SIR NICHOLAS AT MARSTON MOOR.
BY THE AUTHOR OF LILLIAN.
I.TO HORSE, to horse, Sir Nicholas; the clarion's note is high;To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas; the huge drum makes reply:Ere this hath Lucas marchéd with his gallant cavaliers,And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter on our ears;To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas; white Guy is at the door;And the vulture whets his beak o'er the field of Marston Moor.Up rose the lady Alice from her brief and broken prayer;And she brought a silken standard down the narrow turret-stair:Oh, many were the tears those radiant eyes had shed,As she worked the bright word "Glory" in the gay and glancing thread;And mournful was the smile that o'er those beauteous features ran,As she said: "It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van.""It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride;Through the steel-clad files of Skippon, and the black dragoons of Pride;The recreant soul of Fairfax will feel a sicklier qualm,And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm,When they see my lady's gew-gaw flaunt bravely on their wing,And hear her loyal soldier's shout, For God and for the king!"II.Tis noon; the ranks are broken along the royal line;They fly, the braggarts of the court, the bullies of the Rhine:Stout Langley's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's helm is down;And Rupert sheathes his rapier with a curse and with a frown:And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in the flight,"The German boar had better far have supped in York to-night."The knight is all alone, his steel cap cleft in twain,His good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many a gory stain;But still he waves the standard, and cries amid the rout,"For church and king, fair gentlemen, spur on, and fight it out!"—And now he wards a roundhead's pike, and now he hums a stave,And here he quotes a stage-play, and there he fells a knave.Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas! thou hast no thought of fear,Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas! but fearful odds are here.The traitors ring thee round, and with every blow and thrust,"Down, down," they cry, "with Belial, down with him to the dust!""I would," quoth grim old Oliver, "that Belial's trusty swordThis day were doing battle for the saints and for the Lord!"III.The lady Alice sits with her maidens in her bower;The gray-haired warden watches on the castle's highest tower.—"What news, what news, old Anthony?"—"The field is lost and won;The ranks of war are melting as the mists beneath the sun;And a wounded man speeds hither,—I am old and cannot see,Or sure I am that sturdy step my master's step should be.""I bring thee back the standard from as rude and red a frayAs e'er was proof of soldier's thews, or theme for minstrel's lay:Bid Hubert fetch the silver bowl, and liquor quantum suff.;I'll make a shift to drain it, ere I part with boot and buff;Though Guy through many a gaping wound is breathing out his life,And I come to thee a landless man, my fond and faithful wife.Sweet, we will fill our money-bags, and freight a ship for France,And mourn in merry Paris for this poor realm's mischance:Or, if the worst betide me, why better ax or rope,Than life with Lenthal for a King, and Peters for a Pope!Alas, alas, my gallant Guy!—out on the crop-eared boor,That sent me with my standard on foot from Marston Moor."
I.
II.
III.
[From Fraser's Magazine.]LIFE AT A WATERING PLACE.ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN.
"HURRAH, old fellow!" shouted Ashburner's host, on the seventh morning of his visit; "here's a letter from Carl. I have been expecting it, and he has been expecting us, some time. So prepare yourself to start to-morrow."
"He can't have been expectingme, you know," suggested the guest, who, though remarkably domesticated for so short a time, hardly felt himself yet entitled to be considered one of the family.
"Oh,usmeans Clara, and myself, and baby, and any friends we choose to bring,—or, I should say, who will do us the honor to accompany us. We are hospitable people and the more the merrier. I know how much house-room Carl has; there is always a prophet's chamber, as the parsons call it, for such occasions. Youmustcome; there's no two ways about that. You will see two very fine women there,—nice persons, as you would say: my sisters-in-law, Miss Vanderlyn, and Mrs. Carl Benson."
"But at any rate, would it not be better to write first, and apprise him of the additional visitor?"
"We should be there a week before our letter.Ecoutez!There is no post-office near us here, and my note would have to go to the city by a special messenger. Then the offices along the Hudson are perfectly antediluvian and barbarous, and mere mockery and delusion. Observe, I speak of the small local posts; on the main routes letters travel fast enough. You may send to Albany in nine hours; to Carl's place, which is about two-thirds of the distance to Albany, it would take more than half as many days,—if, indeed, it arrived at all. I remember once propounding this problem in theBlunder and Bluster:—'If a letter sent from New York to Hastings, distance 22 miles, never gets there, how long will it take one to go from New York to Red Hook, distance 110 miles?'We are shockingly behind you in our postal arrangements;thereI give up the country. 'No, you musn't write, but come yourself,' as Penelope said to Ulysses."
