country phrase, the 'dwelling-room.' Within the little bedroom sat
the 'mourners;' but a stranger, who should have seen the crowd as
they pressed forward one after another, for a last look at their
departed friend, might have believed they were all mourning a father.
They were remembering a parent's offices. There was the widow, whom
he had visited in her affliction; there the orphans, now grown to be
thriving men and women, fathers and mothers, whom he had succored,
counselled, and watched over; there were those whom he had visited
in prison; there were sometime enemies converted to friends by his
peace-making intervention; there was the young man reclaimed by
his wise counsel and steady friendship, for the good colonel had
a 'skeptic smile' for what others deemed hopeless depravity, and
believed
----'some pulse of good must live
Within a human nature.'
And there were children with wet eyes, for the rare old man who had
always a smile for their joys, and a tear for their troubles; and
one, I remember, as her mother lifted her up for the last look,
whispered, 'Oh, he is too good a man to bury up in the ground!'
And there, in the midst of this sad company, and with a face quite
as sad as his neighbors', stood _Lyman Barton_. A little urchin, a
particular friend of the old colonel's, and of mine too, who stood
beside me, pulled my ear down to his lips, and turning his flashing
eye upon Barton, whispered,
'Ought not he to be ashamed of himself?'
'Why, Hal, why?'
'He is making believe cry, just like a crocodile! _Every body_ says
he has written to old Jackson already to be made post-master. I wish
he was in the colonel's place.'
'You could not wish him in a better, my dear.'
'Oh, I did not mean that! I did not mean that!'
He would have proceeded; but I shook my head, and put an end to the
explanation he was eager to make.
* * * * *
THE funeral was over, the cold wind was howling without, the sigh of
the mourners alone was heard, where a few days before all had been
cheerfulness and preparation for the happiest event of human life.
Paulina had lighted a single lamp, and placed it in the farther
part of the room, for there seemed something obtrusive even in the
cheerfulness of light. She was seated on a low chair beside the
old lady. The passiveness of grief was peculiarly unsuited to her
active and happy nature; and, as she sat as if she were paralyzed,
not even heeding the Colonel's favorite cat, who jumped into her
lap, and purred, and looked up for its accustomed caress, one could
hardly believe she was the same girl who was for ever on the wing,
laughing and singing from morning till night. Poor Loyd too, who
had so gently acquiesced in the evils of his lot, who had bent like
the reed before the winds of adversity, suffered now as those only
do who resist while they suffer. Perhaps it was not in human nature
not to mingle the disappointment of the lover with the grief of the
son, and, while he was weeping his loss, to ponder over some of his
father's last words. 'Of course, my children,' he had said, 'you will
dismiss all thoughts of marriage--for the present, I mean. It will be
all, I am afraid more, than you can do, Loyd, when the post-office
and the pension are gone, to get bread for your mother. If you marry,
you can't tell how many claims there may be upon you. But don't be
discouraged, my children; cast your care upon the Lord--something may
turn up--wait--blessed are they who wait in faith.'
Both promised to wait, and both, as they now revolved their promise,
religiously resolved to abide by it, cost what it might.
Their painful meditations were interrupted by a knock at the outer
door, and Loyd admitted Major Perrit, one of his neighbors, and one
of those everlasting meddlers in others' affairs, who, if a certain
proverb were literal, must have had as many fingers as Argus had eyes.
'I am sorry for your affliction, ma'am,' said he, shaking Mrs.
Barnard's extended hand, while a sort of simpering smile played about
his mouth, in spite of the appropriate solemnity he had endeavored to
assume; 'don't go out, Miss Paulina; what I have to communicate is
interesting to you, as well as to the widow and son of the deceased.'
'Some other time, Sir,' interposed Loyd, whose face did not conceal
how much he was annoyed by the officiousness and bustling manner of
his visitor.
'Excuse me, Loyd; I am older than you, and ought to be a little
wiser; we must take time by the fore-lock; others are up and doing;
why should we not be?'
Loyd now comprehended the Major's business, and, pained and somewhat
shocked, he turned away; but, remembering the intention was kind,
though the mode was coarse, he smothered his disgust, and forced
himself to say:
'We are obliged to you, Major Perrit, but I am not in a state of mind
to attend to any business this evening.'
