had nearly died away. The fresh air, with the exercise of walking,
produced that racy and dancing stir of the blood, which all action,
whether evil or noble in its nature, raises in our veins. The full
moon now rose in all the splendor of its matchless beauty, and bathed
in silvery light the gorgeous piles of snow-white clouds that calmly
reposed on the surface of the dark blue sky. The walk was too pleasant
to be of long duration, and before it seemed a moment had elapsed, I
found myself on the marble steps of the house to which I had been
directing my course. At my aristocratic pull of the door-bell, a
servant immediately made his appearance, and to my inquiry if Mrs.
D---- was at home, he answered in the negative. "Did Miss ----
accompany her, or did she remain?" said I in a hesitating tone of
voice. "_She_ is within," said the servant, and he forthwith ushered
me in. In a few moments Miss ---- entered the room, looking as fresh
and beautiful as Aurora "when first she leaves her rosy bed." It is
useless to trespass upon the patience of the reader by giving a prolix
account of a scene he has read of in every novel, romance, or tale,
that has been written since the time of Clovis. Be it sufficient to
say, that with "accents sweet" I poured forth the impassioned tale of
my love--and with all that eloquence which love (and the hope of the
five thousand per annum only) could have inspired. My suit was
accepted; and to escape the vigilance of my aunt, it was agreed that
she should attend the fancy ball the next evening, habited in the
costume of a "Novice," at which place I should meet her as Young
Norval. Soon as the clock should toll the hour of twelve we should
leave the "festive scene," while all would be too busy to notice our
departure. Immediately we were to repair to the residence of my aunt,
when, after changing our dresses for some more suitable, we should
hasten to a country seat about twenty miles distant, possessed by a
near relative of mine, where we should be united in the holy band of
matrimony.
This arrangement being made, with a heart buoyant with hope, and an
elastic tread, I soon regained my apartment. And
"Now the latter watch of wasting night
And setting stars to sweet repose invite;"
but the high excitement under which I had been, banished
"Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,"
from my pillow.
* * * * *
Conformably to the plan arranged between Miss ---- and myself, I drove
to Mrs. M ----'s at the usual hour, and halted some distance from the
house, in the rear of about a hundred carriages. The rooms were
already full when I entered--and after being announced in character
and introduced to the lady of the house, I mingled with the motley
crowd.
For the first hour the scene was grotesque in the extreme. The guests
paraded the rooms with all the gravity of well-bred persons of the
sixteenth century, looking stiff and very uncomfortable in their
ill-adjusted habiliments. At the announcement of supper the prospect
for pleasure brightened, and the guests felt themselves more at home.
The gaudy figures moving about in the full blaze of the numberless
chandeliers, produced a brilliant effect; and the various characters
mingling together, made a splendid show of the burlesque. Here a "Red
Man" from the "Far West," with his beautifully variegated moccasins,
and a glass of "golden Sherry" in his hand, was descanting on the
beauties of the latest tie with a superb "Spanish Cavalier," who
haughtily fingered his jet black moustache, and sipped his Sherbet.
Next him stood a "Knight of Malta," with his magnificent stars and
diamonds, in close converse with a "Peasant Girl." The "Arch Bishop"
set the whole table in a roar by his jokes; and "His Holiness" the
Pope, giggled with "Anne Boleyn" over an ice-cream. The Jew was
detected with ham-sandwich; while "King Lear" forgot the ingratitude
of his daughters over champagne.
I finding the assignated time approaching, detached myself from the
brilliant crowd around the supper table, and took a seat on a sofa in
the next _room_. I had not been seated many minutes before I perceived
"The Novice" approaching, and at that instant a clock near me tolled
the midnight hour. I dashed up to the object of my search, and
observing it was now time to go, she immediately took my arm, and we
marched out. At the door I handed her into a carriage, and ordered the
coachman to drive as rapidly as possible to ---- street. In a few
moments we arrived at the house, and seeing her rather slow, I
requested her to unveil, as we had no time to lose. Slowly she raised
her hand, and removing the dark veil from her face, disclosed the
features of--_my aunt_. Overwhelmed with rage and disappointment I
rushed from the house, and meeting one of the servants, learned that
Miss ---- had suddenly heard of the death of a relative to whom she
was much attached, and had been unable to attend the ball. It appears
she had written to me, but the note, by some unpardonable negligence
of the domestic to whom it was entrusted, had never been delivered.
