up and doing. This is not a business that can be trifled with. The
longer we put it off, the tighter will the knot be drawn. Stop,
until I get the papers.' Leaving the room for a moment, he returned
fully equipped for walking; with a huge handkerchief wrapped round
his chin, and his broad-brimmed beaver pulled tightly down over his
forehead. 'Now my cane, Spite, and we'll see if we can't get to the
bottom of this deviltry. We're embarked in a good cause, my old
pup, and mustn't give up. Now then! it's a glorious day; the air's
bracing, and will make your old bones quite young again. Hey! what
spirits you're in!' said he, as Spite, elated at being associated in
so important a matter, after wriggling his body in a most convulsive
manner, by way of expressing his satisfaction, finally fell over on
his back, in an abortive effort to perform a hilarious pirouette on
his hind legs. 'Never mind, old fellow,' said Harson, 'pick yourself
up; accidents will happen to the best of us. I warrant me you'd
have done it better ten years ago; don't be down-hearted about it.
We're going to see old Holmes; and when you and I and old Holmes are
thoroughly at work in sifting this matter, why Rust had better look
sharp. Hey, Spite?'
Thus talking to his dog, or whistling to himself, or exchanging a
cheery word with an acquaintance as he passed, the old man trudged
along, followed at a very staid pace by his dog, who since his
late unsuccessful effort, had fallen into a very serious mood,
notwithstanding all the efforts of his master to raise his spirits
and to banish the recollection of it from his mind.
The person whom Harson sought was a little antiquated man, who had
buried himself among his books, and spent his time in burrowing in
out-of-the-way corners of the law. He had wormed his way into all
its obsolete nooks, and haunted those regions of it which had become
deserted, and as it were grass-grown from long disuse. By degrees he
had slunk from a practice which had once promised to be large; and a
name which had once bid fair to shine brightly in the annals of the
law, gradually grew faint in memory, as its owner was missed from
those places where the constant rush of the crowd soon wears out any
impress made by those who are no longer seen. But there were times
when the old man looked out from his den, and prowled among those
who had crowded in his place; and there were times, (but those were
on rare occasions, when some exciting case would be on the carpet,)
when an old man would steal into the court-room, with a bundle of
papers under his arm; and would take his seat at the table among the
counsel engaged in the case; sitting silent throughout the whole;
speaking to none; taking no notes; watching the witnesses with his
dim eyes; studying the faces of the jury; occasionally referred to
by the other counsel; but taking no part in any discussions until
the evidence was closed, and the cause was to be summed up; and
then, to the surprise of all, except the bench and a few of the
oldest of the bar, rising to address the jury; commencing in a low,
feeble tone, and apparently sinking with infirmity, until by degrees
his dim eye became like fire; his faint voice like the clear ringing
of a bell; his eloquence as burning as if flowing from the lips of
manhood's prime; his sarcasm withering; his logic strong, clear,
fervid, and direct; no loitering; no circumlocution; no repetition:
what he had to say he said _once_, and only once. Those who missed
it then waited in vain for something of the same nature to explain
it; it never came. His object was before him; and he hurried onward
to it, sweeping every thing before him and carrying all with him.
And when he had concluded, as he gathered his papers and left the
court, the elder members of the bar would say among themselves: 'Old
Holmes is himself again;' and the younger ones wondered who he was;
and as they learned his name, remembered dimly of having heard it as
that of one who had lived in by-gone days.
His office was not in the business part of the town; but in a quiet,
shady street, which few frequented, rilled with huge trees, and so
quiet and out of the way that it seemed like a church-yard. Thither
Harson bent his steps; and it was not long before he found himself
in his office.
It was a large, dim room, with high shelves filled with volumes
and papers, reaching to the low ceiling. Long, dusty cobwebs hung
trailing from the walls: the very spiders who had formed them,
finding that they caught nothing, had abandoned them. The floor was
thickly carpeted; and a few chairs were scattered about, with odd
volumes lying upon them. Upon a table covered with a green cloth,
were piles of loose papers, ends of old pens, torn scraps of paper,
and straggling bits of red tape. Altogether, it was a sombre-looking
place, so still and gloomy, and with such a chilly, forbidding
air, that it seemed not unlike one of those mysterious chambers,
which once abounded in antiquated castles, and tumbling-down old
houses, with a ghost story hanging to their skirts; or which some
ill-natured fairy had doomed to be shut up for a hundred years; and
the little thin dried-up man who sat in the far corner of it with
every faculty buried in the large volume on his knees, looked as
though he might have dwelt there for the whole of that period. Had
it been so it would have been the same to him; for in that dim room
had he spent the most of his life, immersed in the musty volumes
about him; now and then coming to the surface, to see that the world
had not disappeared while he was busy; and then diving again to
follow out some dark under-current, which was to lead him, GOD knows
whither. What was the world to him? What cared he for its schemes
and dreams and turmoil? The law was every thing to him; home,
family, and friends. GOD help him! a poor lone man, with kindly
feelings, and a warm, open heart, which might have made a fireside
happy; but now without a soul to whom he might claim kindred. Many
respected him; some pitied him, and a few, a very few, loved him.
