charity could not be separated. If a man truly loves his neighbor and
seeks his good, he will come into heavenly states of mind, and will
have his heart elevated, and from a consciousness that every good and
perfect gift comes from God, worship him in a thankful spirit. His
life of piety will make one with his life of charity. The Sabbath to
him will be a day of true, not forced, spiritual life. He will rest
from all natural labors, and gain strength from that rest to
recommence those labors in a true spirit."
Much more was said, that need not be repeated here. The closing
remarks of the old man were full of truth. It will do any one good to
remember them:
"Our life is twofold. We have a natural life and a spiritual life," he
said. "Our natural life delights in external things, and our spiritual
life in things internal. The first regards the things of time and
sense, the latter involves states and qualities of the soul. Heaven is
a state of mutual love from a desire to benefit others, and whenever
man's spiritual life corresponds with the life of Heaven, he is in
Heaven so far as his spirit is concerned, notwithstanding his body
still remains upon the earth. His heavenly life begins here, and is
perfected after death. If, therefore, a man does not enter Heaven
here, he cannot enter it when he dies. His state of probation is
closed, and he goes to the place for which he is prepared. The means
whereby man enters Heaven here, are very simple. He need only shun as
sin every thing that would in any way injure his neighbors, either
naturally or spiritually, and look above for the power to do this.
This will effect an entrance through the straight gate. After that,
the way will be plain before him, and he will walk in it with a daily
increasing delight."
TO LYDIA--WITH A WATCH.
BY G. G. FOSTER.
So well has time kept you, my love,
Unfaded in your prime,
That you would most ungrateful prove,
If you did not keep time.
Then let this busy monitor
Remind you how the hours
Steal, brook-like, over golden sands,
Whose banks love gems with flowers.
And when the weary day grows dark,
And skies are overcast,
Watch well this token--it will bring
The morning true and fast.
This little diamond-fooled sprite,
How soft he glides along!
How quaint, yet merry, singeth he
His never-ending song!
So smoothly pass thine hours and years,
So calmly beat thy heart--
While both our souls, in concert tuned,
Nor hope nor dream apart!
A NIGHT ON THE ICE.
BY SOLITAIRE.
A love for amusement is one of those national peculiarities of the
French people which neither time nor situation will ever eradicate,
for, be their lot cast where it may, amid the brilliant _salons_ of
Paris, or on the outskirts of civilization on the western continent,
they will set apart seasons for innocent mirth, in which they enter
into its spirit with a joyousness totally devoid of calculation or of
care. I love this trait in their character, because, perhaps, my own
spirits incline to the volatile. I like not that puritanical coldness
of intercourse which acts upon men as the winter winds do upon the
surface of the mountain streams, freezing them into immovable
propriety; and less do I delight in that festivity where calculation
seems to wait on merriment. Joy at such a board can never rise to
blood heat, for the jingle in the mind of cent. per cent., which rises
above the constrained mirth of the assembly, will hold the guests so
anchored to the consideration of profit and loss, that in vain they
spread a free sail--the tide of gayety refuses to float their barks
from the shoal beside which they are moored. In their seasons of
gayety the French are philosophers, for while they imbibe the mirth
they discard the wassail, and wine instead of being the body of their
feasts, as with other nations, it is but the spice used to add a
flavor to the whole. I know not that these remarks of mine have aught
to do with my story, but I throw them out by way of a prelude to--some
will say excuse for--what may follow.
In the winter of 1830 it was my good fortune to be the guest of an old
French resident upon the north-western frontier, and while enjoying
his hospitality I had many opportunities of mingling with the
_habitans_ of Detroit, a town well known as one of the early French
settlements on the American continent. At the period of which I write,
the stranger met a warm welcome in the habitation of the simple
residents--time, progress and speculation, I am told, have somewhat
marred those friendly feelings. The greedy adventurer, by making his
passport to their hospitality a means of profit, has planted distrust
in their bosoms, and the fire of friendship no longer flashes up at
the sound of an American's voice beneath their roof. To the all
absorbing spirit of Mammon be ascribed the evil change.