Learning these particulars I hurried down the street, and seeing a
stage-coach standing before a hotel door, I leaped into it, and drove
off. The motion of the carriage produced a dull, heavy sensation on my
frame, and at length I fell asleep. I was aroused from my slumber by
the sounds of laughter, and soon discovered that it arose from my
fellow-passengers, who were diverting themselves at the oddity of my
appearance and dress. Some took me for a madman. But one old gentlemen
in pepper and salt dress, and with a red nose, assured the company
that I was some theatrical character who had eloped from his
creditors. Never was he of the "Grampian Hills" worse treated. At
length I arrived at an inn, where I procured a suit of clothes, and
resolved either to commit suicide, or drown my cares in a bottle of
_Champagne_.
J. C.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
SHADOW. A FABLE--BY ----.
Ye who read are still among the living, but I who write shall have
long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange
things shall happen, and many secret things be known, and many
centuries shall pass away ere these memorials be seen of men. And when
seen there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a
few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven
with a stylus of iron.
The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than
terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies
and signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the
black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those,
nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the
Heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among
others it was evident, that now had arrived the alternation of that
seven hundred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries,
the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring of the terrible
Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, if I mistake not, greatly
made itself manifest, not only in the physical orb of the earth, but
in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of mankind.
Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble
hall, in a dim city by the melancholy sea, we sat, at night, a company
of seven. And to our chamber there was no entrance save by a lofty
door of brass: and the door was fashioned by the artizan Corinnos, and
being of rare workmanship was fastened from within. Black draperies,
likewise, in the gloomy room shut out from our view the moon, the
lurid stars, and the peopleless streets--but the boding and the memory
of Evil, they would not be so excluded. There were things around us
and about of which I can render no distinct account--things material
and spiritual. Heaviness in the atmosphere--a sense of
suffocation--anxiety--and above all, that terrible state of existence
which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly living and
awake, and meanwhile the powers of thought lie dormant. A dead weight
hung upon us. It hung upon our limbs--upon the household
furniture--upon the goblets from which we drank; and all things were
depressed, and borne down thereby--all things save only the flames of
the seven iron lamps which illumined our revel. Uprearing themselves
in tall slender lines of light, they thus remained burning all pallid
and motionless; and in the mirror which their lustre formed upon the
round table of ebony at which we sat, each of us there assembled
beheld the pallor of his own countenance, and the unquiet glare in the
downcast eyes of his companions. Yet we laughed and were merry in our
proper way--which was hysterical; and sang the songs of
Anacreon--which are madness; and drank deeply--although the purple
wine reminded us of blood. For there was yet another tenant of our
chamber in the person of young Zoilus. Dead, and at full length he
lay, enshrouded--the genius and the demon of the scene. Alas! he bore
no portion in our mirth, save that his countenance distorted with the
plague, and his eyes in which Death had but half extinguished the fire
of the pestilence, seemed to take such interest in our merriment as
the dead may take in the merriment of those who are to die. But
although I, Oinos, felt that the eyes of the departed were upon me,
still I forced myself not to perceive the bitterness of their
expression, and, gazing down steadily into the depths of the ebony
mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous voice the songs of the son of
Teios. But gradually my songs they ceased, and their echoes rolling
afar off among the sable draperies of the chamber became weak, and
indistinguishable, and so fainted away. And lo! from among those sable
draperies where the sounds of the song departed, there came forth a
dark and undefined shadow--a shadow such as the moon when low in
Heaven might fashion from the figure of a man: but it was the shadow
neither of man, nor of God, nor of any familiar thing. And quivering
awhile among the draperies of the room, it at length rested in full
view upon the surface of the door of brass. But the shadow was vague,
and formless, and indefinitive, and was the shadow neither of man nor
God--neither God of Greece, nor God of Chaldæa, nor any Egyptian God.