There he sat day after day, and often until the day ran into night,
delving, and diving, and pondering, and thinking; a living machine,
working like a slave for his clients; alike for rich and poor, the
powerful and the friendless; beyond a bribe; too honest to fear
or care for public opinion; strenuous in asserting the rights of
others, and never enforcing his own, lest he might give pain to
another. GOD help him! I say. He was not the man for this striving,
struggling world; and perhaps it was well for him that in his murky
pursuits he found that contentment which many others wanted. Yet he
never freed his mind from its trammels, and looked abroad upon the
wide world, with its myriads of throbbing hearts, but he found in it
those whom he could love and could help. GOD help _him_, did I say?
Rather, GOD help those who warp and twist the abilities, talents,
and wealth which are showered upon them, to unholy purposes; who
make the former the slaves to minister to deeds and passions at
which human nature might blush; and the last but the stepping-stone
to selfish aggrandizement, or the nucleus around which to gather
greater store. Pity _them_, but not _him_; for although but a pale,
thin, sickly being, with barely a hold upon life, with scarce the
strength of a child, growing old, and withered, and feeble without
knowing it; yet was he all-powerful, from the bright, bold spirit
that animated him, and a soul stern in its own integrity, which
shrank from nothing except evil; and blessed was he, far above all
earthly blessings, with a heart ever warm, ever open, and in which
GOD had infused a noble share of his own benevolence and love to
mankind.
It is no wonder then that Harry Harson, when he stood in the
presence of one in heart so akin to himself, paused and gazed upon
him with a softened eye.
'Holmes, Dick Holmes,' said he, after a moment, 'are you at leisure?'
The old lawyer started, looked wistfully up, contracting his dim
eyes so as to distinguish the features of the person who addressed
him, and then doubling down the leaf of the book which he had been
reading, rose and advanced hesitatingly until he recognized him.
'Ah Harson!' said he, extending his hand quietly; 'honest old Harry,
as we used to call you,' continued he, smiling; 'I'm glad to see
you. Few save those who come on business cross my threshold; so
_you_ are the more welcome. Sit down.'
He pushed a chair toward him, and drawing another close to it, took
a seat, and looked earnestly in his face. 'Time doesn't tell on
you, Harry; nor on me, _much_,' said he, looking at his attenuated
fingers; 'still it _does_ tell. My flesh is not so firm and hard as
it used to be; and I'm getting thinner. I've thought for some months
past of relaxing a little, and of stealing off for a day to the
country, and of rambling in its woods and fields, and breathing its
pure air. It would quite build me up; perhaps you'll go with me?'
'That I will, with all my heart,' said Harson; '_that_ I will; and
right glad am I to hear you say so; for it's enough to break down a
frame of iron to spend hour after hour in this stagnant room, poring
over these musty books.'
Holmes looked about the room, and at his volumes, and then said, in
a somewhat deprecating tone:
'I've been very happy here. It does not seem gloomy to me; at least
not _very_ gloomy. But come; I'll walk out with you now. It does me
good sometimes to see what is going on out of doors; if I can only
find a person I care for, to keep me company.'
He half rose as he spoke; but Harson placed his hand on his arm, and
motioned to him to keep his seat.
'You made a mistake this time,' said he, in a good-natured tone,
and beginning to fumble in his pockets; 'business brought me here
to-day; business, and a desire to follow the suggestions of a
clearer head than mine.'
As he spoke, he drew from his pocket the package of letters, and
placed it before the lawyer.
Before you examine these, I must tell you what they are about.
Perhaps you won't believe me, but these letters will confirm every
word I say. You must hear my story, read them, and then tell me
frankly and fairly what to do; not only as a lawyer, but as a
friend. I shall need your advice as both.
'You shall have it,' said Holmes; 'go on.'