While residing with my friend Morell, I received many invitations to
join sleighing parties upon the ice, which generally terminated on the
floor of some old settler's dwelling upon the borders of the Detroit,
Rouge, or Ecorse rivers; where, after a merry jaunt over the frozen
river, we kept the blood in circulation by participating in the
pleasures of the dance. At one of these parties upon the Rouge I
formed two very interesting acquaintances, one of them a beautiful
girl named Estelle Beaubien, the other, Victor Druissel. Estelle was
one of those dark-eyed lively brunettes formed by nature for the
creation of flutterings about the hearts of the sterner sex. She was
full of naive mischief, and coquetry, and having been petted into
imperial sway by the flattery of her courtiers, she punished them by
wielding her sceptre with autocratic despotism--tremble, heart, that
owned her sway yet dared disobey her behests! In the dance she was the
nimblest, in mirth the most gleeful, and in beauty peerless. Victor
Druissel was a tall, dark haired young man, of powerful frame,
intelligent countenance, quiet easy manners, and possessed of a bold,
dark eye, through which the quick movings of his impassioned nature
were much sooner learned than through his words. He appeared to be
devoid of fear, and in either expeditions of pleasure or daring, with
a calmness almost unnatural he led the way. He loved Estelle with all
that fervor so inherent in men of his peculiar temperament, and when
others fluttered around her, seemingly winning lasting favor in her
eyes, he would vainly try to hide the jealousy of his nature.
When morning came Druissel insisted that I should take a seat in his
cutter, as he had come alone. He would rather have taken Estelle as
his companion to the city, but her careful aunt, who always
accompanied her, would not trust herself behind the heels of the
prancing pair of bays harnessed to Victor's sliding chariot. The
sleighs were at length filled with their merry passengers, and my
companion shouting _allons!_ led the cavalcade. We swept over the
chained tide like the wind, our horses' hoofs beating time to the
merry music of their bells, and our laughter ringing out on the clear,
cold air, free and unrestrained as the thoughts of youth.
"I like this," said Victor, as he leaned back and nestled in the furry
robes around us. "This is fun in the old-fashioned way; innocent,
unconstrained, and full of real enjoyment. A fashionable ball is all
well enough in its way, but give me a dance where there is no
formality continually reminding me of my 'white kids,' or where my
equanimity is never disturbed by missing a figure; there old Time
seldom croaks while he lingers, for the heart merriment makes him
forget his mission."
On dashed our steeds over the glassy surface of the river, and soon
the company we had started with was left far behind. We in due time
reached Detroit, and as I leaped from the sleigh at the door of my
friend's residence, Victor observed:
"To-morrow night we are invited to a party at my uncle Yesson's, at
the foot of Lake St. Clair, and if you will accept a seat with me, I
shall with pleasure be your courier. I promise you a night of rare
enjoyment."
"You promise then," said I, "that Estelle Beaubien will be there."
He looked calmly at me for a moment.
"What, another rival?" he exclaimed. "Now, by the mass one would think
Estelle was the only fair maiden on the whole frontier. Out of pity
for the rest of her sex I shall have to bind her suddenly in the bonds
of Hymen, for while she is free the young men will sigh after no other
beauty, and other maids must pine in neglect."
"You flatter yourself," said I. "Give me but a chance, and I will
whisper a lay of love in the fair beauty's ear that will obliterate
the image you have been engraving on her heart. She has listened to
you, no other splendid fellow being by, but when I enter the lists
look well to your seat in her affections, for I am no timid knight
when a fair hand or smile is to be won."
"Come on," cried he, laughing, "I scorn to break lance with any other
knight. The lists shall be free to you, the fair Estelle shall be the
prize, and I dare you to a tilt at Cupid's tourney."
With this challenge he departed, and as his yet unwearied steeds bore
him away, I could hear his laugh of conscious triumph mingling with
the music of his horses' bells.
