ever dreamed she could be. Yes! and I once loved her,—at least I told
her so. I wonder if she would refuse me now,” and he paused before the
glass. “Pshaw! it is idle to think so. True, she is not more than half
as wealthy as this inanimate little fool, Miss Belville; but, then,
there is the vulgar mother, and coarse father of the latter. Clara has
none of these. I never saw their vulgarity so plainly as I did to-night.
Ah! I forgot, there is that coldness I showed to Clara when her other
uncle disappointed every one’s expectations in omitting her in his will.
I’m cursedly afraid she’s not forgotten it. But, then, how could one
know she would ever become an heiress? It’s deucedly unlucky, now I
think of it, that I never called on her in New York, after my return
from Europe. But ‘faint heart never won fair lady;’ and, besides, if
Clara ever loved me, as I really think she once did, it’s not so
difficult a matter for Henry Tressayle to re-kindle that affection in
her bosom. Besides, I’m really making a heroic sacrifice in giving up a
fortune twice as large for my old flame.”
From that time Tressayle was almost ever at the side of the beautiful
Clara Fletcher. He rode with her, sang with her, danced with her,
promenaded with her, and did this too, without a rival, for her former
suitor, Mr. Rowley had been compelled to return to New York by business,
and few cared to enter the lists against so resistless a beau as
Tressayle. Every body declared that they were already affianced lovers,
or they soon would be so, except the Belvilles, whose chagrin could not
be concealed, and who sneered even at the probability of such a thing.
Tressayle, however, was not so well satisfied with his progress as was
the world at large. His knowledge of the sex told him that the conduct
of Clara toward him, was not exactly that of one whose affections he had
anew engaged. She was too easy, too composed, possessed of too much
quiet calmness at all times, not to awaken uneasy suspicions, lest her
love was not yet gained. Still, however, she did nothing to shew any
distaste for Tressayle’s society, and his own vanity led him on in the
pursuit.
Nor was his love any longer a mere matter of calculation to Tressayle.
It had become a necessity—it had grown into a passion. If ever he loved
a woman, that woman had been Clara Fletcher, and when it had become
known that she was not her uncle’s heiress, it was not without a
struggle that Tressayle left her. But supremely selfish, and with a
fortune impaired by extravagance, he looked at it as an impossibility
that he should marry except to an heiress. Now, however, all his old
feelings toward Clara were revived, and revived too in ten-fold force.
Her fortune was no longer an obstacle. Yes, Tressayle loved; loved for
the first time; loved with more than the fervor of which such a man
might be thought capable. He could endure his suspense no longer, and
determining to propose at once for Clara, he chose for his purpose, an
afternoon when they rode out unaccompanied together.
Words cannot describe the eloquence with which the lover—for
Tressayle’s talented, though selfish mind, was capable of the highest
eloquence—poured forth his passion in the ear of his mistress. But it
drew no answering emotion from Clara. A slight blush perhaps tinged her
cheek a moment, but her eye calmly looked into his own, and her voice
was firm and clear, as she replied,
“Listen to me, Tressayle,” she said. “I am young still, but I was once
younger. You remember it well. Then I met you, and—need I disguise
it?—you spake to me of love. I know it was but once you said so, but it
was after you had paid attention to me which _you_ knew, as well as I,
was more eloquent than words. I had never seen one whom I thought your
equal, and I loved you. Stay—hear me out. I loved you with all the
ardor of a girl’s first love. But how was it returned? While I thought
only of you,—while a word from you was my law—while the day seemed
gloomy without your presence—while, in short, I gave to you freely
every emotion of my heart, _you_ were coolly calculating how much my
fortune would be, and preparing, as you subsequently did, to discard me
altogether in case I was not my uncle’s heiress—”
“Oh, Clara, Clara, hear me.”
“Yes, Tressayle, but listen first, and then I will hear you. You left me
without cause when my uncle’s will was opened and I was found to have
been overlooked. I need not tell you the agony of my heart on
discovering your character. Let that pass. Reason conquered at last.
They say a first love,” continued the beautiful girl, looking at her
companion until his eye quailed before the calm dignity of her own, “can
never be conquered; but believe me it is a mistake. When the object of
that love is unworthy, it is not impossible. And now, Tressayle, you
understand me. You are to me as a stranger. Never can I love you again.
I am, moreover, the affianced bride of Mr. Rowley.”
