Nor is the analogy which bespeaks this unity to be limited to the

general analysis of class. Amid the vagaries of mythology and

apotheosis, amid the epic-annals of heroes and demi-gods, and, in

short, amid the more minute imaginings and superstitions {390} of

every people may be traced curious and often startlingly singular

analogical resemblances.

The Edda, weird, Northern and Gothic in the _ensemble_ of its

imaginings, reproduces, otherwise nomenclated, the mythology of the

Greek and of the Roman; the dim bat-winged Athor of mystical Egypt,

who presided under the shadows of the pyramids over the creation of

beauty, reappears, less mystically aureola'd, in the classical

_mythos_ of Venus; and the ghoul of the desert-inhabiting

Saracen--most Arabic of all Arabs--haunts the woodlands and

waste-places of Germany, as illusive and wine-dispensing Elle-maid; in

short, in all forms of superstition and in all moods of anthology

there is an essential unity--a unity having its root in the general

unity of the human imagination. For, the imagination, however through

the operation of local causes its dreams may be tipped with

rainbow-tints or imbued with shadowy sublimity--is one in the

ever-varying rhythm of its creations, and one in the vague palaces of

fantasy which it uprears. Valleys and palaces of ideal loveliness it

may evoke--visions to which Poe weds expression in the weird imagery

of his Haunted Palace:

"And travellers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically

To a lute's well-tunéd law;"

Or, again, valleys and palaces of lunatic ghastliness and

superstition--visionary lunacies, which Poe graphically, though

somewhat metaphorically, depicts in his own modification of the above

rhythm-painting:

"And travellers now within that valley.

Through the red-litten windows, see

Vast forms that move fantastically

To a discordant melody."

But, whether the music be discordant or well-tuned, the humanity of

its note cannot be mistaken; and whether the creations of the human

intellect be palaces of loveliness or pagodas of ghastliness, they

still bear the unmistakable impress of man's toiling after the

ideal--of the vague, restless, and unsatisfied yearning for the lost

ideal of his being, to compass which he toils and struggles and

dreams. In this essential unity of human imagination is grounded the

essential unity of the _data_ of anthology, and hence its marvellous

and minute analogical resemblances.

Anthology having never been reduced to definitive system, it happens

that no little of its critical material exists only in lumbering and

uncollated masses. Indeed, not a little of that which might have been

valuable as material has been permitted to rot in mildewed

manuscript--for need of appreciation of its real value on the part of

scholars--instead of having been (as it should have been) treasured

and preserved, as the pabulum of thought and science; and yet more

remains uncollected, and will so remain until a more valid

comprehension of its value shall have been impressed upon the minds of

spectacled professors who are usually the last to comprehend that in

the comprehension of which they ought to be first. But,

notwithstanding this apparent apathy and neglect on the part of the

learned, there are, still, certain problems of history which can only

be unriddled with this key--that of comparative anthology--as, for

instance, the exploits of Joan d'Arc; a hundred riddles of mental

philosophy there are, which can not be unravelled without it; and, in

every language, multitudes of words are based, as to their peculiar

shades of significance, upon anthological criticism. Thus the

_nightmare_ is the _demon which haunts the night_; the _Huguenots_

were _imps of the woods_--from _Hugon_, the demon of the

woodlands;--and not not as a learned dean supposes the _people

eidgenossen_; and a _seer_ is simply a _see-er_, that is, one who has

the gift of the second sight.

{391}

A minute knowledge of anthology--we here use the term to denote that

blossoming of events and moral ideas into imaginative forms, which

constitutes most of that which we denominate the poetic material of a

people, is, therefore, in the highest degree necessary to the proper

comprehension of--

1. Historical criticism.

2. Comparative philology.

3. Mental philosophy--especially in those moods of mind of which

modern civilization furnishes no examples.

To take a familiar illustration. It has been over and over

demonstrated that, unless we deny the validity of the common

principles of historical evidence, to admit the existence of that

peculiar imaginative faculty denominated "second sight" is a

necessity. Nor is the faculty, if its existence be admitted,

necessarily to be accounted a preternatural gift--being simply the

logical result of the cultivation of certain impulses of human

intellect seldom, in the experiences of modern society, evoked into

activity; being, in fact, the logical deduction of that scenery which

surrounded the Highlanders of Scotland, and of that mood of mind which

was their prevailing habit. Civilization develops no sublimity of

mental strength, except in the region of reason. Moral sublimity is

not developed by communion with streets and avenues. Neither is

imaginative insight--that which, in ultimate deduction, is

inspiration--an inhabiter of palaces. Born of crags, of' mountains,

and of the lurid and ghastly grandeur of the tempest--the imaginative

insight is the lightning of the mind, and like the lightning at

midnight reveals that which to the moon and stars is wrapped in

darkness. To educe the principle: the imaginative forms (anthology)

into which primitive moral ideas, rude reasonings, and epic-events

blossom, are essentially modified by two ever-active causes, namely:

idiosyncrasies of race and scenic surroundings. And hence, in reducing

the fragmentary imaginings of a people to scientific system, we are

compelled to keep constantly in view the idea of answering to the

conditions of three problems:

1. Given the scenery of a country

and the idiosyncrasies of its people, and we may, in a general way,

indicate its anthology; or

2. Given the anthology and idiosyncrasies, and we may, with

tolerable accuracy, indicate the leading peculiarities of the

scenery; or

3. Given the scenery and anthology, and we may indicate, with

exactitude, the leading idiosyncrasies of the people.

Having indicated, by way of preface, the general scope of anthology

and the value of its _data_, we shall devote the remaining portion of

this paper to the anthological relics of the Irish race, and

especially to its elfin and poetic phases.

