, and all these hills.Dear as is my home, my heart longs for a companion, and truly thy face betrays thee good. Welcome my heart’s mate, I’m glad a kind spirit sent thee.”

And thus quickly did their hearts become one! for loveliness and goodness are ever congenial. Soon Edchen returned to his home, carrying with him the plighted love of Minna, promising quickly to return and take her with him as his own dear bride.

Now the brook and the flowers were forgotten, for the heart of Minna was filled with love for Edchen. And like a merry bird she would sing all day long, and all her song be love. The peasant and his good wife were rejoiced to see her so happy, yet they looked forward with sorrow to the time when the knight should come to claim his bride, and take her away from the valley. And when the peasant looked sad at the thought of this, his wife would say, “Henri, we are old, and have naught to live for but the happiness of Minna—and will she not be happy with the noble Edchen?” Then the peasant would cheer up and be as light-hearted as ever, for the words of the good wife drove away sorrow.

Two months had worn away slowly—how slow is time to waiting love! When one day as Minna tripped along the valley, she heard the fairies singing in their bower; she listened, and this was their song:

“Two roses togetherIn love shall twine,O cruel the spiritThat breaks the vine.”

“Two roses together

In love shall twine,

O cruel the spirit

That breaks the vine.”

Minna trembled; before she had heard the fairies sing only joyous songs, but now they seemed to be mourning as if some evil were coming. She hastened home; nor did she sleep that night for thinking of the fairies’ song. All night a fairy voice seemed to whisper, “Thy love is blighted.” ’Twas now a year since they parted, and yet no word had come from Edchen. And now the gentle Minna began to droop and fade; as you have seen a fair lily droop its head, and its pure white leaves become dry and yellow, when some rude blast has broken its stem. And ever and anon the fairy voice whispered, “Edchen is dead.” One night she dreamed, and a band of freed spirits seemed flying from earth to heaven. Amongst them she saw the pure white spirit of Edchen; and it seemed to beckon and say, “Come, Minna.” The shock was too strong; the stem too tender. The feeble flower drooped and died. And now it seemed as if peace had fled from the valley, and left only grief. But it soon returned and dwelt again in the peasant’s heart, for as he worked in the valley, he heard the fairies sing,

“The vines that grew on earthHave gone to bloom in heaven.”

“The vines that grew on earth

Have gone to bloom in heaven.”

GERMAN POETS.

———

BY MRS. E. J. EAMES.

———

I.—GOETHE.Light! more light still!Goethe.Thou unto whom was given the golden keyTo unlock the portals of the human mind, —Oh! Spirit grand—adventurous—and free —In that last awful moment didst thou find“Morelight” than shone upon thy earthly vision?Was the Great Idea to thy sense made clear?The solemn secrets of the veiled Elysian —Say—were they whispered in thy closing ear?“Light! more light still!” it was thy last,lastprayer!And oh! how strove thy straining, dying eyes,To pierce the far, impenetrable skies,And read the mighty mystery, writtenthere!Alas! tous, poor dwellers in the clay,Are given but glimpses of the Land of Day!

I.—GOETHE.

Light! more light still!Goethe.

Thou unto whom was given the golden keyTo unlock the portals of the human mind, —Oh! Spirit grand—adventurous—and free —In that last awful moment didst thou find“Morelight” than shone upon thy earthly vision?Was the Great Idea to thy sense made clear?The solemn secrets of the veiled Elysian —Say—were they whispered in thy closing ear?“Light! more light still!” it was thy last,lastprayer!And oh! how strove thy straining, dying eyes,To pierce the far, impenetrable skies,And read the mighty mystery, writtenthere!Alas! tous, poor dwellers in the clay,Are given but glimpses of the Land of Day!

Thou unto whom was given the golden key

To unlock the portals of the human mind, —

Oh! Spirit grand—adventurous—and free —

In that last awful moment didst thou find

“Morelight” than shone upon thy earthly vision?

Was the Great Idea to thy sense made clear?

The solemn secrets of the veiled Elysian —

Say—were they whispered in thy closing ear?

“Light! more light still!” it was thy last,lastprayer!

And oh! how strove thy straining, dying eyes,

To pierce the far, impenetrable skies,

And read the mighty mystery, writtenthere!

Alas! tous, poor dwellers in the clay,

Are given but glimpses of the Land of Day!