'Oh, I know you have feelings, Loyd; but you must not be more nice
than wise. They _must not_ get the start of us. I always told my
wife it would be so, and now she sees I was right. I tell you,
Loyd, in confidence, your honored father was not cold, before Lyman
Barton was handing round his petition for the office.' It was not
in human nature for the old lady to suppress an a-hem! at this
exact fulfilment of her prediction to the poor colonel. 'Barton's
petition,' continued Perrit, 'will go on to Washington in the mail
to-morrow, and ours _must_ go with it; here it is.' He took the paper
from his pocket, and, opening it, showed a long list of names. 'A
heavy list,' he added; 'but every one of them whigs; we did not ask
a Jackson man; there would have been no use, you know; Lyman Barton
leads them all by the nose.'
Here Perrit was interrupted by a knock at the entry door. A
packet addressed to Loyd was handed to him. Perrit glanced at the
superscription, and exclaimed, 'This is too much, by George! He has
had the impudence to send you the petition.'
'I could not have believed this of him,' thought Loyd, as he broke
the seal; for he, like his father, reluctantly believed ill of any
one. There were a few lines on the envelope; he read them to himself,
and then, with that emotion which a good man feels at an unexpected
good deed, he read them aloud:
'MY DEAR FRIEND LOYD:
'Excuse me for intruding on you, at this early moment, a
business matter that ought not to be deferred. You will see
by the enclosed, that my friends and myself have done what we
could to testify our respect for the memory of your excellent
father, and our esteem for you. Wishing you the success you
deserve,
'I remain very truly yours,
'LYMAN BARTON.'
The enclosed paper was a petition, headed by _Lyman Barton_, and
signed by almost every Jackson partisan in the town, that the office
of post-master might be given to Loyd Barnard. A short prefix to the
petition expressed the signers' respect for the colonel, and their
unqualified confidence in his son. Perrit ran his eye over the list,
and exclaiming, 'This is the Lord's hand! by George!' he seized his
hat and departed, eager to have at least the consolation of first
spreading the news through the village.
Few persons comprehend a degree of virtue beyond that of which they
are themselves capable.
'It is, indeed, in one sense,' said Loyd, as the door closed after
Perrit, 'the hand of the Lord; for He it is that makes his creatures
capable of such disinterested goodness.'
Those who heard the fervid language and tone in which Loyd expressed
his gratitude, when he that night, for the first time, took his
father's place at the family altar, must have felt that this was
one of the few cases where it was _equally_ 'blessed to give and to
receive.'
Loyd's appointment came by return of mail from Washington. In due
time the wedding-cake was cut, and _Our Village Post-master_ is as
happy as love and fortune can make him.
* * * * *
It was a bright thought in a philanthropist of one of our
cities, to note down the actual good deeds that passed under his
observation. We have imitated his example in recording an act of rare
disinterestedness and generosity. It certainly merits a more enduring
memorial; but it has its fitting reward in the respect it inspires,
and in its blessed tendency to vanquish the prejudices and soften the
asperities of political parties.
FOOTNOTE:
[19] WE are indebted to an advance copy of 'THE TOKEN,' for 1838,
for this admirable story, from the pen of one who touches nothing
that she does not ornament; and happily it is only virtue and
goodness which she strives to embellish. Like 'Our Burial Place,'
written for the KNICKERBOCKER, by the same author, it is domestic
and simple in its details, yet even more interesting than romance.
It is to be regretted, that the circulation of such of our annuals
as blend instruction and valuable lessons with amusement, should be
mainly confined, owing to their expensive dress and adornments, to
the larger cities and towns. Bestowed at a season when the hearts of
both giver and receiver are peculiarly open to kind impulses and good
inculcations, they must be regarded as capable of a wide and salutary
influence.
EDS. KNICKERBOCKER.
SONNETS: BY 'QUINCE.'
AUTUMN.
IMPERIAL Autumn! Season's Monarch! throned
In more than orient pomp and majesty--
Earth's harvest king! with smiles and sunshine crowned,
Full of perfection and maturity!
Thou art the vaunted glory of the year;
Scarlet and gold and emerald leaves are thine,
Rocks, trees and forests thy rich mantles wear,
And all earth's verdures in thy lustres shine:
Yet, as the expiring lamp most brightly glows--
Or as the hectic on Consumption's cheek--
So to the year, thy beauty paints the close,
Thy added lustre does grim death bespeak:
But even in death thou own'st supremacy,
And mayest example--not exampled--be.
APPEARANCES.
