SCENES AND INCIDENTS IN AMERICAN HISTORY. THE No. V. HE State House, or Independence Hall, of Philadelphia, is one of the most interesting architectural relics of the past existing amongst us. It was commenced in 1729, but was not completed until 1734. The two wings, however, were not erected until 1740. The structure was an exceedingly imposing one for the times; indeed it was the greatest attempt at architectural display made previous to the present century. The size, style, and the richness of its appointments are excellent evidence of the public spirit of our forefathers. But what gives to this building a more than ordi nary interest, and what will preserve its history through all time, is its association with one of the grandest events in the history of our country In the east room of the first story the assembled representation of the colonies passed the Declaration of Independence This will always make it a memorable and sacred structure. So long as a stone remains, or the spot where the building stands can be recognized, it will awaken sensations of patriotism and pleasure to Americans who gaze upon it. THE THE CORDILLERAS. did you not get off the mule at once, and pass dangerHE path, indeed, had become so narrow, that it ous places on foot? Simply, my reader, in the first seemd to me, as it wound itself round a pro- place, because the danger is the same for many miles; jecting rock, absolutely to terminate. I could see and secondly, because those men who pass their lives nothing more than a thin light streak, as if drawn with in leading travellers over these mountains, know best a piece of chalk, and I could not believe that this was where to walk, and where to ride; and I followed the our path. The rock round which it went did not show example my guide set me. Nor, to tell the truth, did the least cut or notch where even a goat could have I at the moment think of anything but my mule, as he planted its feet, let alone our clumsy mules. The little moved slowly, step by step, round the yawning abyss, crumbling pieces of stone which our mules' hoofs with scarcely three inches to spare on either side. kicked over the precipice made me sensible of the As we proceeded, the path got still narrower, the danger, falling straight down to a depth that my blood abyss seemed deeper; and looking down once, befroze to think of. But this was no place to stop at; and tween the mule's side and my stirrups, I saw below in [INDEPENDENCE HALL.] the deep hollow a perfect heap of skeletons - mules that must have tumbled down since the last flood-or their bones would have been washed away. In my horror, I forgot the warning of the vaquiano, and grasping the reins of my mule, tried to turn it away from the edge, which seemed to me as if it must crumble beneath its next step. My imprudence was near being fatal to me, for turning the head of my mule away from the precipice, it lost its sure footing, stepped aside, and striking the saddle-bags against the rock, it stumbled forward, and-no, dear reader, no such thing we did not tumble.The mule planted its fore hoofs on a firm part of the crumbling ledge, and lifted itself up again, just as a small piece of stone, loosened by the effort, fell noiselessly from the path, and springing from under us, toppled over, and struck long afterwards with a dull hollow sound into the deep. I need not be ashamed to say that this little incident made me tremble, and I thought the blood became stagnant in my veins. -F. Gerstaecker. "In the upper story is the 'lobby,' famed in colonial times as being the scene of many a sumptuous feast.The large room to the westward was the Senate Chamber of the first Congress. In the rooms fronting Chestnut street, to the east, the Committees of Congress in 1776 met to prepare their various reports. The 'lobby' at that time extended the entire length of the building eastward from the landing; a room is now partitioned off it. In this lobby the AmeriDrawn by Devereaux expressly for the New York Journal. can officers, captured at the battle of Germantown, were confined. In it, too, many | I observed closely the cautious manner in which my a noble fellow, wounded at Brandywine, breathed his guide raised himself in his right stirrup, not doubting R that we were now at the spot of which he had told me The present steeple was erected in 1828, the origi- before, and where the mules and riders were often nal one being found in a state of decay. It is as near thrown over. I was therefore careful not to irritate like the old one as circumstances would admit. The my mule at a place where it certainly knew better how panoramic view of the city which it affords is very to go than I did—accidents having happened from trabeautiful. vellers pulling their bridles at the wrong time. My The original cost of the structure was £5,600. The guide went on very coolly along a trail where mules and then, hey for other quarters. In this unsettled plan was from designs by J. Kearsely. Although the had to keep the very edge of the precipice. Mules sort of life I pick up many acquaintances, although I building has been frequently renovated, it presents the frequently carry a load over this track, when they are am deprived of the nearer ties of friendship; I also same appearance now that it did on that memorable very careful not to knock against the overhanging occasionally meet with an adventure or two, but I beoccasion, when was enacted the scene which has so rock, as the least push would send them over the pre-lieve that the times are greatly altered, and that real consecrated its old walls. cipice. Our mules, it is true, had no load, but they sentimental journeys in France, affairs with brigands last." were accustomed to carry one; and therefore kept the extreme edge, to my great discomposure. But I left When a young lady falls into hysterics, or faints, it entirely to its own instinct, only lifting my left foot you may safely look upon it, without being in the in the stirrup, as I saw the vaquiano do, so that, in least accused of a want of charity, as a sign of ex- case of accident, I might throw myself off its back, treme weakness on her part. and cling to the rock. But why, the reader may ask, A MARRIAGE IN ORNEILLE. ETIRING early from the worry of a professional life-and from, perhaps, the most exacting of all, that of a medical man-I have