And the shadow rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of
the entablature of the door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but
there became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the
shadow rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the
young Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having
seen the shadow as it came out from among the draperies, dared not
steadily behold it, but cast down our eyes, and gazed continually into
the depths of the mirror of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking
some low words, demanded of the shadow its dwelling and its
appellation. And the shadow answered, "I am SHADOW, and my dwelling is
near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of
Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal." And then did we,
the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and
shuddering, and aghast: for the tones in the voice of the shadow were
not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of beings, and,
varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable, fell duskily upon
our ears in the well remembered and familiar accents of a thousand
departed friends.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
CURSE OF THE "BETRAYED ONE."
A FRAGMENT--BY HUGH BLAIR.
They moved her couch, that the whispering breath
Of evening might come with its balmy sigh,
And fan her brow, e'er the film of death
Spread over her dark and beautiful eye.
But she heeded not the whispering wind,
For her burning thoughts afar were roaming;
Madness had seized on her wretched mind,
And her high brow throb'd, and her lips were foaming!
And the beautiful curls of her sable hair
Streamed wildly over her fevered pillow--
And her bosom heaved in its whiteness there,
As the breeze heaves up the snowy billow--
And her teeth with convulsive grasp were set,
And her eye burned bright as a beam of day--
She twined her hand in her locks of jet,
And tore their glittering curls away!
And she screamed with a wild, convulsive shriek,
Then uttered a low protracted groan--
As ye've heard the wind thro' your lattice break,
And die away with a hollow moan.
But at length, through the evening's gathering gloom,
Her voice came forth from the riven chords
Of her broken heart, as from a tomb!
And she utter'd these wild and fearful words:
"I've loved thee, man, with an ardent love;
I've sworn it by each orb above--
By the glorious Sun when he sank to rest,
And lit with his beams the glowing west--
By the pallid Moon, when her silver beam
Danced gladly o'er yon murmuring stream,
Upon whose verdant banks with you
I've stood that holy orb to view--
And by every lamp which the dusk of even
Hung out in the glittering arch of heaven.
I cannot _now_ deny the flame
Which has wasted thus my wretched frame--
For I've told it thee by many a word
Which came from the core of my bleeding heart,
As you touched each thrilling, aching chord,
By that hellish power, thy fiendish art.
I've told it thee by many a sigh,
By many a tear in my weary eye,
By many a sob, and many a groan,
Which burst from the lips of thy '_lovely one_'--
And I've told it thee by the burning streak
Which so often lit my fevered cheek,
As you played with each glittering curl of jet
That waved on the neck of '_Thy Martinette!_'
Come hither thou fiend and gaze upon me;
Behold the wreck of thy hellish power--
Come hither, I have a _blessing_ for thee,
Which thou shalt hear in my dying hour.
"That maiden, she of the lovely face,
Who holds in thy heart _my_ wretched place,
Shall become thy bride, and her first born son
Be a monster, hideous to gaze upon!
And the sight of the thing shall drive her mad!
And while she's screaming in accents wild,
She shall call upon thee in tones most sad,
Thyself to murder her hideous child!
Oh, she shall shriek in her wild despair,
And her phrensied eye, with a fearful glare,
Full on thy faithless face shall gleam--
And with lips of foam and teeth close set,
Her voice full in thy ear shall scream,
'Remember the curse of _thy Martinette!_'
And with fingers of blood she shall rend her cheek--
And those lips which now in their freshness part,
Shall utter as wild and terrific a shriek
As ever yet burst from my broken heart;
And her every shriek and her every groan
Shall wither thy heart, thou faithless one!
And thus she shall die, ere reason's dawn
The veil from her wildered soul hath drawn.
But her blasted babe, that hideous thing,
Shall live--and its frightful presence shall bring
Galling thoughts, which shall have the power
To blast thy every peaceful hour!