Ashburner made no further opposition, and they were off the next morning accordingly. Before four a cart had started with the baggage, and directions to take up Ashburner's trunks and man-servant on the way. Soon after the coachman and groom departed with the saddle-horses, trotters, and wagon; for Benson, meditating some months' absence, took with him the whole of his stud, except the black colt, who was strongly principled against going on the water, and had nearly succeeded in breaking his master's neck on one occasion, when Harry insisted on his embarking. The long-tailed bays were left harnessed to theRockaway,—a sort of light omnibus open at the sides, very like achar-à-banc, except that the seats run crosswise, and capable of accommodating from six to nine persons: that morning it held six, including the maid and nurse. Benson took the reins at a quarter-past five, and as the steamboat dock was situated at the very southern extremity of the city, and they had three miles of terrible pavement to traverse, besides nearly twelve of road, he arrived there just seven minutes before seven; at which hour, to the second, the good boat Swallow was to take wing. In a twinkling the horses were unharnessed and embarked; the carriage instantly followed them; and Harry, after assuring himself that all his property, animate and inanimate, was safely shipped, had still time to purchase, for his own and his friend's edification, theJacobin, theBlunder and Bluster, theInexpressible, and other popular papers, which an infinity of dirty boys were crying at the top of their not very harmonious voices.
"Our people do business pretty fast," said he, in a somewhat triumphant tone. "How this would astonish them on the Continent! See there!" as a family, still later than his own, arrived with a small mountain of trunks, all of which made their way on board as if they had wings. "When I traveled in Germany two years ago with Mrs. B. and her sister, we had eleven packages, and it used to take half-an-hour at every place to weigh and ticket them beforehand, not withstanding which one or two would get lost every now and then. In my own country I have traveled in all directions with large parties, never have been detained five minutes for baggage, and never lost anything except once—an umbrella. Now we are going."
The mate cried, "All ashore!" the newsboys and apple-venders disappeared; the planks were drawn in; the long, spidery walking-beam began to play; and the Swallow had started with her five hundred passengers.
"Let us stroll around the boat: I want to show you how we get up these things here."
The ladies' cabin on deck and the two general cabins below were magnificently furnished with the most expensive material, and in the last Parisian style, and this display and luxury were the more remarkable as the fare was but twelve shillings for a hundred and sixty miles. Ashburner admitted that the furniture was very elegant, but thought it out of place, and altogether too fine for the purpose.
"So you would say, probably, that the profuse and varied dinner we shall have is thrown away on the majority of the passengers, who bolt it in half-an-hour. But there are some who habitually appreciate the dinner and the furniture: it does them good, and it does the others no harm,—nay, it doesthemgood, too.The wild man from the West, who has but recently learned to walk on his hind legs, is dazzled with these sofas and mirrors, and respects them more than he would more ordinary furniture. At any rate, it's a fault on right side. The furniture of an English hotel is enough to give a traveler a fit of the blues, such an extreme state of fustiness it is sure to be in. Did it ever strike you, by the way, how behindhand your countrymen are in the matter of hotels? When a traveller passes from England into Belgium (putting France out of the question), it is like going from Purgatory into Paradise."
"I don't think I ever stayed at a London hotel."
"Of course not; when your governor was out of town, and you not with him, you had your club. This is exactly what all travelers in England complain of. Everything for the exclusive use of the natives is good—except the water, and of that you don't use much in the way of a beverage; everything particularly tending to the comfort of strangers and sojourners—as the hotels, for instance, is bad, dear, and uncomfortable. I don't think you like to have foreigners among you, for your arrangements are calculated to drive them out of the country as fast as possible!"
"Perhaps we don't, as a general principle," said Ashburner, smiling.
"Well, I won't say that it is not the wisest policy. We have suffered much by being too liberal to foreigners. But then you must not be surprised at what they say about you. However, it is not worth while to lose the view for our discussion. Come up-stairs and take a good look at the river of rivers."
Ashburner felt no disposition to deny the beauty and grandeur of the Hudson. At first, the shore was lined with beetling ramparts of trap-rock. After many miles of this, the clear water spread out into a great lake, with apparently no egress. But on turning a promontory, the river stretched away nearly as wide as before, under wooded cliffs not dissimilar to those of the Rhine. Then came the picturesque Catskill mountains; and near these Harry was to stop, but Ashburner did not stop with him. At West Point the boat had taken up, among other passengers, two young officers of his acquaintance, then quartered in Canada. They were going to take the tour of the lakes, including, of course, Niagara, and offered Ashburner, if he would accompany them on this excursion first, to show him the lions of Canada afterward. On consulting with Benson, he found that the trip would not occupy more than a month or five weeks, and that after that time the watering-place season would be at its height.
"And it will be an excuse for my staying with Carl till August," Harry continued. "The women are half crazy to be at Oldport already. I would rather stay at Ravenswood. We shall expect you there at the end of July. But," and here, for the first time since their acquaintance, Ashburner perceived a slight embarrassment in his manner, "don't bring your friends."
"Oh, dear, no!" said Ashburner, not comprehending what could have put such a thing into the other's head, or what was coming next.
"I don't mean to Ravenswood, but to Oldport; that is, if you can help their coming. To tell you the truth, your university men, and literary men generally, are popular enough here, but your army is in very bad odor. The young fellows who come down among us from Canada behave shockingly. They don't act like gentlemen or Christians."
Ashburner hastened to assure him that Captain Blank and Lieutenant Dash were both gentlemen and Christians, in the ordinary acceptation of the terms, and had never been known to misconduct themselves in any way.