Tressayle could not answer a word. Mortification and shame overpowered
him, and he was glad when he saw that they were near the termination of
their ride.
The first person they met on alighting was Mr. Belville. Ashamed of
himself and stung to the very quick, Tressayle took advantage to propose
to the millionaire for his daughter.
“Gad, and are you the only ignorant man here of your loss of fortune?”
said Mr. Belville, superciliously. “But I forgot the mail came in while
you were riding with Miss Fletcher. Good morning, sir.”
Tressayle hurried to his room, opened his letters, and found that the
Bank in which he was a large stockholder was broken. In two hours he had
left Saratoga.
H. J. V.
* * * * *
THE INDIAN MAID.
A BALLAD.
SUNG BY MRS. WATSON,
THE MUSIC ARRANGED BY S. NELSON.
Geo. W. Hewitt & Co. No. 184 Chesnut Street, Philadelphia.
[Illustration: musical score]
Morning’s dawn is in the skies,
Whilst o’er the Mountain height,
Fast the glorious beams arise,
[Illustration: musical score]
Hail we their golden light:
Ere the brightness of those rays
Dies on the distant sea,
May the hopes of my young days
Be warm’d to life by thee.
May the hopes of my young days
Be warm’d to life by thee.
2
Fairest flow’r ’neath eastern skies,
Stor’d in thy peaceful mind
More of wealth for me there lies
Than in the gems of Ind.
Never from thy trusting heart,
Ne’er from thy smiling brow
May the hopes, the peace depart
Which beam upon them now.
3
Hours and days will wing their flight,
Still never day shall fade;
But I’ll share some new delight
With thee, my Indian maid.
In the passing hour of gloom
Rest thou thy cares on me;
To restore thy pleasure’s bloom,
Will my best guerdon be.
* * * * *
SPORTS AND PASTIMES.
We have been favored with the Edinburg copy of “The Rod and Gun,” an
excellent work, from the pen of the author of the celebrated “Oakleigh
Shooting Code.” The most important parts of the essay are expanded in
this volume, and many valuable hints to sportsmen, gathered from all
parts of the world, and from the experience of the author, are thrown
in. With this work, the ablest decidedly that has of late years been
given to the sporting world—we propose this month to make somewhat
free, and intend hereafter to push the acquaintance to the utmost verge
of familiarity, and shall present the writer to our readers each month
in form. He will be found to improve, “like good wine upon
acquaintance,” and we feel assured that no good gentleman “and true,”
will fail to appreciate the honor, or to derive valuable and instructive
hints relative to manly exercises, from his conversation. He makes his
own introduction:
“The wand with which we now desire to charm an enlightened and
discerning public, was first waved some seasons back. We think the butt
end is not much the worse for wear—we have strengthened the mid-pieces,
repaired the top, and given the whole a coat of varnish, hoping that in
the hands of others now more fit for the practice of the gentle art than
we ourselves, it may prove a steady friend and true, whether in still or
troubled waters.”
* * * * *
ANGLING.
[Illustration: THE PIKE.]
The pike is in season from May to February, and is most frequently
angled for by trolling with a strong topped rod. The hooks are generally
fastened to a bit of brass wire for a few inches from the shaft, to
prevent the line from being snapped. Different methods are used in
angling for pike. _Trolling_, in the more limited sense of the word,
signifies catching fish with the gorge-hook, which is composed of two,
or what is called a double eel-hook; _live-bait fishing_ is practised
with the aid of a floated line; and _snap-fishing_ consists in the use
of large hooks, so baited as to enable the angler to strike the fish the
moment he feels it bite, immediately after which he drags it _nolens
volens_ ashore.
Trolling for pike may be practised during the winter months, when trout
fishing has ceased; and the colder season of the year is in fact more
convenient for the sport, owing to the decay or diminution of the weeds
which usually surround their favorite haunts. With the exception of chub
and dace, which bite pretty freely at the bottom all winter, scarcely
any other fish can be relied upon for sport during the more inclement
portion of the year. To bait a gorge-hook, take a baiting-needle, and
hook the curved end to the loop of the gimp, to which the hook is tied.