II.—SCHILLER.“Keep true to the dream of thy youth.”Thy dream of youth! ah, no! it ne’er forsook thee,The worshiped Ideal of thy boyhood’s time;Still pure and beautiful as when it took theeTo cross the Holy Land of Truth sublime!So earnest thy Belief—to later ageThe visions of thy childhood stayed to bless thee —Though sorrow dimmed the lustre of life’s page,And shadows deepened round—and pain opprest thee —The Beauty of thy Being still caressed thee.Still didst thou reverence thine early dream,And woo fair Nature as thy loveliest bride; —Still from thy Soul did Faith’s pure radiance stream,So was the Angel of thy Youth, thy guide,In snow-white raiment clad, forever at thy side.

II.—SCHILLER.

“Keep true to the dream of thy youth.”

Thy dream of youth! ah, no! it ne’er forsook thee,The worshiped Ideal of thy boyhood’s time;Still pure and beautiful as when it took theeTo cross the Holy Land of Truth sublime!So earnest thy Belief—to later ageThe visions of thy childhood stayed to bless thee —Though sorrow dimmed the lustre of life’s page,And shadows deepened round—and pain opprest thee —The Beauty of thy Being still caressed thee.Still didst thou reverence thine early dream,And woo fair Nature as thy loveliest bride; —Still from thy Soul did Faith’s pure radiance stream,So was the Angel of thy Youth, thy guide,In snow-white raiment clad, forever at thy side.

Thy dream of youth! ah, no! it ne’er forsook thee,

The worshiped Ideal of thy boyhood’s time;

Still pure and beautiful as when it took thee

To cross the Holy Land of Truth sublime!

So earnest thy Belief—to later age

The visions of thy childhood stayed to bless thee —

Though sorrow dimmed the lustre of life’s page,

And shadows deepened round—and pain opprest thee —

The Beauty of thy Being still caressed thee.

Still didst thou reverence thine early dream,

And woo fair Nature as thy loveliest bride; —

Still from thy Soul did Faith’s pure radiance stream,

So was the Angel of thy Youth, thy guide,

In snow-white raiment clad, forever at thy side.

III—RICHTER.My Jean Paul, I shall never forget.Herder.Never forgotten! still do they enshrine theeThe pride and glory of thy Fatherland:Before the altar of the true Shekinah,O priestly poet! it was thine to standClothed in the purity of thy high nature —And wearing on thy spiritual features(Illumined with the tenderest charities)A world of kindness for thy fellow creatures.Ah, yes! the Universal heart of manThe Holiest of Holies was to thee: —Thy everlasting covenant and planTo love and trust—believe: wait patiently!Never forgotten thou! true Poet of Mankind,Still in their hearts thy words a general echo find.

III—RICHTER.

My Jean Paul, I shall never forget.Herder.

Never forgotten! still do they enshrine theeThe pride and glory of thy Fatherland:Before the altar of the true Shekinah,O priestly poet! it was thine to standClothed in the purity of thy high nature —And wearing on thy spiritual features(Illumined with the tenderest charities)A world of kindness for thy fellow creatures.Ah, yes! the Universal heart of manThe Holiest of Holies was to thee: —Thy everlasting covenant and planTo love and trust—believe: wait patiently!Never forgotten thou! true Poet of Mankind,Still in their hearts thy words a general echo find.

Never forgotten! still do they enshrine thee

The pride and glory of thy Fatherland:

Before the altar of the true Shekinah,

O priestly poet! it was thine to stand

Clothed in the purity of thy high nature —

And wearing on thy spiritual features

(Illumined with the tenderest charities)

A world of kindness for thy fellow creatures.

Ah, yes! the Universal heart of man

The Holiest of Holies was to thee: —

Thy everlasting covenant and plan

To love and trust—believe: wait patiently!

Never forgotten thou! true Poet of Mankind,

Still in their hearts thy words a general echo find.

IV—KORNER.“Lord of the Sword and Lyre!”Oh, Warrior Poet! thou before whose eyesRose the enchanted realm of the Ideal —The star-lit land of Fancy, whose fair skiesBent in unclouded loveliness around thee —The angel of the world of visions found thee —Bore thee from the cold Winter of the Real,And with unfading wreaths of Poesy crowned thee.Lord of the Lyre and Sword! O, blest wert thouTo live and die, amid thine early dreams!Nor bay, nor blossom faded from thy brow —No star of Promise, shed its dying gleamsUpon thy path—and left thee,thusto bowA lone survivor! Oh!nolot so blestAs that which callethearlyunto rest!

IV—KORNER.

“Lord of the Sword and Lyre!”