resolved, with what I consider commendable philosophy, to spend a tolerably good income in ministering to my propensity for travel, and I therefore wander about whither chance or fancy directs me, staying as long as it is agreeable, in Italy and Spain, or supernatural visitations in Germany, may no longer be expected by the fast travellers who whiz over the surface of the Continent. The dottings down in my journal, also, of course, partake of some of the sameness which characterises those of every modern traveller; however, upon turn ing over the leaves, the following trifle struck me as approaching, in some measure, to the highly spiced quality which is generally required, and I, therefore, willingly give it publicity. The little affair happened to me at Orneille, a town situated in the Gulf of Genes, in the Mediterranean. I arrived there late in the autumn of 1947, and proceeded to deliver a letter of introduction to Signor Matteo Pedamonte, who was one of the richest proprietors of the country. I found him, however, in the midst of his nuptial preparations, and could, of course, not reckon upon receiving any particular attentions from him under such circumstances; therefore, after felicitating him upon the happy occasion, I was about to retire, but he strenuously insisted that, as I was known to his dearest friend, I should take up my quarters at his house and, moreover, if I had no objection, should fill the place of father in the ceremony, for, said he, "I am an orphan and have no relations." However little I might have been flattered at being considered of an age to impersonate the papa, I was, nevertheless, grateful for the friendly attention, and at once consented. This Matteo was a handsome bachelor of about twenty-five years, dark complexion, and bold aspect, and his whole appearance betokened contentment and joy. "Monsieur," said I, "you are, doubtless, greatly attached to your bride." "Oh, yes! It is a marriage of love; she has nothing but that which surpasses riches to offer mebeauty, intelligence, and a loving heart-but I once feared that I never should win her." 66 "But," said he, lowering his voice, "speak, my dearest, and let me know this mystery." "Matteo," said she, in a tone which was evidently meant to console his agitated feelings, "you are aware of the former feud that existed between our families; that these vineyards were once my father's." True, dearest Louisa, but your father became indebted to mine far beyond their value." "I know it, Matteo, but everything connected with that debt was a wound to my mother's feelings, the debt itself and the manner in which it was paid; and that is not all, Matteo, there is blood between our families, and what blood, good Heavens! that of my father. "It is true, Louisa; but-" Yes," exclaimed the young girl with excitement, "a mistress beloved by them both, they fought, and your father killed mine; these are motives which should have separated us. The mother and children ruined by a gambling debt to your parent, and then deprived by him of a husband whom, notwithstanding his misconduct, she adored." "I know all this, Louisa, as also that, though at first shunning your family, I have been irresistibly drawn to you by the fascination of your great beauty; that though at first repulsed, then coldly received, I was at length accepted by your mother; and trusted, though I could not render her back a husband, to give her a dutiful son, and kind support to her old age, nay, share all that I have with her." his bride. We mounted in his coach, and were driven off to the outskirts of the town, and the carriage stopped before a small house, evidently belonging to but poor occupants. It was the home of his bride, and as we entered I was introduced to Louisa, her mother and family; and my feelings were equally divided between admiration at the beauty and charming simplicity of the one, and horror as I regarded the premeditated murders, not that the mother presented the repulsive traits that might naturally have been expected to be connected with such a mind. I had, however, determined that he should quit the country with me, and intended immediately after the ceremony, to give orders to have a chaise de post ready with relays. The ceremony was not long, and scarcely was it finished ere the marriage party was on its way to Matteo's residence, where a splendid breakfast had been prepared. Louisa, pale and mistrustful, looked as if she were walking to an execution; and I was contemplating the pair with regret, when Matteo came up to me, and said: "Monsieur, go and take up your hiding place of yesterday. You know the beginning of the story; you must know the end." Astonished at the request, and wondering what would now take place, I obeyed his directions; but this time, in placing myself behind the hangings, I made such arrangements as allowed me to see as well as to hear what might take place. Scarcely had I taken up my position ere Matteo re-entered the chamber, followed by his mother-in-law and her brother. Matteo, as soon as he was alone with these two persons, threw himself into the arms of the signora, kissed her wrinkled forehead, and said : "Dear Matteo, well I know the generosity of your character, or I, too, could not have been brought to look with love upon the son of him who deprived me of my father. But listen, my mother has deceived you, she does not for one instant forget her revenge, "Oh! my mother, how great is my happiness: to but religiously cherishes it; and know that in my mar-you I owe the only joy I ever wished-Louisa, your "It was," replied Matteo, "because-but you do riage she only seeks the surer to become your de- daughter, who now is mine only! Oh! a thousand not-there was," and he stopped, muttering some-stroyer. I have hastened to you to-night to inform blessings upon you, who could forget your just hatred thing, and left what he had to say unsaid. "How, you are rich and handsome, and yet despaired ?" Of course I did not ask for any further explanation, and my friend and I having supped, he conducted me to my room, and said he should walk round to the house of his intended that night. I had been in bed about two hours when I was awoke by Signor Matteo hammering at the door. "Monsieur Doctor," said he, "can I come in, I have something of importance to communicate?" Of course I opened the door