Fairies are (among the Irish peasantry) still believed to exist, and

to exercise no little influence over the affairs of mortals. They are

generally represented as pigmies, and are, so runs the superstition,

often seen dancing around solitary thorns, which are believed to be

among their most frequented haunts. Hence the veneration of the

peasantry for old solitary thorns--the peasantry believing that if

these thorns are cut down or maimed, the fairies are thereby provoked,

and will either maim the person who has cut the tree, cause his cattle

to sicken and die, or otherwise injure his property. Places supposed

to be haunted by fairies are termed gentle, as likewise are several

herbs, in gathering which a strange ritual is observed. If provoked by

any person, it is believed that the fairies will steal and carry away

that which is dearest to that person, as his wife, or especially any

members of his family in babyhood and before baptism. The castles in

which the fairies dwelt were generally believed to be movable at the

pleasure of the proprietor, invisible to human eyes, and usually built

in ancient forths or raths. Among the principal fairy kings were

Firwar, whose castle was at Knock Magha, and Macaneantan, {392} whose

fairy palace was at Sgraba. Whistling Hill (Knock-na-feadalea), in the

county of Down, is still visited by hundreds of the peasantry, who,

especially on the last night in October, which is observed with

singular ceremonials, aver that they can hear the music of the fairies

issuing from the hill. The following verses include the names of the

principal places fabled to be inhabited by fairy kings:

"Around Knock-Grein, and Knock-na-Rae,

Bin Builvia, and Keis Korain,

To Bin Eakhlan and Lokh Da-ean,

And thence north-east to Sleive Guilin.

They trod the lofty hills of Mugarna.

Round Sleive Denard and Beal-at-an-draigh.

Down to Daudrin, Dundroma, and Dunardalay,

Right forward to Knock-na-Feadalea."

Which was the route of procession on the night of the last of October,

when aërial spirits were supposed to be peculiarly active. The

following legend of Whistling Hill we extract from a collection of

these legends in the original Irish made by Rev. William Neilson,

D.D., and printed by Hogan, No. 15 Lower Ormond Quay, Dublin, in 1808:

"There was au honest, pious man, who lived formerly near the river,

by the side of the hill (Whistling Hill); and the vestiges of his

house may yet be seen. His name was Thady Hughes; and he had neither

wife nor family--his mother, an aged woman, keeping his house.

"Thady went out on a Hallow-eve night to pray, as he was in the

habit of doing, on the bank of the river; and looking up to observe

the stars, he saw a dusky cloud from the south moving toward him as

if impelled by a whirl-wind, and heard the sound of horses just as

if a troop of cavalry were tramping along the valley. Thady noticed

that they all came over the ford and round the mountain.

"Remembering that he had often heard it said, 'if you cast the dust

under your feet against the cloud, if the fairies have any human

being with them they are compelled to release him,' Thady seized a

handful of the gravel which was under his feet and hurled it, in the

name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, against the whirlwind:

whereupon fell down a strange lady, weak, faint, and wearily

moaning.

"Thady started, but, imagining that the voice of the strange lady's

moaning was human, went to the spot where she fell, spoke to her,

and took her in his arms and carried her to his mother, who gave her

food--the lady eating but little.

"They asked her few questions that night, knowing that she came from

the fairy castles. Besides, she appeared to be sick and sorrowful,

and did not seem to be in any mood for talking. The next morning,

however, she related her story, having first enjoined secrecy, which

Thady and his mother promised.

"The strange lady's name was Mary Rourke, and she had formerly lived

in the county of Galway, where she was married to a young man named

John Joyce, who lived hard by Knock Magha. One year after her

marriage with Joyce, King Firwar and his host carried her away to

the fairy castle of Knock Magha, leaving something in the form of a

dead woman in her place which bulk was duly waked and buried.

"She had been in Knock Magha nearly a year and was daily entertained

with dances and songs, notwithstanding she was in sorrow at having

been parted from her husband. At length the host of the castle told

her that her husband had married another woman; that, therefore, she

ought to indulge in grief no longer; and that Firwar and his family

were about to visit the province of Ulster, and intended to take her

with them. They set out at dawn from Knock Magha forth, both Firwar

and host; and many a fairy castle they visited from dawn till fall

of night, traveling all mounted on beautiful winged horses.

"After they lost Mary, the fairies did not halt; for they were to

feast that Hallow-eve in the fairy castle of Sgraba, with the fairy

king, Macaneantan."

{393}

The story adds that Thady Hughes married Mary Rourke, and that a

difficulty subsequently arose between Thady and John Joyce, who,

having heard of the escape of the strange lady from the fairies, went

to Thady's cottage and claimed her as his wife. The matter afterward

came before the bishop for adjudication, who adjudged that as Mary

had, to all appearances, died and been buried as the wife of John

Joyce, she was under no obligation to be his wife after her death. And

thus ends the legend.

The general similarity of the fairies as depicted in this legend to

those of Germany as illustrated in Goethe's Erl King, is obvious, and

seems to argue either historical kin or identity of origin. In

Goethe's ballad a corpse is left in the arms of the father. The

version subjoined is an anonymous newspaper version, but is so far

superior to that of Mrs. Austin, that we quote it in preference:

"Who rideth so late through the night wind lone?

Yet is a father with his son.

"He foldeth him fast; he foldeth him warm;

He prayeth the angels to keep from him harm.

"' My son, why hidest thy face so shy?'

"' Seest thou not, father, the Erl King nigh?

"'The Erlen King with his train, I wist?'

"'My son, it is only the fog and mist.'

"'Come, beautiful one, come away with me,

And merry plays will I play with thee!

"'Ah! gay are the blossoms that blow by the shore,

And my mother hath many a plaything in store.'

"'My father, my father, and dost thou not hear

What the Erlen King doth say in my ear?'

"'Be still my darling, be still, my son,

Through the withered leaves the winds howl lone.'

"'Come, beautiful one, come away with me,

My daughters are fair, they shall wait on thee!

"'My daughters their nightly revellings keep,

They shall sing, they shall dance, they shall rock thee to sleep.'

"' My father, my father, and seest thou not

The Erl King's daughters in yon wild spot?'

"'My son, my son, I see, I wist,

It is the gray willow down there in the mist.'

"'I woo thee; thy beauty delighteth my sense.

And, willing or not, shall I carry thee hence.'

"'O father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm!

O father, the Erl King, he doeth me harm!'

"The father rideth, he rideth fast

And faster rideth through the blast.