Oh, Warrior Poet! thou before whose eyesRose the enchanted realm of the Ideal —The star-lit land of Fancy, whose fair skiesBent in unclouded loveliness around thee —The angel of the world of visions found thee —Bore thee from the cold Winter of the Real,And with unfading wreaths of Poesy crowned thee.Lord of the Lyre and Sword! O, blest wert thouTo live and die, amid thine early dreams!Nor bay, nor blossom faded from thy brow —No star of Promise, shed its dying gleamsUpon thy path—and left thee,thusto bowA lone survivor! Oh!nolot so blestAs that which callethearlyunto rest!

Oh, Warrior Poet! thou before whose eyes

Rose the enchanted realm of the Ideal —

The star-lit land of Fancy, whose fair skies

Bent in unclouded loveliness around thee —

The angel of the world of visions found thee —

Bore thee from the cold Winter of the Real,

And with unfading wreaths of Poesy crowned thee.

Lord of the Lyre and Sword! O, blest wert thou

To live and die, amid thine early dreams!

Nor bay, nor blossom faded from thy brow —

No star of Promise, shed its dying gleams

Upon thy path—and left thee,thusto bow

A lone survivor! Oh!nolot so blest

As that which callethearlyunto rest!

LIFE OF GENERAL BARON DE KALB.

———

BY THOMAS WYATT, A. M., AUTHOR OF “HISTORY OF THE KINGS OF FRANCE,” ETC. ETC. ETC.

———

Verylittle is known of this illustrious officer till about the year 1755, when we find him filling an inferior station in the quartermaster-general’s department, in the imperial army of France; his intimate acquaintance with the details of that department led his friends in America to believe that he had held it for some considerable time.

Toward the close of the French war with England, Baron De Kalb was dispatched by his sovereign to North America, to visit the British Colonies there, expressly to ascertain the points in which they were most vulnerable, and to discover how far it was practicable, by well-timed insinuation and winning intrigue, to generate dissatisfaction, and excite a suspicious jealousy against the mother country, so as to shake their confidence in the purity of her views, and beget and cherish a desire of asserting their independence.

He traversed the British provinces in a concealed character; and when speaking of the existing war, often expressed his astonishment how any government could have so blundered as to efface the ardent and deep affection which, to his own knowledge, existed on the part of the colonies of Great Britain previous to the late rupture. Just before the peace our incognitus becoming suspected, was arrested, and for a few days imprisoned. On examination of his baggage and papers, nothing was found to warrant his detention, and he was discharged. Such discovery was not practicable, as, during this tour, the baron himself declared that he relied entirely upon his memory, which was singularly strong, never venturing to commit to paper the information of others, or his own observations.

On the restoration of peace, the baron returned to France, and there remained in the service of his country till 1777. When the news of the war of the American Revolution reached France, the youthful and chivalrous Lafayette, accompanied by the Baron De Kalb, left their native shores to offer their assistance in the struggle for independence. They came in the same ship, and arrived in America early in July, 1777, and presented their credentials to Congress, who gave them commissions as major-generals—their commissions bearing date on the same day, July 31st, 1777.

General De Kalb served in the main army, under the immediate command of General Washington, until March, 1780, when the entire Maryland and Delaware lines, with the 1st regiment of artillery, were detached from the main army and placed under his command, and ordered to South Carolina, to reinforce and take command of the southern army, which had almost been destroyed by the unfortunate surrender of General Lincoln.

In this command he remained until the 25th July, 1780, when General Gates, having been appointed by Congress commander-in-chief in the South, arrived in camp, and assumed the command; General De Kalb remaining second in command. General Gates, having broken up the camp and made suitable preparations, subsequently marched his army to within a few miles of Camden, South Carolina, unfortunately, was persuaded that he had nothing further to do but to advance upon his enemy, never supposing that so far from retiring, the British general would seize the proffered opportunity of battle.

Unhappily for America, unhappily for himself, he acted under this influence, nor did he awake from his reverie until the proximity of the enemy was announced by his fire in the night preceding the fatal morning. Lord Cornwallis having been regularly informed of the passing occurrences, hastened to Camden, which he reached on the 13th of August. Spending the subsequent day in review and examination, he found his army very much enfeebled, eight hundred being sick, his effective strength was reduced to somewhat less than two thousand three hundred men, including militia, and Bryan’s corps, which, together, amounted to seven hundred and fifty men. Judging from the Congressional publications, he rated his enemy at six thousand, in which estimation his lordship was much mistaken, as from official returns on the evening preceding the battle, it appears that our force did not exceed four thousand, including the corps detached under Lieutenant-Colonel Wolford; yet there was a great disparity of numbers in our favor; but we fell short in quality, our continental horse, foot, and artillery being under one thousand, whereas the British regulars amounted to nearly one thousand six hundred.