for my energetic friend, and he rushed into the room, greatly to my discomposure; he seated himself by the window, and buried his face in his hands. "Monsieur," said he, at length, in a voice broken by emotion, "forgive my strange behaviour, forgive me if I seek to make a confidant of you upon such a short acquaintance, but as I have invited you to be a partaker in my happiness, I feel certain that you will not now desert me in my hour of trial." I assured him in the most kindly words I could find of my deep'interest in his welfare. ever. "Well then, Monsieur, consider my affliction when, upon seeing my betrothed this evening, she informed me that a fearful circumstance would separate us for She was pale and agitated, and though I pressed her she would not inform me of her reason, but promised, after her family were asleep, and towards midnight, to visit me and then disclose the fatal secret which oppressed her. Monsieur Doctor, you are a friend sent me by Providence, you shall be my guide and counsel; then place yourself behind these hangings of the wall when she arrives, and you can overhear all, and will know the motives which have caused Louisa to come to this resolution. Make no noise, I will go and meet her." I had not been long in my ambuscade when I heard footsteps, and presently afterwards two persons entered the room "Matteo," said a lovely female voice, after a short pause, "do not think me immodest in visiting you at this hour of night, but, believe me, the urgency of the case alone induces me, for it is only here, unwatched from my family, that I can break to you the dreadful peril which compels me to refuse your hand." Matteo uttered a wild exclamation of despair and dashed his hands upon the table. "But you shall be mine, no power on earth shall prevent it, and if man stand in my way let him beware of Matteo Pedamonte." The savage tone of this exclamation quite assured me that it would be no joke for anybody bold enough to thwart him, and I felt inwardly satisfied that we were upon such good terms. you of a conversation which I have overheard with her brother, and in which, though faintly persuading her against it, he has at length given his consent to poison you; once wedded to me, and they in your house, it is believed that better opportunity will be offered, and suspicion entirely averted from them by reason of the close alliance. Fly, then Matteo, enter not a house in which you will find death, abandon a homicidal betrothal, away, leave me to go alone to the altar to-morrow." "Shall I fly," exclaimed Matteo, "abandon you, and leave you in the hands of these poisoners." 66 They shall know nothing. They believe that I am asleep within my own little chamber. I shall return with as much secrecy as I left." "And to-morrow, as I live, and defy aught that they can do, you shall be mine." "Farewell, Matteo; my heart misgives me; and I see in this the dictates and the just vengeance of Heaven." "Fear not, dearest," said he, and he conducted her to the door; I heard the parting kiss of the two lovers, and he quickly returned, doubtless fearing to accompany her, lest her secret visit should be discovered. The moment he returned he hastened to me, "Mons. Doctor, said he, releasing me from behind the hangings, by which I was half smothered, "You have now heard from the lips of my betrothed the account of the unfortunate position in which I am placed with regard to the family in which I am entering. How I wish that you had seen her, Monsieur, you would then have believed in the feasibility of my infatuation; but what shall I do to avoid this premeditated vengeance?" "You shall leave for Paris, with me," said I. "Your kind hospitality and warm friendship entitle you to this return. I will care for you; and if need be, you shall sell all that you are possessed of here, and establish yourself in France; and, if you please, allow a small annuity to the mother of Louisa." Matteo shook his head mournfully, and with a warm grasp of the hand, which was meant for thanks for my offer and advice, he slowly ascended to his bed room, to pass, as one may well believe, a sad and anxious night enough for the night before his wedding. The next day at early dawn all the bells in the town were ringing for the marriage of Matteo; and getting up I proceeded to dress myself in the most becoming costume for the occasion. Matteo was impatiently awaiting the conclusion of my toilet; and I no sooner descended the stairs, than with true Italian vivacity he embraced me, and jumped and sung, showing but little traces of being affected by the dreadful information which had been revealed to him the night before by for a time, that I might be happy! I shall enjoy it but a little while, I know, but what matters? I am one of those who would give an age for one day of happiness and love." "What is it you say?" exclaimed the signora, endeavoring to escape from the embrace of her son-in-law. "You have your wrongs to revenge,” replied Matteo, "the blood of your husband cries out against me; you wish to poison me." "Who says it, Matteo? who has told you so?" exclaimed the mother, pushing the young man away with affright. 66 Yes," quietly replied Matteo, “your lost fortune, your slain husband, all exact my death at your hands. I know it, and I give myself up, so much do I love Louisa. Another would have fled, I stay; I prefer death to exile; I wish to die under the shades of my beautiful olives, surrounded by the perfumes of my orange trees. Here, my mother, is the disposition of my property; it will belong to Louisa; after my death you too will enjoy it with her; and here is a sure poison, not too painful, and which leaves no external trace of its existence. Take it, but allow me eight days of my life and health, at the expiration of that time you may overwhelm your daughter with grief such as you yourself have experienced; young and beautiful as she is, you may then rob her of a husband." "Oh, heaven!" exclaimed the mother, bursting into tears, "forgive me for having harbored such designs against one who is so worthy, and the spirit of the father of my child will not frown upon this union, which, though it be with the son of his enemy, is with a noble being, and secures the happiness of his Louisa for ever." She sprang towards Matteo, took the vial of poison which he presented to her, and broke