IN fruit most tempting, ashes hidden lie;
In richest flowers lives not the sweetest breath;
In berries are, most beauteous to the eye,
Poisons impregnate, in whose taste is death;
The sweetest song-bird's plumage is not gay,
But birds which sing not are most fair to see,
Yet from the beautiful we turn away,
To list the song-bird's dulcet melody!
So homely virtue sometimes lowly lies,
By brazen vice's gaudy lustre seen;
But vice discerned, in ermine we despise;
And virtue known, we honor as a queen.
From fruit, flower, bird, from all the inference is,
We may mistake, full oft, APPEARANCES.
AVARICE.
HE comes with stealthy step and restless eye,
Meagre and wan--a living skeleton--
To where his god, his golden treasures lie,
He comes to feast (his only meal) thereon:
'Rich! rich!' he cries--' I am as Croesus rich!'
Poor, poor he is!--not Lazarus more poor;
Envy him not, thou houseless, wandering wretch,
Who beg'st for charity from door to door;
It is gaunt Avarice! If he could feed
His famished body through his greedy eye,
Or carry to the grave his gold--indeed!
Envied on earth he'd live, and envied die;
But he is like the wave which covers o'er
Gems unenjoyed, it leaves, in ebbing from the shore.
ANACREONTIC.
I.
STRIKE, strike the golden strings,
And to their glorious sound,
Fill, fill the red wine high,
And let the toast go round:
To woman, dearest woman,
Quaff we the generous wine;
Give me thy hand, my brother,
Here's to thy love and mine,
Thy love and mine!
II.
Strike, strike the harp, that ever
Thrilled to dear woman's praise;
Of all the themes the brightest
May win a poet's lays:
To woman, dearest woman,
Quaff the warm blood of the vine;
And hand in hand, my brother,
Drink we to thine and mine,
To thine and mine!
A. A. M.
OLLAPODIANA.
NUMBER XXI.
WE parted, good my reader, last at the Catskills--no? 'It was a
summer's evening;' and with my shadow on the mountain mist, I ween,
vanished in your thoughts the memory of me. Well, that was natural.
A hazy, dream-like idea of my whereabout may have haunted you for a
moment--but it passed. I cannot allow you to escape so easily. 'Lend
us the loan' of your eye, for some twenty minutes; and if you are a
home-bred and untravelled person, 'tis likely, as the valet says in
Cinderella, that 'I may chance to make you stare!'
* * * * *
IN discoursing of the territorial wonderments in question, which have
been moulded by the hand of the Almighty, I cannot suppose that you
who read my reveries will look with a compact, imaginative eye upon
that which has forced its huge radius upon my own extended vision.
I ask you, howbeit, to take my arm, and step forth with me from the
piazza of the Mountain House. It is night. A few stars are peering
from a dim azure field of western sky; the high-soaring breeze, the
breath of heaven, makes a stilly music in the neighboring pines; the
meek crest of Dian rolls along the blue depths of ether, tinting
with silver lines the half dun, half fleecy clouds; they who are in
the parlors make 'considerable' noise; there is an individual at
the end of the portico discussing his quadrupled julep, and another
devotedly sucking the end of a cane, as if it were full of mother's
milk; he hummeth also an air from _Il Pirata_, and wonders, in the
simplicity of his heart, 'why the devil that there steam-boat from
Albany, doesn't begin to show its lights down on the Hudson.' His
companion of the glass, however, is intent on the renewal thereof.
Calling to him the chief 'help' of the place, he says: 'Is that other
antifogmatic ready?'
'No, Sir.'
'Well, now, person, what's the reason? What was my last observation?
Says I to you, says I, 'Make me a fourth of them beverages;'
and moreover I added, 'Just you keep doing so; be _constantly_
making them, till the order is countermanded.' Give us another;
go!--vanish!--'disappear, and appear!''
The obsequious servant went; and returning with the desired,
draught, observed, probably for the thousandth time: 'There! that's
what I call the true currency; them's the _ginooyne_ mint drops;
HA--_ha_--ha!'--these separate divisions of his laughter coming out
of his mouth at intervals of about half a minute each.