"He spurreth wild, through the night wind lone,

And dead, in his arms, he holdeth his son."

Of this topic--the folks-lore of the Irish peasantry--we shall here

take leave, merely hazarding the opinion that there is some remote

historical connection between the Irish traditions of the

idiosyncrasies and doings of elves and those of the Germanic races--a

connection probably dating from the Danish occupation of the country

about the seventh or eighth century. In the Irish poetic annals, which

antedate the Danish occupation by several hundred years, no traces of

elfin traditions can be detected; and the same is true of the Ossianic

ballads which McPherson has rather imperfectly collated, and between

which and the several Celtic manuscripts there is a singular

resemblance.

The collation of McPherson, valuable in many respects, is amenable to

almost fatal criticism, in that the sublimity of the Gaëlic

composition is marred by being twisted from the parallelism (which, in

the original, is analogous to the Hebraic) into the form of prose: the

parallelism being in English--as in Gaëlic, Celtic, and Hebrew--the

most effective form into which sublimity can be wrought. And to

demonstrate the truth of this proposition we need only to put portions

of McPherson's prose version into the parallelistic form, and shall

adopt for this purpose Fingal's interview with the spirit of Loda,

than which, uniquely considered, a poem of more overwhelming sublimity

was never written or conceived. Subjoined is McPherson's version:

"A blast came from the mountain: on its wings was the spirit of

Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky

spear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face: his voice is

like distant thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night, and raise

his voice on high. 'Son of night retire: call thy winds, and fly!

Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy arms? Shall I

fear thy gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda? Weak is thy shield of

clouds; feeble is that meteor thy sword! The blast rolls them

together; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my presence, son of

night! call thy winds and fly!'

{394}

"'Dost thou force me from my place?' replied the hollow voice. 'I

turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations,

and they vanish: my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad

on the winds; the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is

calm above the clouds; pleasant are the fields of my rest.'

"'Dwell in thy pleasant fields,' says the king. 'Let Comhal's son be

forgotten. Have my steps ascended from my hills into thy peaceful

plains? Have I met thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of dismal

Loda? Why then dost thou frown on me? Why shake thine airy sphere?

Thou frownest in vain: I never fled from the mighty in war; and

shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven? No--he knows

the weakness of their arms.'

"'Fly to thy land,' replied the form; 'take to the wind, and fly!

The blasts are in the hollow of my hand: the course of the storm is

mine. Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath!'

"He lifted high his shadowy spear! he bent forward his dreadful

height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword, the blade of dark-brown

Luno. The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost.

The form fell shapeless into air."

Now, let us put this in the form of the parallelism--a form into which

the sententious sublimity of the composition naturally falls, and in

which nearly all these ancient Gaëlic and Celtic epics occur in the

original:

"A blast came from the mountain:

On its wings was the spirit of Loda.

He came to his place in terrors,

And shook his dusky spear.

His eyes appear like flame in his dusky face:

His voice is like distant thunder.

Fingal advanced his spear into the night,

And raised his voice on high.

Son of night, retire;

Call thy winds, and fly!

Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy arms?

Shall I fear thy gloomy form, spirit of Loda?

Weak is thy shield of clouds;

Feeble is that meteor, thy sword.

The blast rolls them together:

And thou thyself art lost.

Fly from my presence, son of night!

Call thy winds, and fly!'

'Dost thou force me from my place?' replied the hollow voice.

'I turn the battle in the field of the brave,

I look on the nations and they vanish:

In my nostrils is the blast of death.

I came abroad on the winds:

The tempests are before my face,

But my dwelling is calm above the clouds;

Pleasant are my fields of rest.'

'Dwell in thy pleasant fields,' said the king.

'Let Comhal's son be forgotten.

Have my stops ascended from my hills into thy peaceful plains?

Have I met thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of the dismal Loda?

Why dost thou frown on me?

Why shake thy dusky spear?

Thou frownest in vain;

I never fled from the mighty in war;

And shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven?

He knows the weakness of their arms.'

'Fly to thy land,' replied the shadow;

'Take to the wind, and fly!

The blasts are in the hollow of my hand

The course of the storm is mine.

Fly to thy land, son of Comhal,

Or feel my flaming wrath!'

He lifted high his shadowy spear:

He bent forward his dismal height

Fingal, advancing, drew his sword, the blade of the dark-brown Luno.

The gleaming path of steel winds through the gloomy ghost.

The form fell shapeless in air."

For vague sublimity, for weird, dismal, ghastly, and phantasmagoric

grandeur of conception and effect, the imagery of the above episode of

Ossian has never been exceeded in the vast domain of fantasy-weaving;

and this effect is vastly heightened by the sententious step of the

sentences and the shadowy cadence of the parallelism--a cadence which

is the natural expression of sublimity, and to compass which in

ordinary blank verse it is impossible. Compare, for instance, the

following imagery of similar _ensemble_, from Milton's "Paradise

Lost":

"O'er many a dark and dreary vale

They passed, and many a region dolorous;

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp;

Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens and shades of death--

A universe of death."

Or the following rhythmical painting of more than Miltonic massiveness

and magnificence of imagination, from the "Orion" of R. H. Horne--a

poem of more idiosyncratic merit than most poems upon the classical

model. Orion thus describes the building of a palace for Hephaistos

(Vulcan):

"So that great figures started from the roof,

And lofty coignes, or sat and downward gazed

On those who stood below and gazed above--

I filled it; in the centre framed a hall;

Central In that a throne: and for the light

Forged mighty hammers that should rise and fall

On slanted rocks of granite and of flint.

Worked by a torrent, for whose passage down

A gape I hewed. And here the god could take,

Midst showery sparks and swathes of broad gold fire,

His lone repose, lulled by the sounds he loved:

Or, casting back the hammer-heads until they stopped

The water's ebb, enjoy, if so he willed,

Midnight tremendous, silence, and iron sleep."

{395}

Both of which, though in their manner unparalleled, are, in a less

degree, imbued with that which we may term POETIC ILLUMINATION; that

which constitutes the felicitous sublimity of Ossian; in short, that

for which only one simile, and that an impossible one--namely,

shooting of a sun athwart the heavens at midnight--be adduced.