After a troubled sleep that day, I awoke to a consciousness of
suffering. I had lost my appetite, was troubled with vertigo, and
obstructed breathing, which were sure indications that the sudden
change from heated rooms to the clear, cold air, sweeping over the
ice-bound river, had given me a severe influenza. My promise of a tilt
with Victor, or participation in further festivity, appeared
abrogated, for a time at least. I kept my bed during the day, and at
night applied the usual restoratives. Sleep visited my pillow, but it
was of that unrefreshing character which follows disease. I tossed
upon my couch in troubled dreams, amid which I fancied myself a knight
of the olden time, fighting in the lists for a wreath or glove from a
tourney queen. In the contest I was conscious of being overthrown, and
raised myself up from the inglorious earth upon which I had been
rolled, a bruised knight from head to heel. When I awoke in the
morning the soreness of every joint made me half think, for a moment,
that I had suffered some injury while in sleeping unconsciousness;
but, waking recollection assigned a natural cause, and I bowed my
fevered head to the punishment of my imprudence. An old and dignified
physician was summoned to my bed-side, who felt my pulse, ordered
confinement to my room, and the swallowing of a horrible looking
potion, which nearly filled a common-sized tumbler. A few days care,
he said, would restore me, and with his own hands he mixed my dose,
placed it beside me upon a table, and departed. I venerate a kind and
skillful physician; but, like all the rest of the human family, his
nauseous doses I abhor. I looked at the one before me until, in
imagination, I tasted its ingredients. In my fevered vision the vessel
grew into a monster goblet, and soon after it assumed the shape of a
huge glass tun. Methought I commenced swallowing, fearful that if I
longer hesitated it would grow more vast, and then it seemed as if the
dose would never be exhausted, and that my body would not contain the
whole of the dreadful compound. I dropped off again from this
half-dreamy state into the oblivion of deep sleep, and remained
unconscious of every thing until awoke in the evening by the chiming
of bells beneath my window. I had scarcely changed my position before
Victor, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, walked into my room.
"Why, my dear fellow," cried he, on seeing me nestled beneath the
cover, with a towel round my head by way of a night-cap, "what is all
this? Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Oh no," answered I, "only sore bones, and an embargo on the
respiratory organs. That mixture"--calling his attention to the
tumbler--"will no doubt set all right again."
"_Pah!_" he exclaimed, twisting his face as if he had tasted it, "I
hope you don't resort to such restoratives."
"So goes the doctor's orders," said I.
"Oh, a pest on his drugs," says Victor. "Why didn't you call me in?
I'm worth a dozen _regular_ practitioners in such cases, especially
where I am the patient. Come, up and dress, and while you are about it
I will empty this potion out of the window, we will then take a seat
behind the 'tinklers,' and before the night is over, I will put you
through a course of exercise which has won more practice among the
young than ever the wisest practitioner has been able to obtain for
his most skillfully concocted healing draughts."
"I can't, positively, Victor," said I. "It would cost me my life."
"Then I will lend you one of mine, without interest," said he. "Along
you must go, any how, so up at once. Think, my dear boy, of the beauty
gathering now in the old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair."
"Think," said I, "of my sore bones."
"And then," he continued, unmindful of my remark, "think of the dash
along the ice, the moon lighting your pathway, while a cluster of
star-bright eyes wait to welcome your coming."
"Oh, _nonsense_" said I, "and by that I mean _your_ romance. If
through my imprudence I should have the star of my existence quenched,
the lustre of those eyes would fail in any effort to light me up
again, and that is a matter worth consideration."
Even while I talked to him I felt my health rapidly improving.
"What would the doctor say, Victor," inquired I, "if he came here and
_found me out_? Nothing would convince him that it wasn't a hoax,
shamelessly played off upon his old age, and he would never forgive
me."
"Not so," says Victor, "you can take my prescription without his
knowing it, and it is as follows: First and foremost, toss his
medicine out of the window, visit uncle's with me and dance until
morning, get back by daylight, go to bed and take a nap before he
comes, and take my word for it he will pronounce your improved state
the effect of _his_ medicine."
"It would be madness, and I cannot think of it," replied I, half
disposed at the same time to yield.
"Then I pronounce you no true knight," said he, "I will report to
Estelle the challenge that passed between us, and be sure she will set
you down in her memory as a _timid gentleman_!"
"Oh, stop," said I, "and I will save you that sneer. I know that out
of pure dread of my power you wish to kill me off; but I will go,
nevertheless, if it is to death, in the performance of my duty."
"What _duty_ do you speak of," inquired he.
"Taking the conceit out of a coxcomb," said I.
"Bravo!" he shouted, "your blood is already in circulation, and there
are hopes of you. I will now look to the horses." Indulging in a quiet
laugh at his success, he descended the staircase.