In case of a disaster, the American commander had an eye to the three powerful and faithful counties, Cabarrus, Rowan, and Mecklenburgh. The inhabitants of these three counties, amongst the most populous in the state, were true and zealous in their maintenance of the Revolution; and they were always ready to encounter any and every peril to support the cause of their hearts. Contiguous to the western border, over the mountains, lived that hardy race of mountaineers, equally attached to the cause of our common country, and who rolled occasionally like a torrent on the hostile territory. The ground was strong, and the soil rich and cultivated. In every respect, therefore, it was adapted to the American general until he had rendered himself completely ready for offence. Notwithstanding his diminished force, notwithstanding the vast expected superiority of his enemy, the discriminating mind of the British general paused not an instant in decidingupon his course. No idea of a retrograde movement was entertained by him. Victory only could extricate him from the surrounding dangers, and the quicker the decision, the better his chance of success. He therefore gave orders to prepare for battle, and in the evening of the 15th put his army in motion to attack his enemy next morning in his position at Rudgely’s Mill. Having placed Camden in the care of Major McArthur, with the convalescents, some of the militia, and a detachment of regulars expected in the course of the day, he moved at the hour of ten at night, in two divisions. The front division, composed of four companies of light infantry, with the twenty-second and twenty-third regiments, was commanded by Lieutenant-colonel Webster.

The rear division, consisting of the legion infantry, Hamilton’s regiment of North Carolinians, the volunteers of Ireland, and Bryan’s corps of loyalists, was under the orders of Lord Rawdon.

Two battalions of the seventy-first, with the legion cavalry, formed the reserve.

After Gates had prepared his army to move, it was resolved in a council of war to march on the night of the 15th, and to sit down behind Saunder’s Creek, within seven miles of Camden.

Thus it happened that both the generals were in motion at the same hour, and for the same purpose, with this material distinction, that the American general grounded his conduct in his mistaken confidence of his adversary’s disposition to retreat; whereas, the British commander sought for battle with anxiety, regarding the evasion of it by his antagonist as the highest misfortune.

After sending the baggage, stores and sick, off to the friendly settlement of the Waxhaws, the army marched at ten o’clock at night. Armand’s legion, in horse and foot, not exceeding one hundred, moved as a vanguard, flanked by Lieutenant-colonel Porterfield’s corps on the right, and by Major Armstrong’s light infantry of the North Carolina militia, on the left. The Maryland and Delaware lines, composed the front division, under Baron De Kalb; the militia of North Carolina, under General Caswell, the centre; and the Virginia militia, under Brigadier Stevens, the rear. Colonel Lee, in his Notes, says, “Armand was one of the many French gentlemen who joined our army, and was one of the few who were honored with important commands. His officers were generally foreign, and his soldiers chiefly deserters. It was the last corps in the army which ought to have been entrusted with the van post, because, however unexceptionable the officers may have been, the materials of which the corps was composed, did not warrant such distinction.” About one o’clock in the morning the two armies met, and from the darkness of the night they came almost in close contact before either was aware of their position.

As soon as the corps of Armand discovered the near approach of the enemy, they shamefully took to flight, carrying dismay and confusion through the whole ranks. The leading regiment of Maryland was disordered by this ignominious flight; but the gallant Porterfield, taking his part with decision on the right, seconded by Armstrong on the left, soon brought the enemy’s van to pause. The two armies halted, each throbbing with the emotions which the van encounter had excited. The British army displayed in one line, which completely occupied the ground, each flank resting on impervious swamps. The infantry of the reserve took post in a second line, one half opposite the centre of each wing, and the cavalry held the road where the left of the right wing united with the volunteers of Ireland, which corps formed the right of the left wing. With the front line were two six and two three-pounders, under Lieutenant McLeod of the artillery; with the reserve were two six-pounders. Thus arrayed, confiding in discipline and experience, the British general waited anxiously for light.

The Maryland regiment soon recovered from the confusion produced by the panic of Armand’s cavalry. General Gates saw the moment fast approaching, and arrayed his army with promptitude. The second brigade of Maryland, with the regiment of Delaware, under General Gist, took the right; the brigade of North Carolina militia, led by Brigadier Caswell, the centre; and that of Virginia, under Brigadier Stevens, the left. The first brigade of Maryland was formed in reserve, under the command of General Smallwood, who had on York Island, in the beginning of the war, when colonel of the first regiment of Maryland, deeply planted in the hearts of his countrymen, the remembrance of his zeal and valor, conspicuously displayed in that the first of his fields. To each brigade a due proportion of artillery was allotted; but we had no cavalry, as those who led in the night were still flying. Major-general Baron De Kalb, charged with the line of battle, took post on the right, while the general-in-chief, superintending the whole, placed himself on the road between the line and the reserve. Light now began to dawn, and every moment was an hour of anxious suspense; the signal for battle was given, and instantly our centre opened its artillery, and the left line, under Stevens, was ordered to advance.