The tale which Harson told was sufficient to arouse every feeling of
indignation in the lawyer. As Harson went on, Holmes became excited,
until, unable to control himself, he rose from his chair and paced
the room, with every honest and upright feeling in arms. He forgot
every thing but the deep wrongs which were recited. Debility and
age were trampled under foot; and his voice, clear and loud, rang
through the room, scorching in its denunciation of the wrongdoer,
and bitter in its threats of retribution. Then it was that the
spirit showed its mastery over the clay, and spurning the feeble
form which clogged it, shone forth, strong in its own might, a
glorious type of the lofty source from which it sprang. But suddenly
he sat down; and passing his hand across his face, said in a feeble
tone: 'I am easily excited now-a-days, but I will command myself. Go
on; I will not interrupt you again.'
As he spoke he placed his arms on the table, and leaned his head
upon them; and this position he maintained without asking a question
or making a comment, until Harson had finished speaking; and when he
looked up, his face had assumed its usual quiet expression.
'Do these letters prove what you say, beyond a doubt?' he asked.
'I think so.'
'And why do you suppose them to be written by Rust? The name, you
say, is different.'
'I had it from a person who would swear to it. By the way,' added
he, suddenly, 'I have just received a letter from Rust. I'll compare
the writing with those; that will prove it.'
He took the letter from his pocket, and placed it beside the others;
and his countenance fell. They were as unlike as possible.
Holmes shook his head. 'You may have hit upon the wrong man, or you
may have been purposely put on a false scent. There certainly is no
resemblance between these,' said he, carefully comparing the two;
'not even in the general character of the hand.'
Harson could not but admit the fact. It was too evident.
'Look over the whole bundle,' said he. 'There are at least twenty of
them. If this is a disguised hand, it is possible that he may have
betrayed himself in some of the others.'
The lawyer went over the letters, one by one, carefully comparing
them; but still the character was the same. All of them were in the
free, flowing style of a good penman; while the letter which Harson
had produced was written in a bold, but stiff and ungraceful hand.
'Where did you get this?' said Holmes, pointing to the one which
Harson had received from Kornicker.
'It was brought to me by a clerk of his this morning.'
'Then you know him?' said Holmes.
'I never saw him in my life.'
'Have you ever had any business with him through others?'
Harson shook his head. 'Never.'
'How do you know that the person who brought this letter was from
Rust?' inquired he.
'The letter proposes an interview. If it isn't from him, the cheat
would be found out when I go.'
'How long have you been ferreting out this matter?'
'Several weeks.'
'Have you worked in secret, or openly?' inquired Holmes.
'I kept the matter as quiet as I could,' replied Harson, 'because I
didn't want him to get wind of it, and place obstacles in my way;
for I supposed that he was the man; but still, I was obliged to
employ several persons, of whom I know little.'
'Then this Rust _is_ the man, you may rely on it,' said Holmes, in
a positive manner. 'He has discovered that you are busy, and is
startled at it. Depend on it, this wish to see you has something to
do with your present movements.'
'I thought so too,' said Harson, 'and shall go there this morning.'
'I'll go too,' said Holmes; 'and the sooner we start the better.'
'Thank you, thank you,' said Harson, stretching out his hand; 'the
very thing I wanted.'
The old lawyer said no more; but after fumbling about his room for
his hat and great-coat, and having succeeded, without any great
difficulty, in putting on the last, (for he had no idea how shrunken
and attenuated he was, and it was large enough for a man of double
his size,) and supported by Harry's steady arm, they set out.
'Stop a minute,' said Harson; 'we've shut Spite in. There'll be the
deuce to pay if we leave _him_. Come, pup.' He opened the door; and
Spite having leisurely obeyed his call, they resumed their walk.
THIS TO THEE, LUCY.
WHEN like the ripples of some troubled lake,
Each year shall hasten to its lingering end,
That chord in Memory's sweet-toned harp awake,
Which thrills responsive to the name of Friend!
And oh! whate'er shall be thy future lot,
In sunshine or in shade, forget me not!
Whether thou dwellest in the busy mart
Ceaseless caressed by pride, and pomp and power,
Or circlest the ambition of thy heart
Within the lowly cot and rustic bower,
'The world forgetting, by the world forgot,'
Still, still my prayer shall be, 'Forget me not!'
NATURE'S MONITIONS.
AN EXTRACT.
OH! who hath not, in melancholy mood,
Musing at eve in some sequestered wood,
Or where the torrent's foaming waters pour,
Or ocean's billows murmur on the shore;
Oh! who hath not in such a moment gazed,
As heaven's bright hosts in cloudless glory blazed,
And felt a sadness steal upon his heart,
To think that he with this fair scene must part!