Then introduce the point of the needle into a dead bait’s mouth, and
bring it out at the middle of the fork of the tail, by which means the
piece of lead which covers the shank of the hook, and part of the
connecting wire, will lie concealed in the interior of the bait: the
shank will be in the inside of its mouth, and the barbs on the outside,
turning upward. To keep the bait steady on the hook, fasten the tail
part just above the fork to the gimp, with a silk or cotton thread; or a
neater method is, to pass the needle and thread through the side of the
bait, about half an inch above the tail, so as encircle the gimp in the
interior. The baits used vary in weight from one to four ounces, and the
hooks must be proportioned to the size of the fish with which they are
baited. The barbs of the hook ought not to project much beyond the sides
of the mouth, because, as the pike generally seizes his prey cross-wise,
and turns it before it is pouched or swallowed, if he feels the points
of the hook he may cast it out entirely.
[Illustration]
In trolling for pike, it is advised to keep as far from the water as
possible, and to commence casting close by the near shore, with the wind
blowing from behind. When the water is clear and the weather bright,
some prefer to fish against the wind. “After trying closely,” says Mr.
Salter, “make your next throw farther in the water, and draw and sink
the baited hook, drawing it straight upward near to the surface of the
water, and also to right and left, searching carefully every foot of
water; and draw your bait with the stream, because you must know that
jack and pike lay in wait for food with their heads and eyes pointing up
the stream, to catch what may be coming down; therefore experienced
trollers fish a river or stream down, or obliquely across; but the
inconsiderate as frequently troll against the stream, which is improper,
because they then draw their baited hook behind either jack or pike when
they are stationary, instead of bringing it before his eyes and mouth to
tempt him. _Note._—Be particularly careful, in drawing up or taking the
baited hook out of the water, not to do it too hastily, because you will
find by experience that the jack and pike strike or seize your bait more
frequently when you are drawing it upward than when it is sinking. And
also farther observe, that when drawing your bait upward, if you
occasionally shake the rod, it will cause the bait to spin and twist
about, which is very likely to attract either jack or pike.”
These fish are partial to the bends of rivers and the bays of lakes,
where the water is shallow, and abounding in weeds, reeds, water lilies,
&c. In fishing with the gorge-hook, when the angler feels a run, he
ought not to strike for several minutes after the fish has become
stationary, lest he pull the bait away before it is fairly pouched. If a
pike makes a very short run, then remains stationary for about a minute,
and again makes one or two short runs, he is probably merely retiring to
some quiet haunt before he swallows the bait; but if, after remaining
still for three or four minutes, he begins to shake the line and move
about, the inference is that he has pouched the bait, and feels some
annoyance from the hook within, then such part of the line as has been
slackened may be wound up, and the fish struck. It is an unsafe practice
to lay down the rod during the interval between a run and the supposed
pouching of the bait, because it not unfrequently happens that a heavy
fish, when he first feels the hooks in his interior, will make a sudden
and most violent rush up the river or along the lake, and the line is
either instantly broken, or is carried, together with both the rod and
reel, for ever beyond the angler’s reach. “When the pike cometh,” says
Colonel Venables, “you may see the water move, at least you may feel
him; then slack your line and give him length enough to run away to his
hold, whither he will go directly, and there pouch it, ever beginning
(as you may observe) with the head, swallowing that first. Thus let him
lye until you see the line move in the water, and then you may certainly
conclude he hath pouched your bait, and rangeth about for more; then
with your trowl wind up your line till you think you have it almost
streight, then with a smart jerk hook him, and make your pleasure to
your content.”
The fresher and cleaner the bait is kept, whether for trolling,
live-bait, or snap-fishing, the greater is the chance of success.
[Illustration]
As pike, notwithstanding their usual voracity, are sometimes, as the
anglers phrase it, more on the play than the feed, they will
occasionally seize the bait across the body, and, instead of swallowing
it, blow it from them repeatedly and then take no farther notice of it.
The skilful and wily angler must instantly convert his gorge into a
snap, and strike him in the lips or jaws when he next attempts such
dangerous amusement. The dead snap may be made either with two or four
hooks. Take about twelve inches of stout gimp, make a loop at one end,
at the other tie a hook (size No. 2,) and about an inch farther up the
gimp tie another hook of the same dimensions; then pass the loop of the
gimp into the gill of a dead bait-fish, and out at its mouth, and draw
the gimp till the hook at the bottom comes just behind the back fin of
the bait, and the point and barb are made to pierce slightly through its
skin, which keeps the whole steady: now pass the ring of a drop-bead
lead over the loop of the gimp, fix the lead inside the bait’s mouth,
and sew the mouth up. This will suffice for the snap with a couple of
hooks. If the four-hooked snap is desired (and it is very killing,) take
a piece of stout gimp about four inches long, and making a loop at one
end, tie a couple of hooks of the same size, and in the same manner as
those before described. After the first two and the lead are in their
places, and previous to the sewing up of the mouth, pass the loop of the
shorter gimp through the opposite gill, and out at the mouth of the
bait; then draw up the hooks till they occupy a position corresponding
to those of the other side: next pass the loop of the longer piece of
gimp through that of the shorter, and pull all straight: finally, tie
the two pieces of gimp together close to the fish’s mouth, and sew the
latter up.