* * * * *
THERE is a bench near the verge of the Platform where, when you sit
at evening, the hollow-sounding air comes up from the vast vale
below, like the restless murmurs of the ocean. Anchor yourself here
for a while, reader, with me. It being the evening of the national
anniversary, a few patriotic individuals are extremely busy in
piling up a huge pyramid of dried pine branches, barrels covered
with tar, and kegs of spirits, to a height of some fifteen or twenty
feet--perhaps higher. A bonfire is premeditated. You shall see anon,
how the flames will rise. The preparations are completed; the fire
is applied. Hear how it crackles and hisses! Slowly but spitefully
it mounts from limb to limb, and from one combustible to another,
until the whole welkin is a-blaze, and shaking as with thunder!
It is a beautiful sight. The gush of unwonted radiance rolls in
effulgent surges adown the vale. How the owl hoots with surprise at
the interrupting light! Bird of wisdom, it is the Fourth! and you may
well add your voice to swell the choral honors of the time. How the
tall old pines, withered by the biting scathe of Eld, rise to the
view, afar and near--white shafts, bottomed in darkness, and standing
like the serried spears of an innumerable army! The groups around the
beacon are gathered together, but are forced to enlarge the circle of
their acquaintance, by the growing intensity of the increasing blaze.
Some of them, being ladies, their white robes waving in the mountain
breeze, and the light shining full upon them, present, you observe, a
beautiful appearance. The pale pillars of the portico flash fitfully
into view, now seen and gone, like columns of mist. The swarthy
African who kindled the fire regards it with perspiring face and
grinning ivories; and lo! the man who hath mastered the quintupled
glass of metamorphosed _eau-de-vie_, standing by the towering pile
of flame, and, reaching his hand on high, he smiteth therewith his
sinister pap, with a most hollow sound--the knell, as it were, of his
departing reason. In short, he is making an oration!
Listen to those voiceful currents of air, traversing the vast
profound below the Platform! What a mighty circumference do they
sweep! Over how many towns, and dwellings, and streams, and
incommunicable woods! Murmurs of the dark, sources and awakeners of
sublime imagination, swell from afar. You have thoughts of eternity
and power here, which shall haunt you evermore. But we must be early
stirrers in the morning. Let us to bed.
* * * * *
YOU can lie on your pillow at Catskill, and see the god of day
look upon you from behind the pinnacles of the White Mountains in
New-Hampshire, hundreds of miles away. Noble prospect! As the great
orb heaves up in ineffable grandeur, he seems rising from beneath
you, and you fancy that you have attained an elevation where may be
seen _the motion of the world_. No intervening land to limit the
view, you seem suspended in mid-air, without one obstacle to check
the eye. The scene is indescribable. The chequered and interminable
vale, sprinkled with groves, and lakes, and towns, and streams; the
mountains afar off, swelling tumultuously heavenward, like waves of
the ocean, some incarnadined with radiance, others purpled in shade;
all these, to use the language of an auctioneer's advertisement, 'are
too tedious to mention, but may be seen on the premises.' I know of
but one picture which will give the reader an idea of this ethereal
spot. It was the view which the angel Michael was polite enough,
one summer morning, to point out to Adam, from the highest hill of
Paradise:
'His eye might there command wherever stood
City of old or modern fame, the seat
Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls
Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaïan Can,
And Sarmachand by Oxus, Temir's throne,
To Paquin of Sinæan kings; and thence
To Agra and Labor of great Mogul
Down to the golden Chersonese; or where
The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since
In Hizpahan; or where the Russian Ksar
In Mosco; or the Sultan in Bizance,
Turchestan born; nor could his eye not ken
The empire of Negus, to his utmost port,
Erocco; and the less maritime kings
Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind,
And Sofala, thought Ophir, to the realm
Of Congo and Angola, farthest south;
Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas' mount,
The kingdoms of Almanzor, Fez, and Suz,
Morocco, and Algier, and Tremizen;
On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway
The world; in spirit perhaps he also saw
Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume,
(And Texas too, great Houston's seat--who knows?)
And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat
Of Atabalipa; and yet unspoiled
Guiana, whose great city Geyron's sons
Call El Dorado.'
* * * * *
OF the falls, sooth to say, little can be ejaculated in the
eulogistic way. The cataract is only 'on hand' for a part of the
time. It is kept in a dam, and let down for two shillings. The demand
for the article has sometimes exceeded the supply, especially in
dry weather. We quote the sales, as per register, while there, at
perhaps some three hundred yards. Oh, Mercury! Scenery by the square
foot! Sublimity by the quintal!