That while those billows heave, those waters flow,
Those garnished skies refulgent still shall glow,
He, that once watched them, will have passed away,
His name forgot, his ashes blent with clay;
Unlike those glittering orbs, those quenchless fires,
Ordained to roll till Time itself expires.
GRAVE THOUGHTS ON PUNCH.
IT was a nice remark of the distinguished French General Moreau
during his residence in this country, that the next thing in the
world to a shock of cavalry is the English word, WHAT! There exists
in it an irresistible abruptness, that frequently puts to flight at
once the whole array of thoughts of the foreigner whose nerves are
assailed by it. 'I can stand,' said he, 'any thing better than your
word, WHAT! It is impossible to reason against it; I seem to have
nothing to do, when I hear it, but to submit!'
It certainly is one of those short words of power, one of those
words of pistol-shot energy, that characterize our grand tongue and
give it originality and force. It is a word to conjure with; and
has many a time raised Truth out of the depths of the heart of the
double-dealer: it is a word of defence--and not unfrequently has
it overturned or repulsed in one utterance the half-formed scheme
of some wheedling knave endeavoring to make a confederate, or
nefariously to win the heart of a pretty girl. May you and I, dear
Editor, never hear from lips we love, in the overwhelming accents of
astonishment and of disappointed hope, the English word, WHAT!
The word at the head of my Essay, and which by the way I mean to
make the subject of it, is another of these short English words
of great strength and pith. This carries however no disfavour
with it; no discourtesy; nor does it raise up one association
that is otherwise than bland and attractive to the mind: and yet
how forcible is it, alike in sound and in effect! Let us listen
to it----PUNCH!----To the ear of my Imagination it is altogether
irresistible! How impossible to parry it! what a possession it takes
of the faculties, and how entirely it seems to get the better of
one! Then how intrinsically, how essentially English it is in all
the strength and vigour of the tongue!--PUNCH! Turn the word into
the French, and behold how pitiable is the effect--_ponche!_
Now it is a curious fact in the Natural History of Liquids, that a
similar and not less remarkable result occurs in the noble beverage
which this short word is intended to designate! Try over the whole
continent of Europe and wheresoever else the English language is
not the vernacular, try I say to get PUNCH, and it invariably comes
out _ponche_ or something still more despicable! I have essayed it
repeatedly and have always found the result the same; and yet I am
neither a young, nor an inexperienced, nor, if you will allow me the
word, an _inextensive_ traveller!
On the other hand, the moment you recross the channel and 'set
foot upon the sacred soil of Britain,' or come home quietly to
our own unassuming United States and lay your hand upon the right
ingredients, out of the sound of any foreign language, the mixture
succeeds as a matter of course, and at once becomes virtually and
essentially, PUNCH--PUNCH proper; PUNCH itself; in short, PUNCH!
'Tout Éloge d'un grand homme
Est renfermé dans son nom!'
The native merits and distinctive propriety of the word being thus
established; before I enter into any consideration of the drink
itself, I cannot refrain from chiming in with the general feeling
of the day on this side of the Atlantic so far as to observe, how
incontestably this proves the mutual interest and common origin
of 'the two great nations;' and should the dark day ever arrive,
when letters shall be obliterated; printing forgotten; and language
lost; it is still consolatory to reflect, that a mutual and inborn
affinity between the two last representatives of 'the MOTHER
and DAUGHTER' might be satisfactorily shown and most agreeably
demonstrated by means of _two lemons_; _four tumblers of Croton
or filtered spring water_; _one of double refined loaf sugar well
cracked_; _and one of old Rum_!
Gentle Reader! hast thou carefully dwelt over this list of
ingredients? Are earth, air, fire, and water, more dissimilar in
their elementary properties than are Lemon, Sugar, Water, and Rum?
and has it ever before occurred to thee, to what supernal brightness
of original and fortuitous Genius thou must have been indebted for
this astonishing combination? Art thou alive to the grandeur of the
original conception? Alas! the name of the architect of the Temple
of Ephesus might as well at this epoch be sought for as that of the
author of this stupendous compound, but the irrefragable word which
is universally attempted to be attached to it indicates beyond the
shadow of a doubt the land that claims the honour of his birth!