"Doubtless, inasmuch as they are your friends, but the general principle remains the same. So many of your young officers have misconducted themselves that theprimâ facieevidence is always against one of them, and he stands a chance of being coolly treated."
Ashburner wanted to know what the young officers had done.
"Everything they could do to go counter to the habits and prejudices of the people among whom they were, and to show their contempt of American society; to act, in short, as if they were among uncivilized people. For instance, it is a custom at these watering-place hotels to dress for thetable-d'hôte. Now, I do not think it altogether reasonable that a man should be expected to make his evening toilet by three in the afternoon, and, indeed, I do not strictly conform to the rule myself. But these men came in with flannel shirts and dirty shoes, and altogether in a state unfit for ladies' company. Perhaps, however, we were too fastidious in this. But what do you say to a youngster's seating himself upon a piano in the public parlor, while a lady is playing on it?"
Ashburner allowed that it was rather unceremonious.
"By various similar acts, trivial, perhaps, individually, but forming a very disagreeable aggregate, these young men made themselves so unpopular that one season the ladies, by common consent, refused to dance with any of them. But there is worse behind. These gentlemen, so stupid in a drawing-room, are sharp enough in borrowing money, and altogether oblivious of repaying it."
Ashburner remembered the affair of Ensign Lawless, and made up his mind to undergo another repetition of it.
"I don't speak of my individual case, the thing has happened fifty times. I could tell of a dozen friends who have been victimized in this way during the last three years. In fact, I believe that yourjeunes militaireshave formed a league to avenge the Mississippi bondholders, and recover their lost money under the form of these nominal loans. Youmay think it poetic justice, but we New Yorkers have no fancy to pay the Mississippians' debts in this way."
It would be foreign to our present purpose to accompany Ashburner in his Northwestern and Canadian tour. Suffice it to say, that he returned by the first of August, very much pleased, having seen many things well worth seeing, and experienced no particular annoyance, except the one predicted by Benson, that he sometimeshad to take care of his servant. Neither shall we say much of his visit to Ravenswood, where, indeed, he only spent a few hours, arriving there in the morning and leaving it in the afternoon of the same day, and had merely time to partake of a capital lunch, and to remark that his entertainer had a beautiful place and a handsome wife, and was something like his younger brother, but more resembling an Englishman than any American he had yet seen.
The party to Oldport was increased by the addition of Miss Vanderlyn, a tall, stylish girl, more striking than her sister, but less delicately beautiful. Though past twenty, she had been out only one season, having been kept back three years by various accidents. But though new to society, she had nothing of the book-muslin timidity about her; nor was she at all abashed by the presence of the titled foreigner. On the contrary, she addressed him with perfect ease of manner, in French, professing, as an apology for conversing in that language, a fear that he might not be able to understand her English,—"Parceque chez vous, on dit que nous autres Americaines, ne parlons pas l'Anglais comme il faut."
As we are not writing a handbook or geographical account of the Northern States, it will not be necessary to mention where the fashionable watering-place of Oldport Springs is situated—not even what State it is in—suffice it to say, that from Carl Benson's place thither was a day's journey, performed partly by steamboat, partly by rail, and the last forty miles by stage-coach, or, as the Americans say, "for shortness," by stage. The water portion of their journey was soon over, nor did Ashburner much regret it, for he had been over this part of the route before on his way to Canada, and the river is not remarkably beautiful above the Catskill range.
On taking the cars, Benson seized the opportunity to enlighten his friend with a quantity of railroad statistics and gossip, such as, that the American trains averaged eighteen miles an hour, including stoppages,—about two miles short of the steamboat average; that they cost about one-fifth of an English road, or a dollar for a pound, which accounted for their deficiency in some respects; that there were more than three thousand miles of rail in the country; that there was no division of first, second, and third class, but that some lines had ladies cars—that is to say, cars for the gentlemen with ladies and the ladies without gentlemen—and some had separate cars for the ladies and gentlemen of color; that there had been some attempts to get up smoking-cars after the German fashion, but the public mind was not yet fully prepared for it; that one of the southern lines had tried the experiment of introducing arestaurantand other conveniences, with tolerable success; and other facts of more or less interest. Ashburner for his part, on examining his ticket, found upon the back of it a list of all the stations on the route, with their times and distances—a very convenient arrangement; and he was also much amused at the odd names of some of the stations—Nineveh, Pompey, Africa, Cologne, and others equally incongruous.
"Don't be afraid of laughing," said Benson, who guessed what he was smiling at. "Whenever I am detained at a country tavern, if there duly happens to be a good-sized map of the United States there, I have enough to amuse me in studying the different styles of names in the different sections of the Union—different in style, but alike in impropriety. In our State, as you know, the fashion is for classical and oriental names. In New England there is a goodly amount of old English appellations, but often sadly misapplied; for instance, an inland town will be called Falmouth, or Oldport, like the place we are going to. The aboriginal names, often very harmonious, had been generally displaced, except in Maine, where they are particularly long, and jaw-breaking, such asWinnipiscoggirandChargogagog. Still we have some very pretty Indian names left in New York;Ontario, for instance, andOneida, andNiagara, which you who have been there know is
Pronounced Niágara,To rhyme withstaggerer,And not Niagára,To rhyme withstarer."