* * * * *
IT looks to be a perilous enterprise, to descend the Catskills. You
feel, as you commence the 'facilis descensus,' (what an unhackneyed
phrase, to be sure!) very much the sort of sensation probably
experienced by Parachute Cocking, whose end was so shocking. The
wheels of the coach are shod with the preparation of iron slippers,
which are essential to a hold-up; and as you bowl and grate along,
with wilderness-chasms and a brawling stream mayhap on one hand,
and horrid masses of stone seemingly ready to tumble upon you on
the other--the far plain stretching like the sea beneath you,
in the mists of the morning--your emotions are _fidgetty_. You
are not afraid--not you, indeed! Catch you at such folly! No;
but you wish most devoutly that you were some nine miles down,
notwithstanding--and are looking eagerly for that consummation.
* * * * *
WE paused just long enough at the base of the mountain, to water the
cattle, and hear a bit of choice grammar from the landlord; a burly,
big individual, 'careless of the objective case,' and studious of
ease, in bags of tow-cloth, (trowsers by courtesy,) and a roundabout
of the same material; the knees of the unmentionables apparently
greened by kneeling humbly at the lactiferous udder of his only cow,
day by day. He addressed 'the gentleman that driv' us down:'
'Well, Josh--I seen them _rackets_!'
'Wa'n't they almighty bright?' was the inquisitive reply.
This short colloquy had reference to a train of fire-works which were
set off the evening before at the Mountain-House--long snaky trails
of light, flashing in their zig-zag course through the darkness.
It was beautiful to see those fiëry sentences written fitfully
on the sky, fading one by one, like some Hebrew character--some
Nebuchadnezzar scroll--in the dark profound, and showing, as the
rocket fell and faded, that beneath the lowest deep to which
it descended, there was one yet lower still, to which it swept
'plumb-down, a shower of fire.'
We presently rolled away, and were soon drawn up in front of the
Hudson and the horse-boat, at the landing. The same unfortunate
animals were peering forth from that aquatic vehicle; one of them
dropping his hairy lip, with a melancholy expression, and the other
strenuously endeavoring to remove a wisp of straw which had found a
lodgment on his nose. The effort, however, was vain; his physical
energies sank under the task; he gave it up, and was soon under way
for the opposite shore, with his four-legged fellow traveller, and
three bipeds, who were smoking segars.
* * * * *
IT is right pleasant and joyous to see the number of juvenile
patriots who are taken forth into the country, (whose glories for
the first time, perhaps, are shed upon their town-addicted eyes,) on
the great national holiday. To them, the flaunting honors of the
landscape have a new beauty, and a joyous meaning; the sun hangs
above them like a great ball of fire in the sky; the waters wear
a glittering sheen; and the wide moving pulse of life beats with
a universal thrill of happiness to them. I could not but note the
number of urchins in the steamer, whom their 'paternal derivatives'
were guiding around, and showing, to _their_ vision at least, 'all
the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them.'
* * * * *
WELL, to those who are disposed to glean philosophy from the mayhap
less noticeable objects of this busy world, there are few sights more
lovely than childhood. The little cherub who now sits at my knee, and
tries, with tiny effort, to clutch the quill with which I am playing
for you, good reader; whose capricious taste, varying from ink-stand
to paper, and from that to books, and every other portable thing--all
'movables that I could tell you of'--he has in his little person
those elements which constitute both the freshness of our sublunary
mortality, and that glorious immortality which the mortal shall yet
put on. Gazing upon his fair young brow, his peach-like cheek, and
the depths of those violet eyes, I feel myself rejuvenated. That
which bothered Nicodemus, is no marvel to me. I feel that I have a
new existence; nor can I dispel the illusion. It is harder, indeed,
to believe that he will ever be what I am, than that I am otherwise
than he is now. I cannot imagine that he will ever become a pilosus
adult, with harvests for the razor on that downy chin. Will those
golden locks become the brown auburn? Will that forehead rise as
a varied and shade-changing record of pleasure or care? Will the
classic little lips, now colored as by the radiance of a ruby, ever
be fitfully bitten in the glow of literary composition?--and will
those sun-bright locks, which hang about his temples like the soft
lining of a summer cloud, become meshes where hurried fingers shall
thread themselves in play? By the mass, I cannot tell. But this I
know. That which hath been, shall be: the lot of manhood, if he live,
will be upon him; the charm--the obstacle--the triumphant fever--the
glory, the success--the far-reaching thoughts,
----'That make them eagle wings
To pierce the unborn years.'