It was a work of some labor to perform the toilet for my journey, but
at length Dr. B.'s patient, well muffled up, placed himself beneath a
load of buffalo robes, and reversing the doctor's orders, which were
peremptory to keep quiet, he was going like mad, in the teeth of a
strong breeze, over the surface of Detroit river.
The moon was yet an hour high above the dark forest line of the
American shore, and light fleecy clouds were chasing each other across
her bright disc, dimming her rays occasionally, but not enough to make
traveling doubtful. A south wind swept down from the lake, along the
bright line of the river, but it was not the balmy breeze which
southern poets breathe of in their songs. True it had not the piercing
power of the northern blast, but in passing over those frozen regions
it had encountered its adversary and been chilled by his embrace. It
was the first breath of spring combating with the strongly posted
forces of old winter, and as they mingled, the mind could easily
imagine it heard the roar of elemental strife. Now the south wind
would sound like the murmur of a myriad of voices, as it rustled and
roared through the dark woods lining the shore, and then it would pipe
afar off as if a reserve were advancing to aid in holding the ground
already occupied; anon the echo of a force would be heard close in by
the bluff bordering the stream, and in a moment more, it was sweeping
with all its strength and pride of power down the broad surface of the
glittering ice, as if the rightfulness of its invasion scorned
resistance. Sullen old winter with his frosty beard and snow-wreathed
brow, sat with calm firmness at his post, sternly resolved to yield
only when his power _melted_ before the advancing tide of the enemy.
"Our sport on the ice is nearly at an end," remarked Victor. "This
south wind, if it continues a few days, will set our present pathway
afloat. Go along!" he shouted, excitedly, to his horses, following the
exclamation by the lash of his whip. They dashed ahead with the speed
of lightning, while the ice cracked in a frightful manner beneath the
runners of our sleigh for several rods. I held my breath with
apprehension, but soon we were speeding along as before.
"That was nigh being a cold bath," quietly observed Victor.
"What do you mean?" inquired I.
"Did you not see the air-hole we just passed?" he inquired in turn.
"It was at least ten yards long, and we came within six inches of
being emptied into it before I noticed the opening."
I could feel my pores open--moisture was quickly forced to the surface
of my skin at this announcement, and I inwardly breathed a prayer of
thanks for our escape.
But a short time elapsed ere the hospitable mansion of Victor's uncle
appeared in sight, with lights dancing from every window, and our good
steeds, like couriers of the air, scudded over the polished surface
toward these pleasant beacons. We were soon able to descry forms
flitting before the window, and as we turned up the road leading from
the lake to the dwelling, Victor whispered--
"I recognize the person of Estelle standing by yonder window, remember
our challenge."
"I shall not forget it," said I, as we drew up before the portal.
Consigning our panting steeds to two negro boys, and divesting
ourselves of extra covering, we were soon mingling in the "merrie
companie." Estelle was there in all her beauty, her dark eyes beaming
mischief, her graceful actions inviting attention, and her merry laugh
infecting all with its gleeful cadences. Victor was deep in the toils,
and willingly he yielded to the bondage of the gay coquette. Now she
smiled winningly upon him, and again laughed at his tender speeches.
He besought her to dance with him, and she refused, but with such an
artless grace, such witching good humor, and playful cruelty, that he
could not feel offended. I addressed her and she turned away from him.
I had not presumption enough to suppose I could win a maiden's heart
where he was my rival, but I thought that, aided by the coquetry of
Estelle, I could help to torture the victim--and I set about it; nay,
further, I confess that as she leaned her little ear, which peeped out
from a cluster of dark curls, toward my flattering whisper, I fancied
that she inclined it with pleasure; but, then, the next moment my
hopes were dissipated, for she as fondly smiled on my rival.
A flourish of the music, and with one accord the company moved forward
to the dance. Estelle consented to be my partner. Victor was not left
alone, but his companion in the set might as well have been, for she
frequently had to call his attention to herself and the figure--his
eye was continually wandering truant to the next set, where he was one
moment scanning with a lover's jealousy a rival's enjoyment, and the
next gazing with wrapt admiration upon the beautiful figure and
graceful movements of his mistress. The set was ended, and the second
begun--Victor being too slow in his request for her hand, she yielded
it to another eager admirer. The third set soon followed, and
laughingly she again took my arm. The fourth, and she was dancing with
a stranger guest. As she wound through the mazes of the dance, arching
her graceful neck with a proud motion, her eye, maliciously sportive,
watched the workings of jealousy which clouded Victor's brow. He did
not solicit her hand again, but stood with fixed eye and swelling
throat, looking out upon the lake. I rallied him upon his moodiness,
and told him he did not bear defeat with philosophy.