Pronounced Niágara,To rhyme withstaggerer,And not Niagára,To rhyme withstarer."
"What doesNiagaramean?"
"Broken water, I believe; but one gets so many different meanings for these names, from those who profess to know more or less about the native dialects, that you can never be certain. For instance, a great many will tell you, on Chateaubriand's authority, thatMississippimeansFather of the waters. Some years ago one of our Indian scholars stated that this was an error; that the literal meaning of Mississippi wasold-big-strong—not quite so poetic an appellation. I asked Albert Gallatin about it at the time—he was considered our best man on such subjects—and he told me that the word, or words, for the name is made up of two, signifiedthe entire river. This is a fair specimen of the answers you get. I never had the same explanation of an Indian name given me by two men who pretended to understand the Indian languages."
"What rule does a gentleman adopt in naming his country-seat when he acquires a new one, or is there any rule?"
"There are two natural and proper expedients, one to take the nearest aboriginal name that is pretty and practicable, the other to adopt the name from some naturalfeature. Of this latter we have two very neat examples in the residences of our two greatest statesmen, Clay and Webster, which are calledAshlandandMarshfield—appellations exactly descriptive of the places. But very often mere fancy names are adopted, and frequently in the worst possible taste, by people too who have great taste in other respects. I wanted my brother to call his place Carlsruhe—that would have been literally appropriate, though sounding oddly at first. But as it belonged originally to his father-in-law, it seemed but fair that his wife should have the naming of it, and she wassofond of the Bride of Lammermoor! Well, I hope Carl will set up a few crows some day, just to give a little color to the name. But, after all, what's in a name? We are to stop at Constantinople; if they give us a good supper and bed there (and they will unless the hotel is much altered for the worse within two years), they may call the town Beelzebub for me."
But Benson reckoned without his host. They were fated to pass the night, not at Constantinople, but at the rising village of Hardscrabble, consisting of a large hotel and a small blacksmith's shop.
Thecontretempshappened in this wise. The weather was very hot—it always is from the middle of June to the middle of September—but this day had been particularly sultry, and toward evening oppressed nature found relief in a thunder-storm, and such a storm! Ashburner, though anything but a nervous man, was not without some anxiety, and the ladies were in a sad fright; particularly Mrs. Benson, who threatened hysterics, and required a large expenditure of Cologne and caresses to bring her round. At last the train came to a full stop at Hardscrabble, about thirty-six miles on the wrong side of Constantinople. Even before the usual three minutes' halt was over our travelers suspected some accident; their suspicions were confirmed when the three minutes extended to ten, and ultimately the conductor announced that just beyond this station half a mile of the road had been literally washed away, so that further progress was impossible. Fortunately by this time the rain had so far abated that the passengers were able to pass from the shelter of the cars (there was no covered way at the station) to that of the spacious hotelstoopwithout being very much wetted. Benson recollected that there was a canal at no great distance, which, though comparatively disused since the establishment of the railroad, still had some boats on it, and he thought it probable that they might finish their journey in this way—not a very comfortable or expeditious one, but better than standing still. It appeared however on inquiry that the canal was also puthors de combatby the weather, and nothing was to be done that way. Only two courses remained, either to go back to Clinton, or to remain for the night where they were.
"This hotel ought to be able to accommodate us all," remarked a fellow-passenger near them.
He might well say so. The portico under which they stood (built of the purest white pine, and modeled after that of a Grecian temple with eight columns) fronted at least eighty feet. The house was several stories high, and if the front were anything more than a mere shell, must contain rooms for two hundred persons. How the building came into its present situation was a mystery to Ashburner; it looked as if it had been transported bodily from some large town, and set down alone in the wilderness. The probability is, that some speculators, judging from certain signs that a town was likely to arise there soon, had built the hotel so as to be all ready for it.
There was no need to question the landlord: he had already been diligently assuring every one that he could accommodate all the passengers, who indeed did not exceed a hundred in number.
Logicians tell us, that a great deal of the trouble and misunderstanding which exists in this naughty world, arises from men not defining their terms in the outset. The landlord of Hardscrabble had evidently some peculiar ideas of his own as to the meaning of the termaccommodate. The real state of the case was, that he had any quantity of rooms, and a tolerably liberal supply of bedsteads, but his stock of bedding was by no means in proportion; and he was, therefore, compelled to multiply it by process of division, giving the hair mattress to one, the feather bed to another, the straw bed to a third; and so with the pillows and bolsters as far as they would go. This was rather a long process, even with American activity, especially as some of the hands employed were temporarily called off to attend to the supper table.