But--the seasons here specified being deemed insufficient--if further

reasons be necessary for the adoption of of the parallelistic form in

treating the ancient Gaëlic and Celtic compositions, these necessary

reasons are fluent from the original form of those compositions, and

from the fact that the parallelism is the only poetic form adapted to

their style; which may be demonstrated by comparing the rhythmical

collocation of a single poem, the Songs of Deardra, a Celtic poem in

manuscript which will form the basis of the remainder of this paper,

with the collocation of the parallelistic English rendering. Adopting

phonographic equivalents for the Irish letters, the initial stanza of

Deardra's song improvised as a farewell to Scotland, runs as follows;

"Ionmuin lioni an tio ud shoin,

Alba cona hionghantuio;

Nokha tliucfuinn aisde de,

Muna dtioefuinn re Noise."

And the parallelistic rendering, line for line, as follows:

"Dear to me that eastern shore;

Dear is Alban, land of delights.

Never would I have forsaken it,

Had I not come with Naesa."

Thus the translation is rendered exact, conveying not only the matter

but, also, the manner of the original--without which last any

translation is and must be defective. The song is thus continued:

"Dear are Dunfay and Dunfin,

And dear are the hills around them;

Dear is Inis-drayon,

In dear to me Dunsaivni.

"Coilcuan, sweet Coilcuan!

Where Ainii and where Ardan came.

Happy passed my days with Naesa,

In the Western vales of Alban.

"Glenlee, O Glenlee!

Amidst thy thickets have I slept,

And amidst thy thickets feasted,

With my love in Glenlee.

"Glenmessan, O, Glenmessan!

Sweet were thy herbs and bright thy greens,

Lulled by the falling stream we slept,

On Inver's banks in Glenmessan.

"Gleneikh, bright Gleneikh!

Where my dwelling first was fixed,

The woods smiled when the rising sun

Shoots yellow arrows on Gleneikh.

"Glenarkhon, dear Glenarkhon!

Fair is the vale below high Dromkhon.

Sportive were my days with Naesa,

In the blooming vales of Glenarkhon.

"Glendarua, O Glendarua!

To me were thy people dear.

The birds sang sweetly on the bending boughs

That shaded over Glendarua.

"Dear to me is that spreading shore;

Dear the sandy-margined streams.

Never would I have forsaken them,

Had I not come with Naesa."

The events celebrated in these manuscript songs, now mustily rusting

in the Dublin University collection, occurred during the first

century, A. C. Deardra was the daughter of Macdoil, the historian of

Ulla (Ulster); Concovar being at that time king. The plot may be

briefly described:

1. At the birth of Deardra it is foretold that she shall be the

cause of many calamities; but the king, unappalled by omens and

predictions, causes her to be taken from Macdoil and reared under

persons whom he appoints; proposing to make her queen of Ulla.

2. The beautiful Deardra conceives a passion for Naesa, one of the

sons of Usna; and, with the assistance of his brothers, Ainli and

Ardan, elopes with him to Alban, (Scotland,) in the western part of

which Naesa has large estates.

3. A messenger arrives from Concovar conveying the king's

solicitation that they return to Ulla, and bearing tokens of the

king's forgiveness to Naesa and Deardra.

4. Disregarding the forebodings of Deardra, the sons of Usna accept

the king's hospitality; and on the voyage Deardra sings the pathetic

farewell to Alban just quoted, as if foreboding the events which

follow.

5. As the vessel moors in the haven Deardra ceases to sing; but,

still foreboding ruin to Naesa, advises him to place himself under

the protection of Cuculiin, who has his residence at Dundalgan.

Naesa's confidence in the honor of Concovar, however, prevails; and

they proceed to Emana, the royal seat--Deardra foretelling their

fate both in conversation and in frequent prophetic song.

{396}

6. They are received by Concovar with the semblance of kindness, and

placed in the castle of the Red Arm with guards to wait upon them;

while a body of mercenaries are sent to rescue Deardra and burn the

castle--the troops of Ulla having refused to imbrue their hands in

the blood of the heroes.

7. Naesa, Ainli, and Ardan effect their escape with Deardra; but,

being pursued, are overwhelmed by the king's mercenaries and slain.

Deardra sings the following lament, calling to mind every

circumstance which endeared her to Naesa, and reflecting with

self-tormenting ingenuity upon those transient interruptions which,

occasioning uneasiness at the moment, now serve to aggravate her

unavailing sorrow:

"Farewell for ever, fair coasts of Alban;

Your bays and vales shall no more delight me.

There oft from hills with Usna's sons,

I viewed the hunt below.

"The lords of Alban met in banquet.

There were the valiant sons of Usna:

And Naesa gave a secret kiss

To the fairest daughter of Dundron.

"He sent her a bind from the hill,

And a fawn beside it running;

He left the hosts of Inverness,

And turned aside to her palace.

"My soul was drunk with madness

When this they told me--told me

I set my boat upon the sea,

To sail away from Naesa.

"Ainli and Ardan brave and faithful.

Valiantly pursued me,

And brought me bark again to land,

And back again to Naesa.

"Then Naesa swore an oath to me;

And thrice he swore upon his arms.

That never would he cause me pain.

Until unto the grave they bore him.

"The maid of Dundron swore an oath;

Thrice swore the maid of Dundron,

That long as Naesa dwelt on earth

No lover else should claim her.

"Ah, did she hear this night.

That Naesa in his grave was laid,

High would be her voice of wailing,

But seven times fiercer shall be mine."

8. Standing by the grave of Naesa, Deardra concludes her

lamentations with the following funeral song and panegyric, which

having: sung, she springs into the grave and falls dead upon his

breast:

"Long is the day to me: the sons of Usna are gone.

Their converse was sweet;

But as raindrops fall my tears.

They were as the lions on the hills of Emana.

"To the damsels of Breaton were the dear.

As hawks from the mountain they darted on the foe.

The brave knelt before them,

And nobles did them honor.