it, and seizing the will, she tore it into pieces. It was then that she threw her arms round Matteo, and covered him with kisses. "Let us forget the past, and be henceforward truly my son." At that instant the door of the chamber opened. It was Louisa, pale and trembling, come to seek her husband. Her mother hastened towards her, and, pressing her hand, said to her with expression : "He has just taken thee, and now I give thee to him and freely pardon all the past." The nuptials finished very much to their satisfaction, and to mine. I made the memorandum of it in my journal, which I spoke of at first; and what is further, I have since learned that they talk at Orneille as a wonder of the unalterable friendship of the mother and son-in-law. LIGHTEN THE BOAT! SHAKE hands, pledge hearts, and bid fond adieus, To-morrow, and yon stately ship The kindred whom ye love so well; Breathe hopes, pledge hearts, shake hands. Her freight consists of human souls; Where scarce a human foot has trod Five hundred souls she bears away, Where toil will give them daily bread, The ship speeds on; her sanguine freight, Revelling in the thousand scenes By future hopes unfurled. She creeps along 'mid cloudless calms, Till cheerless days, and nights, and weeks, At length the Captain shouts, "Stand by!" Shipwreck and death! The doom is sealed, A rending peal, a shuddering crash, The shattered bark, with many a soul, Morning breaks o'er the world of waves, One single, tiny boat is all To tell that she has been. A crowded remnant of the wreck With naked life escape, No land for twenty souls-all sea, Lighten the boat! or every soul Inquiring eyes and throbbing hearts À boy sits silent in the bows Bereft of earthly tie; He must be told: "Say, friendless boy, "Why should I die? My father's dead, O! let me not be drowned alone, He pleads in vain. "A moment then, He lightly steps upon the prow, THE CASTLE OF GREIFENSTEIN. A GEEMAN LEGEND. evening, and returned home late at night to think and dream of Rubeta. With the morning resolution came. "She cannot be mine," he said mournfully, "but I Ir was a happy time for the peasantry of Neuburg may at least win a name she will not disdain to hear." when their brave duke, Henry I., journeyed through He quitted his father's hut early, and his steps invohis dominions. He was on his way, accompanied by luntarily turned towards the Castle where the Duke's his consort Hedwig and their children, with a numer-party lodged. There was an unusual concourse before ous retinue of followers, to visit his burg of Lehrborg, the gates. A herald came forth, mounted on a white built by his renowned father Duke Boleslaus. While horse decorated with gay trappings, preceded by a he stopped a day or two to rest from the fatigues of trumpeter, and accompanied by several knights. travel, his subjects from the neighborhood came to peti- Schaffhold approached as as possible. The tion favors and redress from various grievances, for trumpet sounded, and after it ceased, the herald made they knew the good-will of their sovereign, and this proclamation in a loud voicethought his power almost boundless. Among the petitioners was an old herdsman, whose name was Wolfgang. To the gracious inquiry of the Duke respecting his wants, he was answered that the whole country was tormented with a condor that took off the greatest part of the flocks, and even maimed oxen at the plough. The bird had a nest somewhere and young ones, and when these were grown, children, perhaps men and women, would not be safe from their rapacity. "Take compassion upon us, gracious lord," prayed the herdsman, "command your soldiers to slay the condor and destroy its nest." "Where hath the bird its eyerie ?" asked the Duke. "I know not," replied the herdsman, "but, methinks, it is beneath the Rahlenberg." The Duke gave immediate orders that the bird of prey should be hunted and killed with its young. The whole country was in motion; the knights were eager to fulfil their lord's command and gain renown by the slaughter of so destructive a foe to the herdsmen. But the condor seemed to defy them. Sheep disappeared daily, and as if by magic. Only at rare intervals could the bird be seen soaring upon outspread wings at so vast a height that no arrow could reach it. The peasants mourned, and the baffled warriors murmured at their want of success. Meanwhile Schaffhold, the son of Wolfgang, a youth of aspiring spirit, but little inclined, as his father often complained, to the herdsman's labor, had been curiously watching the knights, apparently charmed with their brave apparel and armour, and following at a distance those who were nearest the Duke, and though in humble garb many a high-born cavalier might have envied the noble and graceful form and the majestic beauty of his counte nance. near "Our gracious Duke Henry the First sends greeting to his lieges of the country of Neuberg, and having heard that the whole valley is plagued by a condor of an unusual and extraordinary magnitude, by which the lives and property of his subjects are endangered; he doth hereby promise to the brave man who shall kill this bird and destroy its nest, the hand of his daughter, the Princess Rubeta, in marriage." "Bewildered and trembling with new-born life, struggling with fear, the young herdsman listened to the words of the herald. When he had ended, the trumpet again sounded. The young Princess sat weeping in her chamber. The Duchess, her mother, stood regarding her almost sternly, and reproved her for her want of submission to the paternal will. "Ah! my mother," murmured Rubeta, "must I then wed a man whom I cannot love, if he chance to slay the bird?" "The Duke's honor is pledged, my child, and the man who shall do this act in honor of thee and him, is not unworthy, though he should be the lowly-born, of thy hand." The princess shook her head, and continued to weep. "Ah!" exclaimed the Duchess, "can it be possible that thou lovest already?" The Princess covered her blushing face with her hands. "His name!" demanded the Duchess; "who has dared to aspire unknown?" "None! none !" exclaimed Rubeta, "he but saved my life." "Ha! the youth who killed the snake while thou sleeping!" "The same!" Nature had gifted him with matchless perfec-wast tion of person; his mien was not that of a peasant but of a free-born noble--for which, indeed, he was noted