The meal, which was prepared and eaten with great promptitude, was a mixture of tea and supper. Very good milk, pretty good tea, and pretty bad coffee, represented the drinkables; and for solids, there was a plentiful provision of excellent bread and butter, new cheese, dried beef in very thin slices, or ratherchips, gingerbread, dough-nuts, and other varieties of home-made cake, sundry preserves, and some pickles. The waiters were young women—some of them very pretty and lady-like. The Bensons kept up a conversation with each other and Ashburner in French, which he suspected to be a customary practice of "our set" when in public, as indeed it was, and one which tended not a little to make them unpopular. A well-dressed man opposite looked so fiercely at them that the Englishman thought he might have partially comprehended their discourse and taken offense at it, till he was in a measure reassured by seeing him eat poundcake and cheese together,—a singularity of taste about which he could not help making a remark to Benson.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Harry. "Did you never, when you were on the lakes, see them eat ham and molasses? It is said to be a western practice: I never was there; but I'll tell you what Ihaveseen. A man with cake, cheese, smoked-beef, and preserves, all on his plate together, and paying attention to them all indiscriminately. He was not an American either, but a Creole Frenchman of New Orleans, who had traveled enough to know better."
Soon after supper most of the company seemed inclined bedward; but there were no signs of beds for some time. Benson's party, who were more amused than fatigued by their evening's experience, spread the carpet of resignation, and lit the cigar of philosophy. All the passengers did not take it so quietly. One tall, melancholy-faced man, who looked as if he required twice the ordinary amount of sleep, was especially anxious to know "where they were going to put him."
"Don't be afraid, sir," said the landlord, as he shot across the room on some errand; "we'll tell you before you go to bed." With which safe prediction the discontented one was fain to content himself.
At length, about ten or half-past, the rooms began to be in readiness, and their occupants to be marched off to them in squads of six or eight at a time,—the long corridors and tall staircases of the hotel requiring considerable pioneering and guidance. Benson's party came among the last. Having examined the room assigned to the ladies, Harry reported it to contain one bed and half a washstand; from which he and Ashburner had some misgivings as to their own accommodation, but were not exactly prepared for what followed, when a small boy with a tallow candle and face escorted them up three flights of stairs into a room containing two small beds and a large spittoon, and not another single article of furniture.
"I say, boy!" quoth Benson, in much dudgeon, turning to their chamberlain, "suppose we should want to wash in the morning, what are we to do?"
"I don't know, sir," answered the boy; and depositing the candle on the floor, disappeared in the darkness.
"By Jove!" ejaculated the fastidious youth, "there isn't as much as a hook in the wall to hang one's coat on. It's lucky we brought up our carpet-bags with us, else we should have to look out a clean spot on the floor for our clothes."
Ashburner was not very much disconcerted. He had traveled in so many countries, notwithstanding his youth, that he could pass his nights anyhow. In fact, he had never been at a loss for sleep in his life, except on one occasion, when, in Galway, a sofa was assigned to him at one side of a small parlor, on the other side of which three Irish gentlemen were making a night of it.
So they said their prayers, and went to bed, like good boys. But their slumbers were not unbroken. Ashburner dreamed that he was again in Venice, and that the musquitoes of that delightful city, of whose venomousness and assiduity he retained shuddering recollections, were making an onslaught upon him in great numbers; while Benson awoke toward morning with a great outcry; in apology for which he solemnly assured his friend, that two seconds before he was in South Africa, where a lion of remarkable size and ferocity had caught him by the leg. And on rising they discovered some spots of blood on the bed-clothes, showing that their visions had not been altogether without foundation in reality.
The Hardscrabble hotel, grand in its general outlines, had overlooked the trifling details of wash-stands and chamber crockery. Such of these articles as itdidpossess, were very properly devoted to the use of the ladies; and accordingly Ashburner and Benson, and forty-five more, performed their matutinal ablutions over a tin basin in the bar-room, where Harry astonished the natives by the production of his own particular towel and pocket comb. The weather had cleared up beautifully, the railroad was repaired, and the train ready to start as soon as breakfast was over. After this meal, as miscellaneous as their last night's supper, while the passengers were discharging their reckoning, Ashburner noticed that his friend was unusually fussy and consequential, asked several questions, and made several remarks in a loud tone, and altogether seemed desirous of attracting attention. When it came to his turn to pay, he told out the amount, not in the ordinary dirty bills, but in hard, ringing half-dollars, which had the effect of drawing still further notice upon him.
"Five dollars and a quarter," said Benson, in a measured and audible tone; "and, Landlord, here's a quarter extra."
The landlord looked up in surprise; so did the two or three men standing nearest Harry.
"It's to buy beef with, to feed 'em. Feed 'em well now, don't forget!"
"Feed 'em! feed who?" and the host looked as if he thought his customer crazy.
"Feedwho? Why look here!" and bending over the counter, Harry uttered a portentous monosyllable, in a pretended whisper, but really as audible to the bystanders as a stage aside. Three or four of those nearest exploded.
"Yes, feed 'emwellbefore you put anybody into your beds again, or you'll have to answer for the death of a fellow-Christian some day, that's all. Good morning!" And taking his wife under his arm, Benson stalked off to the cars with a patronizing farewell nod, amid a sympathetic roar, leaving the host irresolute whether to throw a decanter after him, or to join in the general laugh.
Hook and one of his friends happened to come to a bridge. "Do you know who built this bridge?" said he to Hook. "No, but if you go over you'll be tolled."
[From the December number of Graham's Magazine.]TO A CELEBRATED SINGER.
BY R.H. STODDARD.