"Never did they yield in battle.

Ah! woe is me that they are gone.

Sons of the daughter of Caifa.

A host were ye in the wars of Cualna.

"By careful Aifa were they reared.

The countries round paid them tribute.

Bursting like a flood in battle,

Fought the valiant youths of Sgatha

"Uatha taught them in their youth.

The heroes were valiant in fight.

Renowed sons of Usna,

I weep, for ye have left me.

"Dark-brown were their eyebrows;

Their eyes were fires beneath;

And their faces were as embers--

As embers ruddy with flame.

"Their legs as the down of the swan--

Light and active were their limbs;

Soft and gentle were their hands,

And their arms were fair and manly.

"King of Ulla, king of Ulla!

I left thy love for Naesa.

My days are few after him.

His funeral honors are song.

"Not long shall I survive my love;

Think not so king of Ulla.

Naesa, Ainli, and Ardan,

I desire not life when you are gone.

"Life hath no joy.

My days are already too many.

Delight of my soul,

A shower of tears shall fall upon your grave.

"Ye men that dig their grave.

Dig it wide and dig it deep.

I will rest on the breast of my love

My sighs shall resound from his tomb.

"Oft were their shields their pillow,

And oft they slept upon their spears:

Lay their strong swords beside them,

And their shields beneath their heads.

"Their dogs and hawks,--

Who will now attend them?

The hunters are no more on the hills;

The valiant youths of Connai Cairni.

"My heart, it groans--it groans.

When I see the collars of their hounds.

Oft did I feed them.

But I weep when they are near.

"We were alone in the waste.

We were alone in the woodlands;

But I knew no loneliness,

Till they dug thy grave.

"My sight begins to fail.

When I view thy grave, my Naesa.

My soul hastes to depart:

And my voice of wailing to be hushed."

Thus ends one of the most pathetically beautiful tales, founded upon

original history, which the epico-poetic annals of any people afford.

It is far superior to any single poem amid the Svethico-Gothic remains

rendered famous by the masterly translations of Longfellow. In fact,

to him who shall {397} happily combine the requisite anthological

learning with the requisite skill as a translator, no literary

Golconda, more prolific in the rubies and scintillant glories of

poesy, could be unlocked, except with the Aladdin-key of almost

angelic invention, than is afforded in the mouldering, mildewed, and

musty masses of manuscript, in queer Celtic letters, which have been

permitted to rot for ages in the library of Dublin University. Had

they been English, they would have been magazinistically vaunted as

masterpieces in the piquant pages of "Blackwood," or amid e dreary

sermonoids of the "Westminster." Being Celtic, they are, so being,

neglected.

Albeit, there are to be Longfellows and Tennysons hereafter who shall

be cosmopolitan, and neither exclusively English, exclusively

American, nor exclusively Japanese; and men of learning there are to

be hereafter, who shall be citizens of the world (in a literary

sense), and not especially citizens of England, or of France, or of

America, who will seek for the beautiful in strange places beyond the

narrow limits of London, Paris, or New-York.

Meantime, it has been the object of this paper to play the lamp to the

gem-seeking Aladdin--suggesting that something may be done, rather

than doing it. Hence what has been said and what might have been more

cleverly and elaborately said, has here been curtly said upon the

subject of Celtic anthology--using the term in a sense that suited the

purposes and scope of this paper.

----------

ORIGINAL

"QUARE TRISTIS ES ANIMA MEA,

ET QUARE CONTURBAS ME?"

Why, O my soul! art thou, ofttimes,

So faint and sad?

Life shows to thee its brightest side;

Why not be glad?

Is not the earth most beautiful,

What wouldst have more?

Filled is thy cup with life's best gifts

And running o'er.

And all the grandeur and the grace

Of noble art--

Do they not beautify thy life,

And cheer thy heart?

And love, most heavenly gift of all--

Is it not thine?

Yes, truly; yet I cannot say

Content is mine.

I feel a sadness of the soul,

A weariness,

A constant longing of the heart;

What meaneth this?

{398}

I know that once, when journeying far,

I felt like this,

But then they only called my grief

A home-sickness.

And so, with every gift of God,

With nought amiss,

My heart is longing, longing still;

What meaneth this?

Why is it that my soul is sad,

What meaneth this?

It panteth after thee, O God!

Thou art its bliss.

------

From the Reader.

THE LAKE DWELLINGS. [Footnote 142]

[Footnote 142: The Lake Dwellings of Switzerland and other Parts of

Europe. By Dr. Ferdinand Keller, President of the Antiquarian

Association of Zurich. Translated and arranged by John Edward Lee,

F.S.A., F.G.S. (London: Longmans.)]

Since 1854, when Dr. Keller published his first report on

pile-dwellings in Lake Zurich, he, and other Swiss archaeologists

stimulated by his example and guided by his counsel, have zealously

explored many other Swiss lakes, and have succeeded in discovering

more than two hundred similar settlements, and in collecting tens of

thousands of relics of the people who during many centuries occupied

them. Six reports on the "wonderful Pfahlbauten" have been published

by Dr. Keller; but, being written in German, they are less known than

the compilation in French by Fred. Troyon, who has absorbed Dr.

Keller's facts, and mingling them with fancies of his own, has given a

sensational character to his work. Excellent notices have, however,

appeared, written by Wylie, Lubbock, Lyell, and others, and

translations of some original memoirs have been printed in the

Smithsonian Reports. Stripped though the subject be, in some degree,

of novelty, the present translation of Dr. Keller's work is not the

less welcome; it is indeed right, that he who gave the first

exposition of these structures should tell the story of their

discovery, and picture forth the state of society which their remains

reveal. In this work we have a general description of the structure of

these dwellings; notices of the various settlements which have been

discovered, with an account of others on the Italian side of the Alps,

and of the Crannoges in Ireland and Scotland; chapters on the remains

of plants, by Dr. Heer, and of animals, by Professor Rütimeter; and

ninety-nine plates and several woodcuts give graphic, but sometimes

rough drawings of the dwellings, and of the various objects found in

them. As a storehouse of facts, illustrating the character and

progress of an ancient people, this work is invaluable; it will aid

other archaeologists in their researches; and we think, too, that the

cautious and philosophical manner in which Dr. Keller reasons from his

facts will help to correct some hasty and fanciful speculations.