throughout the country. As the Duke with his train entered the Castle where he was lodged, young Schaffhold passed mournfully along the mountain side under the shadow of projecting rocks. He had not gone far when his steps were arrested. At a few paces distance a young and beautiful woman, richly dressed, lay sleeping upon the ground, her fair cheek rested on her hand, her soft brown hair, unclasped, followed the waving line of her figure. So exquisite was this image of beauty that the young herdsman stood gazing at her several minutes, unable to remove his eyes, suddenly, however, he started forward, he saw a viper of the most poisonous kind glide swiftly over the moss towards the head of the sleeping girl. Schaffhold sprang forward in time to strike the reptile dead with his staff. The noise awoke the young girl, when, seeing the snake, she started up with cry of horror. The next instant, comprehending the danger from which she had escaped, she turned with a look of gratitude to him who had saved her. At the same instant a voice called from the thicket, "Princess Rubeta!" "I am here,” answered the young girl, and Schaffhold at once knew her rank. She was the eldest daughter of the Duke. Why, it was but a hind, a peasant; out on thee, forward girl." The Princess lifted up her eyes. "Was not Piostus, the founder of my father's honored race, a herdsman, too?" The Duchess frowned, and ordered her daughter to attend her to her apartment. It is needless to say, that the Duke's proclamation caused great excitement amongst the pages and knights of the court. Each was eager to obtain the prize. The country was scoured by huntsmen in every direction, and every cranny of the rocks was scanned for the eyrie of the condor. "Thou, too, my son," said old Wolfgang, "surely thou dost not dream to contend in this pursuit which only may be accomplished by a knight," as he saw his son preparing for the chase; "they will chastise thee as an upstart." "Father, I fear them not, for the Duke's proclamation said not, whoever of noble blood shall slay the condor. I know not if this was meant or inadvertency, but upon this issue I am resolved." And Schaffhold went forth with his staff and axe to hunt the bird of prey. All the morning he wandered in the forest. At noon, wearied, but determined not to yield to fatigue, he climbed the loftiest tree that he could find, and which commanded a view of the country. The day had hitherto been beautiful, but Schaffhold descried a dark spot in the distant horizon which betokened the coming storm. With a heavy heart he turned away and was out of sight when the attendants came to the spot. The Princess walked on to the castle, and no sooner was it known what had befallen her than the young pages Suddenly, a dark speck, so distant that it seemed and attendants hastened to her. But no traces of the but a moat dashing over the straining eye, caught his youth who had rendered her this signal service could attention. His heart bounded within his breast. be discovered. That day before sunset the peasantry The speck grew larger, he clasped his hands in an were assembled in holiday attire, decorated with ecstacy of joy. It was the condor! Soaring at a Schaffribbons and flowers, to appear before the Duke and height immeasurable, it still drew nearer. his family. All the herdsmen except Schaffhold hold hid himself in the foliage of the trees, and watched were there, and the eyes of the Princess sought only the flight of the majestic bird. Of the condor, it is him. When she found him not she sighed and tears said, that it will remain for days upon the wing, and filled her beautiful eyes. never light upon the earth save for food. Rapidly it came on, floating calmly in mid air; his eyes followed Schaffhold wandered in the woods the rest of the its flight, which was now directed towards a lofty and inaccessible rock, on the summit of which was an aged tree, which, doubtless, contained the nest of the condor. Descending from his elevated situation, he crossed the valley, and forced his passage through the thick and interwoven boughs and wood of the forest. But the storm which had threatened had now begun, but onward he pressed; he had clambered the mountain to the foot of the rock, the perilous ascent of which he now commenced, entrusting his safe guidance to Providence. Grasping the shrubs growing on the foot of the rock, cutting footsteps as he slowly advanced, he reached the most dangerous part. The cliff projected over the abyss, and upon its verge stood the lightning scathed tree. He could see the dark form of the bird above him. Her fiery eyes flashed, and she flapped her wings at the intruder. The clamorous impatience of her young for food alone stayed her from making a swoop at him when half way up the side; and a hitherto unseen cleft in the rock, which ascended the sides, led him by a circuitous route to the summit; this peril surmounted, he was now to strive for life with the fierce enemy whose realm he had invaded. The condor sat perched on the nest, whetting her beak for the encounter, her large keen eyes glaring defiance. prize, but I will not take the hand the lady doth not "Now, by the rood, thy spirit is knightly enough,” The Duke joined their hands. "And that thou The same day was the betrothal of the princess and the herdsman solemnly celebrated. On the following morning Schaffhold commenced the circuit of the land which formed the domains of Greifenstein. The Duke confirmed the gift, and, in presence of the whole court, created the young man a knight and noble, with the title of the Baron Schaafgottsch." A FIRESIDE GOSSIP ABOUT BOOKS. "Please, sir," said Margaret, with her roguish glance, "what is a classic?" "A classic," returned my uncle, with an air of decision, "a classic is—hem—İ'll leave scholars to define the word, but Shakespeare is a classic!" "Thank you for the illustration, Sir Anthony," said Margaret; "but have we no scholars here equal to the definition? If not, how shall we decide?" 