OFT have I dreamed of music rare and fine,The wedded melody of lute and voice,Divinest strains that made my soul rejoice,And woke its inner harmonies divine.And where Sicilia smooths the ruffled seas,And Tempe hallows all its purple vales,Thrice have I heard the noble nightingales,All night entranced beneath the gloomy trees;But music, nightingales, and all that ThoughtConceives of song is naughtTo thy rich voice, which echoes in my brain,And fills my longing heart with a melodious pain!
A thousand lamps were lit—I saw them not—Nor all the thousands round me like a sea,Life, Death and Time, and all things were forgot;I only thought of thee!Meanwhile the music rose sublime and strong,But sunk beneath thy voice which rose alone,Above its crumbled fragments to thy throne,Above the clouds of Song.Henceforth let Music seal her lips, and beThe silent Ministrant of Poesy;For not the delicate reed that Pan did playTo partial Midas at the match of old,Nor yet Apollo's lyre, with chords of gold,That more than won the crown he lost that day;Nor even the Orphean lute, that half set free—Oh why not all?—the lost Eurydice—Were fit to join with thee;Much less our instruments of meaner sound,That track thee slowly o'er enchanted ground,Unfit to lift the train thy music leaves,Or glean around its sheaves!I strive to disentangle in my mindThy many-knotted threads of softest song,Whose memory haunts me like a voiceless wind,Whose silence does it wrong.No single tone thereof, no perfect soundLingers, but dim remembrance of the whole;A sound which was a Soul.The Soul of sound diffused an atmosphere aroundSo soft, so sweet, so mellow, rich and deep!So like a heavenly soul's ambrosial breath,It would not wake but only deepen SleepInto diviner Death!Softer and sweeter than the jealous flute,Whose soft, sweet voice grew harsh before its own,It stole in mockery its every tone,And left it lone and mute;It flowed like liquid pearl through golden cells,It jangled like a string of golden bells,It trembled like a wind in golden strings,It dropped and rolled away in golden rings;Then it divided and became a shout,That Echo chased about,However wild and fleet,Until it trod upon its heels with flying feet!At last it sunk and sunk from deep to deep,Below the thinnest word,And sunk till naught was heard,But charméd Silence sighing in its sleep!Powerless and mute beneath thy mighty spell,My heart was lost within itself and thee,As when a pearl is melted in its shell,And sunken in the sea!I sunk, and sunk beneath thy song, but stillI thirsted after more, the more I sank;A flower that drooped with all the dew it drank,But still upheld its cup for Heaven to fill;My inmost soul was drunk with melody,Which thou didst pour around,To crown the feast of sound,And lift to every lip, but chief to me,Whose spirit uncontrolled,Drained all the fiery wine and clutched its cup of gold!Would I could only hear thee once again,But once again, and pine into the air,And fade away with all this hopeless pain,This hope divine, and this divine despair!If we were only Voices, if our mindsWere only voices, what a life were ours!My soul would woo thee in the vernal winds,And thine would answer me in summer showers,At morn and even, when the east and westWere bathed in floods of purple poured from Heaven,We would delay the Morn upon its nest,And fold the wings of Even!All day we'd fly with azure wings unfurled,And gird a belt of Song about the world;All night we'd teach the winds of night a tune,While charméd oceans slept beneath a yellow moon!And when aweary grown of earthly sport,We'd wind our devious flight from star to star,Till we beheld the palaces afar,Where Music holds her court.Entered and beckoned up the aisles of sound,Where starry melodies are marshaled round,We'd kneel before her throne with eager dread,And when she kissed us melt in trances deep,While angels bore us to her bridal bed,And sung our souls asleep!O Queen of Song! as peerless as thou art,As worthy as thou art to wear thy crown,Thou hast a deeper claim to thy renown,And a diviner music in thy heart;Simplicity and goodness walk with thee,Beneath the wings of watchful Seraphim:And Love is wed to whitest Chastity,And Pity sings its hymn.Nor is thy goodness passive in its end,But ever active as the sun and rain—Unselfish, lavish of its golden gain—Not want alone, but a whole nation's—Friend!This is thy glory, this thy noblest fame;And when thy glory fades, and fame departs,This will perpetuate a deathless name,Where names are deathless—deep in loving hearts!
A thousand lamps were lit—I saw them not—Nor all the thousands round me like a sea,Life, Death and Time, and all things were forgot;I only thought of thee!Meanwhile the music rose sublime and strong,But sunk beneath thy voice which rose alone,Above its crumbled fragments to thy throne,Above the clouds of Song.Henceforth let Music seal her lips, and beThe silent Ministrant of Poesy;For not the delicate reed that Pan did playTo partial Midas at the match of old,Nor yet Apollo's lyre, with chords of gold,That more than won the crown he lost that day;Nor even the Orphean lute, that half set free—Oh why not all?—the lost Eurydice—Were fit to join with thee;Much less our instruments of meaner sound,That track thee slowly o'er enchanted ground,Unfit to lift the train thy music leaves,Or glean around its sheaves!