Some anglers prefer fishing for pike with a floated line and a live
bait. When a single hook is used for this purpose, it is baited in one
or other of the two following ways: Either pass the point and barb of
the hook through the lips of the bait, toward the side of the mouth, or
through beneath the base of the anterior portion of the dorsal fin. When
a double hook is used, take a baiting-needle, hook its curved end into
the loop of the gimp, and pass its point beneath the skin of the bait
from behind the gills upward in a sloping direction, bringing it out
behind the extremity of the dorsal fin; then draw the gimp till the bend
of the hooks are brought to the place where the needle entered, and
attach the loop to the trolling line. Unless a kind of snap-fishing is
intended, the hooks for the above purpose should be of such a size as
that neither the points nor the barbs project beyond either the shoulder
or the belly of the bait.
Snap-fishing is certainly a less scientific method of angling for pike
than that with the gorge or live-bait; for when the hooks are baited,
the angler casts in search, draws, raises, and sinks his bait, until he
feels a bite. He then strikes strongly and drags or throws his victim on
shore; for there is little fear of his tackle giving way, as that used
in snap-fishing is of the largest and stoutest kind. “This hurried and
unsportsmanlike way of taking fish,” it is observed in the _Troller’s
Guide_, “can only please those who value the game more than the sport
afforded by killing a jack or pike with tackle, which gives the fish a
chance of escaping, and excites the angler’s skill and patience, mixed
with a certain pleasing anxiety, and the reward of his hopes. Neither
has the snap-fisher so good a chance of success, unless he angles in a
pond or piece of water where the jack or pike are very numerous or half
starved, and will hazard their lives for almost any thing that comes in
their way. But in rivers where they are well fed, worth killing, and
rather scarce, the coarse snap-tackle, large hooks, &c. generally alarm
them. On the whole, I think it is two to one against the snap in most
rivers; and if there are many weeds in the water, the large hooks of the
snap, by standing rank, are continually getting foul, damaging the bait,
and causing much trouble and loss of time.”
Pike sometimes rise at an artificial fly, especially in dark, windy
days. The fly ought to be dressed upon a double hook, and composed of
very gaudy materials. The head is formed of a little fur, some gold
twist, and (if the angler’s taste inclines that way, for it is probably
a matter of indifference to the fish) two small black or blue beads for
eyes. The body is framed rough, full, and round, the wings not parted,
but made to stand upright on the back, with some small feathers
continued down the back to the end of the tail, so that when finished
they may exceed the length of the hook. The whole should be about the
bulk of a wren.
During clear and calm weather in summer and autumn, pike take most
freely about three in the afternoon: in winter they may be angled for
with equal chances of success during the whole day: early in the
morning, and late in the evening are the periods best adapted for the
spring.
This fish is also angled for in a variety of ways by fixed or set lines,
and also by trimmers, or liggers, as they are provincially called in
some parts of England. Horsea Mere and Heigham Sound are two large
pieces of water in the county of Norfolk, not far from Yarmouth, noted
for their pike, as partly immortalised in old Camden’s famous lines of
lengthened sweetness long drawn out,—
“Horsey Pike,
None like.”
Mr. Yarrell received the following returns from a sporting gentleman, of
four days’ fishing with trimmers in these waters, in the month of March,
1834: viz. on the 11th at Heigham Sounds, 60 pike, weighing 280 pounds;
on the 13th at Horsea Mere, 89 pike, weighing 379 pounds; on the 18th,
again at Horsea Mere, 49 pike, weighing 213 pounds; on the 19th, at
Heigham Sounds, 58 pike, weighing 263 pounds: the four days sport
producing 256 fish, weighing together 1135 pounds.