By its blasted form thou shalt never forget
The dying curse of _thy Martinette!_"
She spoke, and sunk back on her dying bed,
And the blood gushed forth from her lips of foam!
They raised her again--but the spirit had fled
Away, away to its secret home!
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO MRS. B. G. S.
When Summer sheds her soft perfume
The bowers among--
When all the earth is rich in bloom,
The sky in song--
When evening's golden clouds like shadows flee,
Turn for an instant then your thoughts on me.
When Winter in her frozen zone
Robs earth of green--
When only Friendship can atone
For what has been--
When round the hearth your other friends you see,
It is the hour I love--think then of me.
In days of bliss when hope is nigh,
And life is dear,
Your heart with joy elate beats high,
And friends are near--
Forget not there is one will ever be
Glad of thy gladness; cast a thought on me.
And when the darksome days
Of age or ill
The bright and cheering rays
Of hope shall chill,
Think there is one whose love can never be
Changed with Time's changes--oh remember me.
E. A. S.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE SEA BIRD'S REVEL.
BY GILES McQUIGGIN.
Look out upon the ocean wave--
Look from the lonely shore;
See how the mountain billows rave,
Hark how the waters roar!
Darkly hangs the tempest cloud,
From windward to the lee;
The thunder mutters hoarse and loud
Above the foaming sea.
'Tis nature in her revel hour--
She sweeps a stormy wing;
Old Ocean trembles at her power,
As wild his surges fling.
The sea bird rides upon her wrath,
Rocks on the tempest's ire--
Surveys the lurid lightning's path,
And shouts amid its fire.
The proud bird breasts the storm alone,
Mounts through its misty height--
The summit is his lofty throne,
The thunder his delight.
While gazing on the horrors round,
His burning eye-balls glare;
King of the storm, with lightnings crown'd,
He fears no terrors there.
When he for very gladness shrieks,
It deafens ocean's roar--
O'er nature in her wildest freaks
The proud storm king may soar.
Ride on aerial charioteer,
The tempest hails thy form;
Thou lov'st a sky forever clear,
Go seek it through the storm.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
I MET THEE BY MOONLIGHT ALONE.
BY M. S. LOVETT.
_Air_--"Oh! meet me by moonlight alone."
I met thee by moonlight alone,
The blue sky was cloudless above;
And dew-gems around us were thrown,
To gladden our meeting of love.
I met thee by moonlight alone,
My heart trusting wholly to thee:
Was it prudent? Alas! I will own
That I asked not, for _thou_ wast with me.
How buoyant my heart, and how sweet
The zephyrs that waved through my hair!
Low murmured the stream at my feet,
Its tale to the summer-night air.
But ah! did the sky cease to smile?
The Moon--were her silver rays gone?
Did _each_ beauty but tarry the while
We met--love, by moonlight alone?
Oh no, for the sky is still bright,
The dew-drops still nightly have shone:
On _me_ fell the darkness and blight:
I met thee by moonlight alone!
And the pale Moon while wand'ring above,
Oft hears its sad votaries own,
That too often the Altar of Love
Is lighted by moonlight alone.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LETTERS FROM A SISTER.
LETTER TWENTY-FIRST.
Places of Protestant Worship in Paris--History of Mr. Lewis Way an
English Divine.
PARIS, ----.
_Dear Jane_:
Here is an interesting narrative to amuse you, which I have just heard
related. In the _Champs Elysées_, there stands a beautiful protestant
chapel, where we attend divine service almost every Sabbath; if we do
not go there, we repair to the oratorio, a protestant church in the
Rue St. Honoré, or to the English Ambassador's, where there is public
worship every Sunday, or to another temple consecrated to our form of
worship, (the Church of the Visitation,) in the Rue Saint Antoine.