I strive to disentangle in my mindThy many-knotted threads of softest song,Whose memory haunts me like a voiceless wind,Whose silence does it wrong.No single tone thereof, no perfect soundLingers, but dim remembrance of the whole;A sound which was a Soul.The Soul of sound diffused an atmosphere aroundSo soft, so sweet, so mellow, rich and deep!So like a heavenly soul's ambrosial breath,It would not wake but only deepen SleepInto diviner Death!Softer and sweeter than the jealous flute,Whose soft, sweet voice grew harsh before its own,It stole in mockery its every tone,And left it lone and mute;It flowed like liquid pearl through golden cells,It jangled like a string of golden bells,It trembled like a wind in golden strings,It dropped and rolled away in golden rings;Then it divided and became a shout,That Echo chased about,However wild and fleet,Until it trod upon its heels with flying feet!At last it sunk and sunk from deep to deep,Below the thinnest word,And sunk till naught was heard,But charméd Silence sighing in its sleep!
Powerless and mute beneath thy mighty spell,My heart was lost within itself and thee,As when a pearl is melted in its shell,And sunken in the sea!I sunk, and sunk beneath thy song, but stillI thirsted after more, the more I sank;A flower that drooped with all the dew it drank,But still upheld its cup for Heaven to fill;My inmost soul was drunk with melody,Which thou didst pour around,To crown the feast of sound,And lift to every lip, but chief to me,Whose spirit uncontrolled,Drained all the fiery wine and clutched its cup of gold!
Would I could only hear thee once again,But once again, and pine into the air,And fade away with all this hopeless pain,This hope divine, and this divine despair!If we were only Voices, if our mindsWere only voices, what a life were ours!My soul would woo thee in the vernal winds,And thine would answer me in summer showers,At morn and even, when the east and westWere bathed in floods of purple poured from Heaven,We would delay the Morn upon its nest,And fold the wings of Even!All day we'd fly with azure wings unfurled,And gird a belt of Song about the world;All night we'd teach the winds of night a tune,While charméd oceans slept beneath a yellow moon!And when aweary grown of earthly sport,We'd wind our devious flight from star to star,Till we beheld the palaces afar,Where Music holds her court.Entered and beckoned up the aisles of sound,Where starry melodies are marshaled round,We'd kneel before her throne with eager dread,And when she kissed us melt in trances deep,While angels bore us to her bridal bed,And sung our souls asleep!
O Queen of Song! as peerless as thou art,As worthy as thou art to wear thy crown,Thou hast a deeper claim to thy renown,And a diviner music in thy heart;Simplicity and goodness walk with thee,Beneath the wings of watchful Seraphim:And Love is wed to whitest Chastity,And Pity sings its hymn.Nor is thy goodness passive in its end,But ever active as the sun and rain—Unselfish, lavish of its golden gain—Not want alone, but a whole nation's—Friend!This is thy glory, this thy noblest fame;And when thy glory fades, and fame departs,This will perpetuate a deathless name,Where names are deathless—deep in loving hearts!
[From Miss McIntosh's "Christmas Gift."]THE WOLF-CHASE.
BY C. WHITEHEAD.
DURING the winter of 1844, being engaged in the northern part of Maine, I had much leisure to devote to the wild sports of a new country. To none of these was I more passionately addicted than to skating. The deep and sequestered lakes of this State, frozen by the intense cold of a northern winter, present a wide field to the lovers of this pastime. Often would I bind on my skates, and glide away up the glittering river, and wind each mazy streamlet that flowed beneath its fetters on toward the parent ocean, forgetting all the while time and distance in the luxurious sense of the gliding motion—thinking of nothing in the easy flight, but rather dreaming, as I looked through the transparent ice at the long weeds and cresses that nodded in the current beneath, and seemed wrestling with the waves to let them go; or I would follow on the track of some fox or otter, and run my skate along the mark he had left with his dragging tail until the trail would enter the woods. Sometimes these excursions were made by moonlight, and it was on one of these occasions that I had a rencounter, which even now, with kind faces around me, I cannot recall without a nervous looking-over-my-shoulder feeling.
I had left my friend's house one evening just before dusk, with the intention of skating a short distance up the noble Kennebec, which glided directly before the door. The night was beautifully clear. A peerless moon rode through an occasional fleecy cloud, and stars twinkled from the sky and from every frost-covered tree in millions. Your mind would wonder at the light that came glinting from ice, and snow-wreath, and incrusted branches, as the eye followed for miles the broad gleam of the Kennebec, that like a jeweled zone swept between the mighty forests on its banks. And yet all was still. The cold seemed to have frozen tree, and air, and water, and every living thing thatmoved. Even the ringing of my skates on the ice echoed back from the Moccasin Hill with a startling clearness, and the crackle of the ice as I passed over it in my course seemed to follow the tide of the river with lightning speed.