66 "Anything of first-class excellence is a classic, I suppose," said the young man before mentioned; " but (no offence to you, Sir Anthony)"-bowing with a courtesy that disarmed resentment—" it is one of those convenient words of which we avail ourselves when we have no very precise idea of our own meaningwhen we wish to admire, without the trouble of discriminating. However, taking it as I have defined it, I am prepared to maintain I hold a classic in my hand." "Name it," said Sir Anthony. Marcus turned the title-page of the book towards the circle" Essays of Elia." "Pshaw!" said my uncle, conclusively, "I never could see anything in it-it is nothing, in short." "I don't like Elia,'" said I. "Is there no one to support my assertion?" asked Marcus, with a smile that, I thought, quivered on the To ascend the tree would have been destruction; and 66 BOOKS!" said my uncle, contemptuously, "I boundary line of contempt; for he was a, youth of stood Since the present generation took to writing, I have no cross-bow, a bolt from which would now "Bring forth my daughter?" Several of the knights ventured to remonstrate. But the Duke once more bade them do his bidding. There was a pause, and presently Rubeta appeared leaning on her mother's arm, pale and trembling. Again there was a murmur, but the Duke exclaimed: I pledged my royal word that whoever should slay the condor should receive my daughter's hand; it is true that I did not think that one lowly-born would attempt, or if attempt, succeed against such noble knights; but, as success has attended his efforts, he has shown himself more worthy than you all, and I will not break my word. Young man, take my daughter, thou art as comely as thou art brave, and let no knight here murmur at my royal right to do justice to desert." Schaffhold advanced to the Duke, and, kneeling down, exclaimed : quick feelings. There was a dead silence. My uncle laughed. Marcus looked calm and proud, in his intellectual supeIriority, no doubt. "Read us a passage," suggested Margaret, "and enlighten our obtuse perceptions. Let us judge of your favorite." "Yes," said I, "give my uncle "The Superannuated Man,' or let him taste the ecstatic humor of 'The Convalescent.'" "Oh, no," said Marcus, "that is not as Charles Lamb should be read. To appreciate and enjoy certain books thoroughly, they must be read by one's-self. Elia' is one of these. Our intercourse with this author should be a tête-à-tête-there is something so exquisitely confidential in his style, that a third person seems to destroy the charm. But pray"—turning to me "why do you not like Elia?" affect." 66 Then you used to read once upon a time?" said Margaret. "Come, now, Sir Anthony"-and with an insinuating air she placed a chair beside herself" sit down amongst us; and, on condition you tell us who used to be your favorite old authors, you shall revile Margaret answered for me. "Oh!" she said, laughour modern ones as much as you like." ing, "he skims too lightly over the surface for cousin "Not, however, I hope, without some one undertak-Mary: there is a dash of recklessness she cannot ing their defence," said another of our party, lifting from the book he was reading eyes of such active in- "I cannot suffer the imputation of recklessness to telligence that they seemed to guarantee the worth of rest upon 'Elia,'" returned Marcus. "I confess there the author he had chosen. is an appearance of it, but it is only an appearance. With his light touch he knows how to unseal some of the deepest and purest springs of our nature. There is a profounder sadness in the very smile he sometimes provokes, than in the tear other writers may call forth. He is one of those authors who excite a personal tenderness, and whom one defends with the tenacity of friendship. More than that (I grant you this much, Mary), if you consent to receive him at all, you must receive him as he is; I mean, you must not allow any minute fault-finding with your friend. I will not say he is not open to it, but affection will be blind to his gentle shortcomings." Before I report the talk that followed, in which I earnestly entreat the reader to take a part, just let me say who and where the speakers were. My uncle (I am proud of the relationship, being an adopted daughter and potential heiress) is lord of a certain manor-house in the north of England, that stands on sunny slopes, and overlooks a landscape rich in wood and water, blended as we all know wood and water only are in our own dear island. The beauty of the scene is thrown up, as one may say, by distant glimpses of wild moorlands stretching out to the horizon, and far beyond our sphere of sight, with an aspect as lonely as if never trodden, making a stern background to the laughing scene. Not that the scene laughed then, for a hard relentless frost had rigorously subdued all its beauties; and we, Sir Anthony's Christmas guests, had sat all the morning so close round the hot library fire, that our cheeks were burned scarlet, swollen veins rose on delicate hands, and the covers and leaves of our respective volumes curled to the seductive influence. I think my uncle-who had left us thus before he went to give audience to some querulous farmers, who, under cover of the desperate weather, had signed a round-robin for low rents-was a little annoyed to find us in the same attitude when he came back, after a two hours' absence, and all seem ingly as intent over our books as ever. I attributed to this feeling the impatient attack above described. However, Margaret soothed his slightly ruffled temper, persuaded him to take the offered chair, and then Sir Anthony looked on the circle with a half-contemptuous, half-good-natured smile, that obviously meant he intended to avail himself of that young lady's permission to revile their occupation. "Come, now," he began, "let each of you give up the name of book and author, and I'll venture to say, not one out of the dozen has a classic in his or her "I would risk life a thousand times for so fair a hand." I smiled. My uncle said: "You talk like a book, Marcus; but, for all that, your defence doesn't prove the India clerk a classic." "Nevertheless," said Marcus, "I undertake to prove it. Are you a judge of prose, Sir Anthony! I call this its perfection; and if you like wit of that order which is above raising a laugh, but that excites the smile, which testifies how every finer perception thrills beneath its keen yet delicate stroke, you have that here as well. Listen." Sir Anthony flinched a little under the infliction, but the rest of the party being unanimous, Marcus began to read. He selected "The Old Benchers of the Middie Temple :" and he read it well: had he written it, he could