I am writing to thee from the attic of the house in which I have my
abode.----Canst thou tell me the name of the first artificer who
planned the building of a second story? who first contemplated or
imagined STAIRS? or changed the tent and the cabin into the fabrick
of diversified flights? The scheme of this was taken from the
invention of the Beaver----But where throughout the animal creation
was the instinctive indicator to the man who first conceived the
thought of PUNCH?
NEWTON by the fall of an apple is said to have determined the Theory
of Gravitation: how vast and limitless in its application has been
the discovery! Yet is the whole but the elucidation of one principle
or element of knowledge----while four different and antagonistic
elements associate and are made to combine homogeneously in the
glorious beverage of PUNCH!
DAVY, in his wonderful invention of the Safety Lamp, went with it
completed in his hand from the laboratory to the mine, and found his
reasoning true! Throughout the terraqueous globe his achievement is
cited as the conquest of abstract Science over Physics. But vain is
all abstract reasoning here; all distant experiment; all knowledge
of the gases; all study of the powers of repulsion;--here four
palpable and repulsive reasons are placed in presence of the chemist
and philosopher, and the irresistible argument of all is--PUNCH.
These are hints for reflection to thee, Gentle Reader, in the
quiet and solitary concocting and brewing of thy Pitcher, during
the two hours that thou shalt diligently pour it from one glass
receptacle into the other. When all is finished, and thy star hath
proved benignant to thee; and thy beverage shall have become like
the harmony that steals away thy heart; gushing from four musical
instruments where the sound of neither predominates;--then drink to
the memory of the great original Genius who planned and inspired thy
joy; and forget not to favour, with a passing thought, the verdant
Spirit who would gladly be Thy Companion; and who here subscribes
himself, Thy Friend,
JOHN WATERS.
HER NAME.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO.
THE fragrant odor of the perfumed flower,
The plaint of one who doth his pain confess;
The farewell whispered in the shadowy hour,
The thrilling sound of love's impassioned kiss:
The seven-hued scarf that o'er yon field the cloud
A trophy leaves to the triumphant sun;
A trancing strain, now lost, now faintly heard,
The twilight hum that tells the day is done:
The accent of some voice remembered well,
The glorious ray that crowns the western sea;
The secret wish that maiden may not tell,
The first sweet dream of sleeping infancy:
A far, faint choral chant; the wakening sigh
The Memnon gave to morning's glance of flame;
All that thought hath of beauty, melody,
Less sweet is, O! my Lyre! than her sweet name!
M. E. H.
THE STORY OF ABUL CASSIM'S SHOES.
FROM THE ORIGINAL IN TURKISH.
IT is related that there once resided in Bagdad a very wealthy man
named Abul Cassim, who was celebrated for his avarice and parsimony.
So strong was his ruling passion that he could not even be prevailed
upon to throw away his old shoes, but whenever it became urgently
necessary, he would have them stitched at a cobbler's stall, and
continue to wear them for four or five years. So finally, they
became so heavy and large that it was proverbial in that city to say
that a thing was 'as clumsy as Abul Cassim's shoes.'
Now one day as this man was walking in the bazaars of Bagdad, a
friend of his, a broker, informed him that a merchant from Aleppo
was just arrived, bringing some bottles for sale. 'Come,' added he,
'I will get them for you at a low price, and after keeping them a
month or so, you can sell them again for three times as much as you
gave, and so make a handsome profit.' The matter was soon arranged
between them; Abul Cassim bought the bottles for sixty dinars,
and after employing several porters to carry them to his house,
he passed on. He had also another friend, a public crier, whom he
likewise happened to meet, and who told him that a merchant from
the town of Yezd had some rose-water for sale. 'Come,' said he, 'I
will get it for you now at a low rate, and dispose of it for you
some other time for double the amount' So Abul Cassim was prevailed
upon to buy the rose-water also, and on reaching home he filled the
bottles with the water, and placed them on a shelf in one of his
apartments.
The day following, Abul Cassim went to a bath, and while undressing
himself, one of his friends going out saw his old shoes, and
jokingly said: 'Oh! Cassim, do let me change your shoes, for these
have become very clumsy.' Abul Cassim only replied, '_Inshallah_!
if GOD wishes;' and continuing to undress himself, went into the
bath. Just then the _Cadi_, or judge of the city, came to the bath,
and undressed himself near to Abul Cassim. Some time afterward Abul
Cassim came out of the inner room of the bath, and when he had
dressed himself, looked for his shoes, which not finding, but seeing
a new pair in their place, he thought his friend had made the change
that he desired; so putting them on, he returned to his house.