As the mode of using trimmers in these extensive _broads_ affords great
diversion, and is rather peculiar, we shall here quote Mr. Yarrell’s
account of it. “I may state that the ligger or trimmer is a long
cylindrical float, made of wood or cork, or rushes tied together at each
end; to the middle of this float a string is fixed, in length from eight
to fifteen feet; this string is wound round the float except two or
three feet, when the trimmer is to be put into the water, and slightly
fixed by a notch in the wood or cork, or by putting it between the ends
of the rushes. The bait is fixed on the hook, and the hook fastened to
the end of the pendent string, and the whole then dropped into the
water. By this arrangement the bait floats at any required depth, which
should have some reference to the temperature of the season,—pike
swimming near the surface in fine warm weather, and deeper when it is
colder, but generally keeping near its peculiar haunts. When the bait is
seized by a pike, the jerk looses the fastening, and the whole string
unwinds,—the wood, cork, or rushes, floating at the top, indicating
what has occurred. Floats of wood or cork are generally painted, to
render them more distinctly visible on the water to the fishers, who
pursue their amusement and the liggers in boats. Floats of rushes are
preferred to others, as least calculated to excite suspicion in the
fish.”
Pike are occasionally taken in the English lakes above 30 pounds in
weight, and Dr. Grierson mentions one killed in Loch Ken, in Galloway,
which weighed 61 pounds. The color of the young fish is of a greenish
hue, but it afterward becomes rather of a dusky olive brown upon the
upper parts, marked on the sides with mottled green and yellow, and
silvery white on the abdomen. We do not think highly of its flesh,
although by many it is held in some esteem.
* * * * *
REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.
_“Mercedes of Castile,” a Romance, by J. Fennimore Cooper. 2
vols. Lea & Blanchard, 1840._
As a history, this work is invaluable: as a novel, it is well nigh
worthless. The author deserves credit for presenting to the public, in a
readable form, so much historical information, with which, otherwise,
the great mass of the community would have never become acquainted; and
he ought, also, to receive proper commendation for having woven that
information in any way whatever, into the narrative of a novel; but at
the same time, if called upon to speak of his work as a romance, and not
as a history, we can neither disguise from ourselves, nor from our
readers, that it is, if possible, the worst novel ever penned by Mr.
Cooper. A hasty sketch of the plot will fully sustain our assertion.
The work opens with the marriage of Isabella of Castile, and Ferdinand
of Arragon, after which a _hiatus_ occurs of more than twenty-two years.
This, in the first place, is a grand error in the novelist. Had he
commenced his narrative at the siege of Granada at once, we should have
been spared an ungainly excrescence on the very front of the story. We
shall, therefore, consider the novel as beginning properly at an ensuing
chapter.
The scene opens on the day when the city of Granada is taken possession
of by the Moors; and when Columbus, as a suitor for vessels to carry on
his contemplated discoveries, is almost worn out with seven years of
delay and disappointment. A young Spanish Grandee, called Luis
Bobadilla, wild, adventurous, and fond of roving at sea, happening to be
introduced to him in the crowd, is half persuaded to embark with the
navigator on his dangerous voyage; an inclination which is strengthened
to a firm resolve by his mistress, who, forbidden by Queen Isabella to
marry so roving a nobleman, and thinking that such a voyage would be
taken as a sort of expiation by her sovereign, advises, nay! commands
him to embark with Columbus. The difficulties; the hopes; the final
disappointment, and solitary departure of Columbus, are then faithfully
described, as well as his sudden recall by order of the queen, and her
determination to fit out the expedition from her own purse. This,
however, we pass over, only remarking in passing, that the fiery pursuit
of the young grandee through the Vega after the departing Columbus, and
the scene where he overtakes the dejected navigator, are worthy of the
best passages of the Pioneers, the Water-Witch, or the Last of the
Mohicans.
The young nobleman, consequently, disguised as a sailor, sails with
Columbus out into the, as then thought, shoreless Atlantic. To describe
this voyage was manifestly the sole object of the author in writing the
work. Availing himself of the journal of the admiral, and mingling just
enough of fiction with the incidents recorded there, to make it
generally readable, Mr. Cooper has succeeded in producing the most
popular, detailed, readable history of that voyage which has yet seen
the light; and for this, we again repeat, he deserves much credit. But
the very preponderance given to the narration of this part of the story,
injures the work, _as a novel_, irremediably. It makes it, in short,
“neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red-herring.”