I had gone up the river nearly two miles when, coming to a little stream which empties into the larger, I turned in to explore its course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth met overhead, and formed an archway radiant with frost-work. All was dark within, but I was young and fearless, and as I peered into an unbroken forest that reared itself on the borders of the stream, I laughed with very joyousness: my wild hurra rang through the silent woods, and I stood listening to the echo that reverberated again and again, until all was hushed. I thought how often the Indian hunter had concealed himself behind these very trees—how often his arrow had pierced the deer by this very stream, and his wild halloo had here rung for his victory. And then, turning from fancy to reality, I watched a couple of white owls, that sat in their hooded state, with ruffled pantalets and long ear-tabs, debating in silent conclave the affairs of their frozen realm, and wondering if they, "for all their feathers, were a-cold," when suddenly a sound arose—it seemed to me to come from beneath the ice; it sounded low and tremulous at first, until it ended in one wild yell. I was appalled. Never before had such a noise met my ears. I thought it more than mortal—so fierce, and amid such an unbroken solitude, it seemed as if a fiend had blown a blast from an infernal trumpet. Presently I heard the twigs on shore snap, as if from the tread of some animal, and the blood rushed back to my forehead with a bound that made my skin burn, and I felt relieved that I had to contend with things earthly, and not of spiritual nature—my energies returned, and I looked around me for some means of escape. The moon shone through the opening at the mouth of the creek by which I had entered the forest, and considering this the best means of escape, I darted toward it like an arrow. 'Twas hardly a hundred yards distant, and the swallow could scarcely excel my desperate flight; yet, as I turned my head to the shore, I could see two dark objects dashing through the underbrush at a pace nearly double in speed to my own. By this great speed, and the short yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once that these were the much dreaded gray wolf.
I had never met with these animals, but from the description given of them I had but little pleasure in making their acquaintance. Their untamable fierceness, and the untiring strength which seems part of their nature, render them objects of dread to every benighted traveler.
"With their long gallop, which can tireThe deer-hound's hate, the hunter's fire,"
they pursue their prey—never straying from the track of their victim—and as the wearied hunter thinks he has at last outstripped them, he finds that they but waited for the evening to seize their prey, and falls a prize to the tireless animals.
The bushes that skirted the shore flew past with the velocity of lightning as I dashed on in my flight to pass the narrow opening. The outlet was nearly gained; one second more and I would be comparatively safe, when my pursuers appeared on the bank directly above me, which here rose to the height of ten feet. There was no time for thought, so I bent my head and dashed madly forward. The wolves sprang, but miscalculating my speed, sprang behind, while their intended prey glided out upon the river.
Nature turned me toward home. The light flakes of snow spun from the iron of my skates, and I was some distance from my pursuers, when their fierce howl told me I was still their fugitive. I did not look back, I did not feel afraid, or sorry, or glad; one thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my return, of their tears if they never should see me, and then every energy of body and mind was exerted for escape. I was perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days that I spent on my good skates, never thinking that at one time they would be my only means of safety. Every half minute an alternate yelp from my fierce attendants made me but too certain that they were in close pursuit. Nearer and nearer they came; I heard their feet pattering on the ice nearer still, until I could feel their breath and hear their snuffing scent. Every nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to the utmost tension.
The trees along the shore seemed to dance in the uncertain light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed, yet still they seemed to hiss forth their breath with a sound truly horrible, when an involuntary motion on my part turned me out of my course. The wolves close behind, unable to stop, and as unable to turn on the smooth ice, slipped and fell, still going on far ahead; their tongues were lolling out, their white tusks glaring from their bloody mouths, their dark, shaggy breasts were fleeced with foam, and as they passed me their eyes glared, and they howled with fury. The thought flashed on my mind, that by this means I could avoid them, viz., by turning aside whenever they came too near; for they, by the formation of their feet, are unable to run on ice except on a straight line.
I immediately acted upon this plan. The wolves, having regained their feet, sprang directly toward me. The race was renewed for twenty yards up the stream; they were already close on my back, when I glided round and dashed directly past my pursuers. A fierce yell greeted my evolution, and the wolves, slipping upon their haunches, sailed onward, presenting a perfect picture of helplessness and baffled rage. Thus I gained nearly a hundred yards at each turning.This was repeated two or three times, every moment the animals getting more excited and baffled.
At one time, by delaying my turning too long, my fierce antagonists came so near, that they threw the white foam over my dress as they sprang to seize me, and their teeth clashed together like the spring of a fox-trap. Had my skates failed for one instant, had I tripped on a stick, or caught my foot in a fissure in the ice, the story I am now telling would never have been told. I thought all the chances over; I knew where they would first take hold of me if I fell; I thought how long it would be before I died, and when there would be a search for the body that would already have its tomb; for oh! how fast man's mind traces out all the dead colors of death's picture, only those who have been near the grim original can tell.
But soon I came opposite the house, and my hounds—I knew their deep voices—roused by the noise, bayed furiously from the kennels. I heard their chains rattle; how I wished they would break them, and then I would have protectors that would be peers to the fiercest denizens of the forest. The wolves, taking the hint conveyed by the dogs, stopped in their mad career, and after a moment's consideration, turned and fled. I watched them until their dusky forms disappeared over a neighboring hill. Then, taking off my skates, I wended my way to the house, with feelings which may be better imagined than described.
But even yet, I never see a broad sheet of ice in the moonshine, without thinking of that snuffling breath and those fearful things that followed me so closely down the frozen Kennebec.