{399}

For the construction of pile-dwellings, Swiss lakes afford favorable

sites, as along the shores there is generally a considerable breadth

of shallow water. Some pleasant bay, protected by well-wooded hills,

abounding in game, was selected for such settlements; and at a little

distance from the land piles of various kinds of would, generally

entire stems with with their bark on, but sometimes split, and from

fifteen to thirty feet in links and three to nine inches in diameter,

were driven into the bottom all the late, the heads of the piles

rising from two to four feet above the water. At the Wangen settlement

there were 40,000 piles, but all may not have been driven down at the

same period. Across this substructure other stems of trees ten of

twelve feet long were laid, and fastened by wooden pegs; and above

them split boards were similarly fastened, for me a solid, even

platform, which was covered by a bed of mud or loam. The platform of a

few, which Dr. Keller calls _fascine dwellings_, was supported not on

piles, but on layers of sticks and small stems built up from the

bottom of the lake, being similar to some of the Scottish Crannoges.

The boards and planks had been imperfectly fitted together, for

numerous objects which had slipped through the chinks of the floor are

scattered over the lake bottom; but quantities of broken implements,

pottery, and animal and vegetable refuse, heaped together on

particular spots, show that spaces had been left in the platform,

through which rubbish had been thrown into the water, thus for me

heaps analogous to the kitchen-middings of Denmark. Huts were erected

on the platform, having a framework of piles and stakes, with waddle

or hurdlework of small branches woven between the upright piles, and

covered over with a thickness of from two to three inches of loam or

clay, evidence of which has been found in pieces of half-burnt day

retaining the impression of the wattle-work. As some pieces have a

curve, Troyon concluded that the huts were circular, and from nine to

twelve feet in diameter; but Dr. Keller shows that the curve had

probably been produced by the great heat to which the clay covering

was exposed before it fell into the water, while also pieces of

different curves are found promiscuously on the same spot with others

perfectly flat, no piece indeed exceeding twelve inches across. It is

now pretty certain that most, if not all the huts, were rectangular;

those at Robenhausen and Niederwyl were found to be twenty-seven feet

by twenty-two feet. They stood close to but apart from each other, and

were thatched with straw and reeds. From the almost universal

prevalence of clay weights for weaving, it may be inferred that every

one was furnished with a loom. A narrow platform or bridge resting on

piles, of which a few remains have been found, connected these

dwellings with the land. Room enough there was in and around these

huts for all the operations of daily life, as well as for the

manufacture of every implement used in household economy; and in

short, this was the place where every craft or art known to the

settlers was brought into play. Even domestic animals were stalled on

the platform, as at Robenhausen the remains of the litter of these

animals has been found.

Such sites for dwellings are not unknown to history. Hippocrates

describes similar habitations on the stagnant, quiet-flowing river

Phasis in Armenia, and Herodotus others on Lake Prasias in Thrace. The

Crannoges in Ireland were inhabited as recently as 1645, but rather as

places of refuge; and at the present time there are analogous

structures in the Eastern Archipelago. Security against the attack of

enemies seems to have been the chief reason of selecting such peculiar

sites for dwellings, at a period when society was in a divided state,

{400} and when war of tribe against tribe was frequent. Similar

conditions were indicated by the numerous hill-forts of the ancient

Britons, and even by the pele towers of the border-land in mediaeval

times. From the great labor bestowed on the pile structures, and the

vast number of instruments of all kinds found in the "relic bed" of

the lakes, it is clear that they had not been temporary places of

refuge, but permanent habitations, which had been occupied during many

generations; and the relics, scattered abundantly beneath these

pile-dwellings, furnish important evidence relating to different eras

of civilization.

In a considerable number of these dwellings--thirty at least--no trace

of metal has been discovered, the instruments having been made of

stone, bone, and wood; in a much larger number bronze, without a trace

of iron, has been found; and in a few, it is clear that iron has been

extensively used. The three ages of stone, bronze, and iron are here

established by better evidence than from any other groups of remains;

for the great number and variety of relics which these lake

habitations have yielded, give a broad basis for true inductive

reasoning on prehistoric conditions. Yet there is evidently no sudden

break in these periods, such as would prove that superior and

conquering races had introduced higher civilization. "It is very

certain that, at least in Switzerland," says Dr. Keller, "there was no

hard line of demarcation between the three periods, but that the new

materials were spread abroad like any other article of trade, and that

the more useful tools gradually superseded those of less value." We

have here, therefore, _continuity_ and _progress_; and it may be

reasonably inferred, that the advance in art from the use of stone to

that of bronze, and then to iron, was made by the same race who

originally took up their abode on these lakes; for during the long

time the pile habitations were occupied, extending over several

thousands of years, there was no essential change in the structure of

the dwellings or in the mode of life. Doubtless, when these

lake-dwellers first arrived in Switzerland, they had the germs of

civilization; they had domestic animals from the first, such as sheep,

though the flesh of wild animals was more used for food; they could

spin, weave, and make cordage from beast or vegetable fibre, rude

pottery they could make, some of which was even painted with graphite

and rubble; fishers they were, using nets and hooks made of bone; from

serpentine, flint, horns and bones they made their weapons and tools;

they had brought with them cereals, and cultivated the soil with very

inefficient instruments made of stag's horns and crooked branches of

trees, and raised wheat and and barley, which they ground by mills of

the primitive form, consisting of a round stone as a corn-crusher, and

a mealing-stone with a hollow in which the corn was bruised. The stone

weapons and implements are similar to those of Denmark; but several

show in an interesting manner how the stone celts or chisels, which

were small, from one to eight inches in length, were hafted. Some were

first inserted into a piece of stag's horn, and then set in a shaft or

club; others were inserted into clefts of branches and fastened by

cord and asphalt. During this early age, it was the most important of

all instruments, and was used for various purposes; fixed at the end

of a pole, it was a lance; set into wood, it was a war-club or

domestic axe; placed in horn, it was the poor man's knife; it served

to skin animals, to cut flesh and hides, and to make all instruments

of horn and wood.