"Your dancing," said he, "would win the admiration of an angel;" and
his lip curled with a slight sneer.
I did not feel flattered much, that he attributed my success to my
_heels_ instead of my _head_, and I carelessly remarked that perhaps
he felt inclined to test my superior powers in some other method. He
looked at me firmly for a moment, his large, dark eye blazing, and
then burst into a laugh.
"Yes," said he, "I should like to try a waltz with you upon the icy
surface of the lake."
"Come on," said I, thoughtlessly, "any adventure that will cure you of
conceit--you know that is my purpose here to-night."
Laughing at the remark, he led the way from the ball-room. I observed
by Victor's eye and pale countenance, that he was chagrined at
Estelle's treatment, and thought he was making an excuse to get out in
the night air to cool his fevered passions.
"See," he said, when he descended, "there burns the torch of the
Indian fishermen, far out on the lake--they are spearing
salmon-trout--we will go see the sport."[2]
I looked out in the direction he indicated, and far away upon its
glassy surface glimmered a single light, throwing its feeble ray in a
bright line along the ice. The moon was down, and the broad expanse
before us was wrapped in darkness, save this taper which shone through
the clear, cold atmosphere.
"You are surely mad," said I, "to think of such an attempt."
"If the bare thought fills you with _fear_," he answered, "I have no
desire for your company. The _dance_ within, I see, is more to your
mind."
Without regarding his sneer, I remarked that if he was disposed to
play the madman, I was not afraid to become his keeper, it mattered
not how far the fit took him.
"Come on, then," said he; and we started on our mad jaunt.
"Sam, have you a couple of saplings?" inquired Victor of the eldest
negro boy.
"Yes, massa Victor, I got dem ar fixins; but what de lor you gemmen
want wid such tings at de ball?"
"It is too hot in the ball-room," answered Victor; "myself and friend,
therefore, wish to try a waltz on the ice."
"Yah, yah, h-e-a-h!" shouted the negro, wonderfully tickled at the
novelty of the idea, "well, dat is a high kick, please goodness--guess
you can't git any ob de ladies to try dat shine wid you, _h-e-a-h_!"
"We shall not _invite_ them," said Victor, through his teeth.
"Well, dar is de poles, massa," said the negro, handing him a couple
of saplings about twelve feet long. "You better hab a lantern wid you,
too, else you can't see dat dance berry well."
"A good thought," said Victor; "give us the lantern."
[Footnote 2: The Indians cut holes in the ice, and holding a torch
over the opening, spear the salmon-trout which are attracted to the
surface by the blaze.]
It was procured, lighted, and together we descended the steep bluff to
the lake's brink. He paused for a moment to listen--revelry sounded
clearly out upon the air of night, nimble feet were treading gayly to
the strains of sweet music, and high above both, yet mingling with
them, was heard the merry laughter of the joyous guests. Ah, Victor,
thought I, trout are not the only fish captured by brilliant lights;
there is a pair dancing above, yonder, which even now is driving you
to madness. I shrunk from the folly we were about to perpetrate, yet
had not courage enough to dare my companion's sneer, and turn boldly
back; vainly hoping he would soon tire of the exploit I followed on.
Running one pole through the ring of our lantern, and placing
ourselves at each end, we took up our line of march for the light
ahead. Victor seizing the end of the other sapling slid it before him
to feel our way. At times the beacon would blaze up as if but an
hundred yards ahead, and again it would sink to a spark, far away in
the distance. The night wind was now sweeping down the lake in a
tornado, sighing and laboring in its course as if pregnant with
evil--afar off, at one moment, heard in a low whistle, and anon
rushing around us like an army of invisible spirits, bearing us along
with the whirl of their advance, and yelling a fearful war-cry in our
ears. The beacon-light still beckoned us on. My companion, as if
rejoicing in the fury of the tempest which roared around us, burst
into a derisive laugh.