not have read it with a more intelligent and delicate comprehension of its meaning. We all applauded when he had done. "Not so much amiss," said my uncle, relentingly. " You read very well, Marcus: our family always did. Suppose we try another 'Elia?"" ་ Marcus colored as one might who was enjoying a triumph. He gave us that delightful paper, "Books and Reading;" and afterwards, at my desire, " Blakesmoor in H- -shire." Sir Anthony said the latter was "babyish ;" perhaps he meant its effects, for I saw him and Margaret wipe their eyes. And, Sir Anthony," concluded the enthusiastic Marcus, "Elia' was a hero. Coleridge describes him as winning his way, with sad and patient soul, through evil, and pain, and strange calamity.' What strength of endurance, what magnanimity of selfsacrifice, in that mysterious but quiet life of his !" Marcus, at universal request, entered into detail, and after having repeated one or two of his quaint but exquisite sonnets, he considered he had established his position, and called on the lady opposite to announce her author. The lady blushed. She was reading one of Ida Hahn Hahn's novels. "Trash!" pronounced my uncle, "vile trash! Mary, I hope you never read such things. Pray, my dear," turning to the reader, "have you anything to say in defence of your author; is she a classic?" "No," said she languidly, "except that they are so very interesting-so much more interesting than English novels." "Give up such works, my dear young lady," said an elderly member of our circle, whom we all loved and respected," they are pernicious food. They make life seem flat and insipid, and indispose to vigorous action; they make the head weary, and the whole heart faint. They teach you to look within upon your own heart and nature with a false and jaundiced eye; and they leave you nerveless and incapable for the fit business of existence. Don't you agree with me, sir?" she asked, addressing Marcus. "Perfectly, madam; yet I have felt their fascination. I suppose you do not deny that they possess a certain charm: where do you consider it to lie?" the moderns. Marcus smiled, but, declining at that moment to take up the challenge, extracted another gem : "By this the Northern Waggoner had set His sevenfold team behind the steadfast star, That was in ocean waves yet never wet, But firm is fixed, and sendeth light from far To all that in the wide deep wandering are; And cheerful Chanticleer, with his note shrill, Had warned once that Phoebus' fiery car In haste was climbing up the eastern hill, Full envious that Night so long his room did fill." "Then," said Marcus, looking up upon his attentive audience, there is that wonderful episode about Despair, that the enraptured. Sydney ceased to read lest he should dispense his whole estate in gratitude to the poet. You know that verse spoken by this fell demon of the knight who has succumbed to his influence and committed suicide, and addressed to Una's champion, whom he would fain persuade to do the same: "He there does now enjoy eternal rest, And happy ease, which thou dost want and crave, Ease after war, death after life, does greatly please." Such an effect had this subtlety upon the harassed and exhausted knight, that— "His hand did quake And tremble like a leaf of aspen green, And troubled blood through his pale face was seen To come and go with tidings from the heart, As it a running messenger had been.” Truly," said Sir Anthony, "that's quite ShakesWith this remark, which, of course, clinched the poet's merits, we passed on to another reader. He was in the third volume of "The Caxtons." "In their subtle appeal to all that is unhealthy and morbid within us, of which we all have something-perian." some more and some less. There is a half truth in them which makes them doubly dangerous; they would have us the victims rather than the conquerors of ourselves and they weep and sympathise, when nothing but reprobation should be expressed." "Madam," said my uncle, "I make you my best bow; you express my views to a nicety. I hope these young people will lay it to heart. Pray, Maggie, what book have you?" “A classic, fair sir," laughed Margaret, "indubitably a classic. But don't praise me too soon, for I am conscientiously compelled to add, I have not very heartily enjoyed it." Marcus presumed to look over her shoulder. "The Faery Queen!" exclaimed he; "oh! for shame." 66 Pray, sir," returned my friend, turning sharply upon him, "did you ever read through the "Faery Queen!" Marcus colored slightly, and we all laughed. "No," he said, "I am bound to confess I never read it through, but I have thoroughly enjoyed its parts. I could spend many a morning over it without weariness, I hope; yet, I grant, it is not a book one reads consecutively. After a time, its style and very sweetness pall." "I can bear my testimony to that," said another gentleman, drily. "Last summer, when about to recreate for a time in the country, I bethought myself I had never read Spenser, and that I would take the opportunity. However, on looking the work over, I considered that three out of the half-dozen oldfashioned, musty volumes, would be as much, perhaps, as I should get through. I am compelled to own I never got through the first. I used to carry it about perpetually in my pocket, take it out when occasion offered, read a few stanzas, reflect, yawn, and put it in again. I don't think I shall ever renew the attempt." My uncle smiled. "The classics are certainly in a minority," he said. "And yet," said Marcus, "what exquisite descripions we have in Spenser. His suns always rise and set well. I remember one passage especially, or rather (lest I mis-quote), lend me the book, Margaret." He soon found it, and read aloud: * At last the golden, oriental gate Of greatest heaven 'gan to open fair, And Phœbus, fresh as bridegroom to his mate, Came dancing forth, shaking his dewy hair, And hurls his glistening beams through gloomy air." "Yes," said Margaret, "when a single gem is separated from the bewildering heap, and offered me alone, I can admire its beauty." Sir Anthony defied us to match the lines amongst "I don't intend," he said, "to argue my author's merits as a whole. His place in literature will scarcely be established during his own lifetime; we must leave coming years to decide what will be retained and what thrown away amongst his numerous