The evidences of commercial intercourse with other people are but

slight; but a bluish glass bead, in a stone age dwelling on the little

reedy or "moor-lake" of Wauwyl, may show some connection with the

Egyptians or Phoenicians; and knives, arrow-heads, and other

implements, made of flints, not found in Switzerland, but derived from

distant parts of France and Germany, {401} may indicate a barter trade

with the north and west. Possibly, too, Nephrite, of which the most

valuable celts were made, and which does not occur in Europe, but in

Egypt, China, and other parts of Asia, may point to intercourse with

the east, unless we suppose the Nephrite implements had been brought

from the east by the lake-dwellers, when they first settled in

Switzerland.

Not a few of the stone-age dwellings had been burnt by accident or by

an enemy, and wore not rebuilt; but others had a continued existence

through both the stone and bronze periods; and hence we see

settlements in a transitional state, and trace a gradual advance in

civilization. At Meilen, where a vast number of stone relics have been

found, there appear one bronze armilla and one bronze celt; but at

Robenhausen we probably see the commencement of the metallurgic art,

for amid a profusion of stone relics belonging to three different

platforms, crucibles have been found, with lumps of melted bronze, and

one lump of pure unmelted copper. It may be that the lake-dwellers

became first acquainted with metal through traders; but, as Dr. Keller

remarks, "May we not venture to assume that the colonists, by their

intercourse with strangers who were acquainted with the nature of

metals, were incited to search their country for copper ore, and try

to melt and cast it? Copper ore is found on the south side of

Mürtschenstock, on the Lake of Wallenstadt." The age which was dawning

blends itself with the age which was setting; for we find that the new

instruments of bronze were copies of the old forms in stone. Even the

bronze ornaments were but improved copies of analogous objects in own,

showing indeed the sameness of race in both periods, and the

similarity of their tastes and customs. The gradual introduction of

metal gave to the lake-dwellers new powers, which enabled them to

improve their condition; dwellings were now erected in deeper water;

larger piles were used, and better sharpened and squared, fastened

with cross beams, and strengthened by stones heaped up; pottery was

better made, more elegant in form, and sometimes painted black or red,

or ornamented with tin-foil plates. The bronze implements which had

been made by native artisans were of excellent workmanship and form,

especially the spear and javelin-heads, which prove great proficiency

in casting. The swords with short handles and curved knives and

armillae resemble those which have been found in Denmark; but we

observe none of the graceful leaf-shaped swords which occur in Britain

and Ireland. Varied, peculiar, and sometimes beautiful is the

ornamentation of the period, consisting of zigzag lines, points,

triangles, spiral and lozenge forms.

A transitional state there was, too, between the bronze and the iron

periods. Morges settlement on Lake Geneva may be regarded of the

bronze age; for not only have one hundred and thirty bronze objects

been found there, but also moulds for casting bronze winged celts,

showing that such implements had been made on the spot; yet here there

occurs an iron poniard. But in the lake-dwelling of Marin, one of the

lost occupied, the number of iron objects is surprisingly great,

exhibiting to view weapons, agricultural and domestic implements, and

ornaments made of iron, which in the older dwellings had been made of

stone or bone or bronze. Of these iron relics the most remarkable are

the swords, of which fifty and more have been found at Marin, some

with and others without sheaths, all, with one exception, of iron, and

every one being peculiarly yet differently ornamented. These swords

are masterpieces of the smith's art, and were probably produced at

large manufactories, when there were division of labor and every

practical appliance, for some of them bear upon them makers' marks.

They are, however, the product of Celtic art, and correspond in form

and ornamentation with those of the later Celtic period of northern

nations; and {402} this view is confirmed by the discovery of similar

swords in the ditches of the fortress of Alesia, where a conflict had

taken place between the Romans and Helvetians when it was besieged by

Caesar. Less striking to the eye, however, is the connection between

the productions of the bronze and of the iron age; but our author

remarks:

"There are, indeed, some forms of implements which remind us of the

previous age. But, on the whole, when the Marin objects were made,

iron had taken full possession of the field, and all the implements,

including ornaments, which could be made out of iron, a metal both

firmer and more pliable, were manufactured out of this material. But

the form of these specimens had in some measure undergone a change,

for the working of iron is a totally different matter from that of

bronze; and the hammer of the smith and the moulds of the founder

cannot produce the same forms. The remains of the settlements of

pure stone, bronze, and iron ages indicate, therefore, epochs of

civilization among the inhabitants, separated by long intervals,

while the end for which the lake-dwellings were erected--namely, the

security of person and property--and their construction remained the

same."

Of the religion of the lake-dwellers there is no certain information;

but some relics made of stone and pottery, somewhat crescent-shaped,

found in bronze-age settlements, Dr. Keller thinks may be

representative of the crescent moon, and, therefore, probably objects

of worship. According to Pliny, the Druids gathered the mistletoe with

great solemnity on the sixth day of the moon; and hence it is inferred

that the moon images were sacred emblems, having power to avert and

cure diseases. This, however, is but a fancy, for it does not appear

from Caesar that the Celts worshipped the heavenly bodies.

The fauna and flora of the lake-dwellings afford interesting

information to naturalists, and throw some light on the questions as

to the origin, the development, and distribution of species. During

the stone age, the _bos primigenius_ and _bos bison_ were abundant,

but they disappear after the introduction of metallic weapons; the

former is now only found on the marshes of the North Sea. A very large

ox, with great semilunar horns, bent forward from the frontal plane

(_bos trochoceros_), and which had been contemporaneous with the

mammoth and hippopotamus, appears to have been domesticated at Concise

and Chevreaux. It is now extinct; but the marsh cow (bos brachyceros),

which was most abundant in the stone age, has continued to exist to

the present time, and now occupies the mountainous parts of

Switzerland and its wild mountain valleys. In the earlier periods,

several races of swine ran wild, which were subsequently domesticated.