The British general, closely watching our motions, discovered this movement, immediately gave orders to Webster to lead into battle with the right. The command was executed with the characteristic courage and influence of that officer. Our left was instantly overpowered by the assault, and the brave Stevens had to endure the mortifying spectacle exhibited by the flying brigade. Without exchanging more than one fire with the enemy, they threw away their arms, and sought that safety in flight which generally can be obtained only by courageous resistance. The North Carolina brigade, imitating that on the right, followed the disgraceful example. Stevens, Caswell, and even Gates himself, struggled to stop the fugitives, and rally them for battle; but every noble feeling of the heart was sunk in anxious solicitude to preserve life; and having no cavalry to assist their exertions, the attempted reclamation failed entirely. The continental troops, with Dixon’s regiment of North Carolinians, were left to oppose the enemy, every corps of whose army was acting with the most determined resolution. De Kalb and Gist yet held the battle on our right in suspense. Lieutenant-colonel Howard, at the head of Williams’ regiment, drove the corps in front out of line. Rawdoncould not bring the brigade of Gist to recede—bold was the pressure of the foe; firm as a rock was the resistance of Gist. The Marylanders appeared to gain ground; but the deplorable desertion of the militia having left Webster unemployed, that discerning soldier detached some light troops with Tarlton’s cavalry in pursuit, and opposed himself to the reserve brought up by Smallwood to replace the fugitives. Here the battle was renewed with fierceness and obstinacy. The Marylanders, although greatly outnumbered, firmly maintained the desperate conflict; and De Kalb, now finding his once exposed flank completely shielded, resorted to the bayonet. Dreadful was the charge! This appeared to be his last hope, and making a desperate charge, drove the enemy before him with considerable advantage.

But at this time, Cornwallis perceiving the American cavalry had left the field, ordered Tarlton to make a decisive charge; this was done, and our brave troops were broken; and his lordship following up the blow, compelled the intrepid Marylanders to abandon the unequal contest.

To the woods and swamps, after performing their duty valiantly, these gallant soldiers were compelled to fly. The pursuit was continued with keenness, and none were saved but those who penetrated swamps which before had been deemed impassable.

De Kalb, sustaining by his splendid example the courageous efforts of our inferior force, in his last resolute attempt to seize victory, received eleven bayonet wounds. His lingering life was rescued from immediate death by the brave interposition of one of his aids-de-camp.

Lieutenant-colonel De Buysson saw his prostrate general in the act of falling, rushed through the clashing bayonets, and stretching his arms over the fallen hero, exclaimed, “Save the Baron De Kalb! Save the Baron De Kalb!” The British officers interposed and prevented his immediate destruction; but he survived his wounds but three days.

To a British officer, who kindly administered every consolation in his power, he replied, “I thank you for your generous sympathy, but I die the death I always prayed for—the death of a soldier fighting for the rights of man.” The heroic veteran employed his last moments in dictating a letter to General Smallwood, who succeeded to the command of his division, breathing in every word his sincere and ardent affection for his officers and soldiers, expressing his admiration of their late noble, though unsuccessful stand; reciting the eulogy which their bravery had extorted from the enemy; together with the lively delight such testimony of their valor had excited in his own mind. Trembling on the shadowy confines of life, he stretched out his quivering hand to his friend and aid-de-camp, Chevalier De Buysson, proud of his generous wounds, he breathed his last benediction on his faithful, brave division.

In this disastrous conflict, besides the gallant De Kalb, this country lost many excellent officers, and among them Lieutenant-colonel Porterfield, whose promise of future greatness had endeared him to the whole army. On the 14th of October, 1780, Congress resolved that a monument should be erected to his memory, in the town of Annapolis, in the State of Maryland; but this resolution, it is believed, has never been carried into effect, and the gratitude and plighted faith of the nation both remain unredeemed.

He was in the forty-eighth year of his age, most of his life, with the exception of the last three years spent in the American Revolution, he had passed in the armies of France, having entered at the early age of sixteen years. In the resolution of Congress we find the following inscription, which was intended to have graced the monument of this gallant officer:

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