writings. But this is a delightful work,-what I call a remunerative work. Many upward steps, morally and intellectually, must this progressive man of talent have taken since he wrote Pelham.' Have you read it, madam?" he asked, addressing the lady who had condemned the German novels. "No," she said, smiling; “I very rarely read novels; and I am not, in general, an admirer of Bulwer Lytton." celsior" was a perfect poem, and I thought he established the point. Then those exquisite lyrics, "The Light of Stars," and "The Day is Done," were expatiated upon; for it seemed as if the whole party knew Longfellow, and had but one opinion of his merits. "Excelsior," said Marcus, with heaving breast and kindling eyes, "is the one watchword of all he writes; and it is worthy to be shouted and followed in the battle of life." "I hope," said Sir Anthony, "he practises what he preaches." "But," said the Lady Mentor of our party, "there is a deficiency in Longfellow's philosophy. Surely, however heroic, man is not quite enough for himself in all the emergencies of time. Your poet seems to me to ignore this. There is too little recognition of our dependence on the Divine Power, too high an exaltation of man's unaided capacities. Man cannot be so strong as Longfellow would have him, unless he consent to receive strength from a source to which Longfellow seldom, if ever, directs him." "Of course," said my uncle, nodding approbation to every word, "you are perfectly and admirably right, madam. If you please, we will dismiss the American professor." "My dear sir," he spoke to an intelligent Scotch student, sitting in a retired corner-" what is that very thin little book you seem so unwilling to give up reading? Is the quality apportioned to the quantity, as in the old adage?" Before he could answer, the dressing-bell rang, and we were forced (for my uncle was very methodical) to abandon our gossip. WHY SHAVE? HERE are misguided men—and I am one of them THERE delle daily their own beards, rasp them away as fast as they peep out from beneath the skin, mix them ignominiously with soap-suds, and cause them to be cast away with the offscourings of the house. We are at great pains and trouble to do this, and we do it unwillingly, knowing that we deprive our faces of an ornament, and more or less suspecting that we take away from ourselves something given to us by nature and for use and our advantage; as indeed we do. Nevertheless, we treat our beards as so much dirt that has to be removed daily from our persons, for no other reason than because it is the custom of the country; or, because we strive to make ourselves prettier by assimilating our appearance to that of women. I am no friend to gentlemen who wilfully affect external oddity, while they are, within, all dull and commonplace. I am not disposed by carrying a beard myself to beard public opinion. But opinions may change; we were not always a nation of shavers. The day may again come when ""Twill be merry in hall, when beards wag all," and Britons shall no more be slaves to razors. "You must not judge of The Caxtons,"" was the answer, "by any former work of the same writer. In his Family Picture' he has broken new ground. He dispenses with romantic incident and character, and gives us life in its quiet domestic flow. Instead of thrilling interest, we have the results of thought and I have never read of savages who shaved themselves observation-a genial wisdom that soothes while it with flints; nor have I been able to discover who first instructs-and principles raised to the height of Chris- introduced among civilized men the tonsure of the tianity. The best characters, I think, are Roland and chin. The shaven polls and faces of ecclesiastics date Austin Caxton. Trevanion is good, but that class of from the time of Pope Anacletus, who introduced the character has been often sketched before. Sir Sedley custom upon the same literal authority of scripture to wear bonnets in our Beaudesert is well done, too; but I think Pisistratus, that still causes women the biographer, gives us but a faint idea of his own churches, that they may not pray uncovered. Saint individuality. Surely there is a want of skill there?" Paul, in the same chapter, further asks the Corin"Viewed as a work of art," said Marcus-who, be thians, " Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if it observed, was hard to please "it is defective; but, a man have long hair it is a shame unto him?" Pope considered as a repository for some of the author's Anacletus determined, therefore, to remove all shame experiences of men and manners; for his more serious from churchmen, by ordering them to go shaven altothoughts and views of things; as a vehicle for the dis-gether. The shaving of the beard by laymen was, play of diverse talent, it is, as you say, a delightful however, a practice much more ancient. The Greeks work. I owe to the writer some hours of pure enjoy-taught shaving to the Romans, and Pliny records that the first Greek barbers were taken from Sicily to Rome My uncle thought "He might look into it." by Publius Ticinius, in the four hundred and fiftyAnother of us had a volume of " Longfellow's fourth year after the building of the city. The Greeks, Poems;" but my uncle (smarting still with extreme however-certainly it was so with them in the time of national pride under the results of the glorious War of Alexander-seem to have been more disposed to use Independence), who thought nothing good could come their barbers for the pruning and trimming, than for the from America, would scarcely hear a word on the sub- absolute removal, of the beard, and of that ornament ject. upon the upper lip which they termed the mystax, and which we call-using the same name that they gave to it, slightly corrupted-moustache. In the best days of Greece few but the philosophers wore unpruned beards. A large flowing beard and a large flowing mantle were in those times as naturally and essentially a part of the business of a philosopher, as a signboard The original student insisted on proving that "Ex-is part in these days of the business of a publican. ment." "A Yankee pedagogue a poet!" he said, derisively; "the idea is an anomaly." Nevertheless, we made him hear reason, though he refused to receive it; and Longfellow got his due. Marcus warmed into magnanimity over 'The Psalm of Life." |