Bishop Luscombe officiates at the oratorio, and Mr. Wilkes, a
Presbyterian clergyman, assembles his congregation in an upper
apartment adjoining the church. The history in question is that of the
Rev. Mr. Lewis Way, who owns the chapel in the Champs Elysées and
preaches there; he is extremely eloquent and energetic, and speaks
plain truths to his flock without hesitation, when necessary. It is
said that when a youth he had an ardent desire to be educated for the
church, but his parents being extremely poor, and not having any
relatives to assist him, he became a student of law at the temple, and
was one morning proceeding to his labors, when he observed his own
name inscribed on the door plate of a handsome dwelling. He
immediately ascended the steps and requested to speak with the master
of the house, and on his appearance, after apologizing for the liberty
he was taking, told his story, represented his forlorn situation, and
begged to be informed if there was any relationship between them. On
comparing notes he found there was _not_ and was taking leave, but the
gentleman, who was an odd old bachelor, insisted on his prolonging his
visit, and in the interim, sent a trusty servant to inquire his
character of the lawyer under whom he studied, and who happened to be
the one whom he (Mr. Way, _Senior_,) usually employed. The lawyer's
answer was highly creditable to his pupil, and from that moment the
old gentleman adopted him, enabled him to take orders, and dying soon
afterwards, bequeathed him a fortune of 300,000 pounds sterling. The
sudden accession of such wealth affected his brain, and he was crazy
for several years. Now, _I_ think he must have been so, when he
introduced himself so strangely to his benefactor; but be that as it
may, on regaining his senses, he resolved to make Paris his future
home, and to devote his time to the protestants in that city. He
accordingly came over here, purchased the hotel Marboeuf his present
abode, and converted a portion of it into the tasteful little chapel,
where he addresses and edifies a numerous congregation on all holy
days. The seats of the chapel are covered with cerulean velvet, the
windows ornamented with paintings, and there is a good organ, upon
which one of his daughters (for he has married and has several
children,) always performs. A shady and pleasant garden adds to the
beauty and comfort of the place. And thus ends my story, for the truth
of which remember I do not vouch. But as I have had it told to me,--so
I have detailed it unto thee; and with this flourishing rhyme
conclude.
Yours,
LEONTINE.
* * * * *
LETTER TWENTY-SECOND.
Excursion to Lagrange--Count de Tracy and Madame La Fayette--Theatre
of Monsieur Compte--Chinese Baths.
PARIS, ----.
I thank you beloved sister! for your affectionate letter of the ----
instant, and shall not delay answering it, for I am impatient to
inform you of our recent agreeable excursion to Lagrange. On Friday,
we availed ourselves of the kind General's invitation, and rising very
early, commenced our journey to his castle. We partook of coffee,
eggs, and bread and butter, at a village some leagues hence, and
having rested the horses, went on so rapidly as to reach Lagrange in
time for dinner; met with a cordial reception from all the family, and
were introduced to several distinguished guests. Among these, were the
venerable Count de Tracy and the celebrated Monsieur Constant. The
former is the father of Madame G. Lafayette, and a charming old
gentleman he is. The latter, the intimate friend of Madame de Stael
and the leader of the liberal party in the Chamber of Deputies, I have
described to you in a previous letter. Madame George Lafayette is the
presiding hostess of Lagrange, and has uncommonly affable and
affectionate manners; indeed the whole family (as I have already
remarked) are extremely amiable, and so charitable, that many poor
persons in their neighborhood are supported by their bounty. Madame
Lafayette Senior, you know, died of a malady contracted by her, in the
damp and noxious dungeon of Olmutz, while she shared her husband's
captivity. Her memory is deservedly venerated by him, and I am told
that he cannot speak of her, without shedding tears of sorrow and
gratitude, at the recollection of her sufferings and self-sacrifice
for his sake. He shewed us a miniature of their jailor, which was
taken by his eldest daughter, Madame de Maubourg, during their
imprisonment, in the following singular manner. She drew it first on
her thumb nail with a _pin_, not being allowed a pencil or paper;
however, having found means to obtain a piece of crayon and a blank
leaf from a book, she copied the head sketched on her nail, and as the
resemblance was striking, her father has since had it painted in oil
colors, by an artist, who has enlarged the design; by portraying the
old Cerberus with a huge bunch of keys, and in the act of unlocking
the prison door. It is quite an interesting little picture.