The fox was abundantly eaten; but the hare was not used for food, even

the traces of its existence are few; neither domestic false, nor rats,

nor mice appear. Wild animals predominate in the stone age, but they

gave way in subsequent period. to domestic animals.

The seeds and other parts of plants lying in the lake mud, or buried

under several feet of peat, have been so well preserved, that their

characters can be determined. The small-grained six-rowed barley and

the small lake-dwelling wheat (_triticum vulgare antiquorum_) were,

from the earliest period, the most generally cultivated of farinaceous

seeds; and, notwithstanding the rudeness of the husbandry implements,

the quality of the produce was apparently equal to that of modern

times; the spelt (_triticum spelta_), now one of the most important

cereals of Switzerland, did not appear till the bronze age; while rye

was entirely unknown, thus showing a connection with the countries of

the Mediterranean, the lake colonists having the same cereals as the

Egyptians. Cakes of unleavened bread have been found, made of millet

and wheat, which had been baked on the hearthstone in the dwellings.

Barley seems to have been used boiled or parched; but as corn-crushers

and mealing-stones have been found in most of the settlements, grain

had been extensively used for food The latest settlement, dating

backward {403} not less than 2,000 years, and the older going some

3,000 years and more further backward still, it is interesting to

observe what change this long lapse of time produced on plants:

"The dense, compact wheat and the close, six-rowed barley have

undergone no perceptible change, yet it must be confessed that most

of them agree with no recent forms sufficiently to allow of their

being classed together. The small Celtic beans, the peas, the small

lake-dwelling barley, the Egyptian and small lake-dwelling wheat,

and the two-rowed wheat, or _emmer_, form peculiar and apparently

extinct races; they are distinguished for the most part from the

modern cultivated kinds by smaller seeds. Man has, therefore, in

course of time produced sorts which give a more abundant yield, and

these have gradually supplanted the old varieties."

With wild plants the case is different:

"The flora of the lake-dwellings announces to us that all the plants

which come in contact with man become changed up to a certain point,

and man participates in the great transformations of nature, while

the wild plants, which surround us at the present day, still grow in

the same forms as they did three or four thousand years ago, and do

not exhibit the slightest change."

The final abandonment of these lake-dwellings, about the beginning of

the Christian era, would result from an improved civilization and a

more united and orderly state of society; but how long before that

time they had been occupied has not yet been definitely determined;

our chronology is still relative rather than absolute. Peat has

accumulated over some settlements, but as its rate of growth varies

under different conditions, we are only told by it that the stone-age

dwellings lasted many centuries. At Robenhausen peat moor, there are

remains of three settlements of the stone age, one over the other; two

of which had been destroyed by fire, and the last had been abandoned,

probably on account of the increase of peat. Between the first and

second settlement there are three feet of peat and one foot of other

deposit, both containing relics; between the second and third

settlements the deposits are the same in character and sickness, and

over the last dwelling are two feet of peat and half-a-foot of mould;

so that during the stone age there had been a slow growth of eight

feet of peat, and the deposit of three and a half feet of other

matter. Other means have been used to obtain more definite results;

the most remarkable of which is that of Professor Morlot, who from an

examination of a cone of gravel and alluvium, connected with deposits

of the stone, bronze, Roman, and recent periods, and gradually built

up by the torrent of Teniere where it falls into Lake Geneva,

concludes that the age of bronze has an antiquity of from 3,000 to

4,000 years, and that of stone from 5,000 to 7,000 years--no very

startling estimate, when we remember the high antiquity which has been

assigned to the drift and cave men.

Of the physical characters of the lake-dwellers, Dr. Keller gives us

little information; that they had small hands is probable from the

shortness of their sword-handles. Few human bones, and those chiefly

of children, have been found. No crania of the stone age have been

seen, but a few out of the bronze period, one of which from Meilen

differs little from the skulls of the existing Swiss. It is,

therefore, mainly from the relics found that we can form any guess as

to the origin and relationship of the lake-dwellers, and by those it

is shown that they belonged to the very people who at the same time

lived on the mainland. Dr. Keller concludes "that the builders of the

lake-dwellings were a branch of the Celtic population of Switzerland,

but that the earlier settlements belong to the pre-historic period,

and had already fallen into decay before the Celts took their place in

the history of Europe."

The history of the lake-dwellers opens a hopeful prospect for those

races who are now in a degraded condition; for here they start with a

low degree of civilization, and yet there is a gradual rise upward to

that point where great skill was reached {404} in metallurgic and

other arts; but even this was only a step onward to that high

cultivation of intellect and morals among their descendants the Swiss

people. Why should not other races pass through the same stages,

especially when influenced by intercourse with modern civilized

nations?

--------

ORIGINAL

PEA-BLOSSOM.

I hear a faltering footstep

Crossing the matted floor,

And a little knock low down

On the panels of the door.

A small hand is uplifted

To raise the iron latch,

And entrance claimed in a silvery tone

No nightingale could match.

Away with books and papers!

Enter, my fairy bright;

Sweep the dim cobwebs from my brain,

And let in air and light.

Close the dull portals of history,

Unclasp that magic door

That leads to the jewelled caverns

Of fiction and fairy lore:

The legend of Cinderella,

Of knights and maidens small.

Of princely frogs and pigmy dogs.

And my lady's golden ball.

Good-night, my white-robed enchantress.

My blue-sashed, sunny-haired muse;

Perfection thou art, from that topmost curl

To the tips of thy dainty shoes.

Watch her well, angel-guardian!

Pray for her, crowned saint.

That when the time for the cross shall come,

Her spirit grow not faint;

That she may go to her last repose

With a heart unspotted by sin--

That this face of lustrous purity

May mirror the soul within.

--------

{405}

ORIGINAL

A MONTH AT A FRENCH WATERING-PLACE.

BY AN OLD BACHELOR.

I always had a great veneration for the disciples of Esculapius, but

never so as when my considerate doctor decided that a sea voyage was

absolutely necessary for my my health. Being unblessed by those sweet

cares, a wife and children, I determined to show my obedience to his

commands, and at the same time to ratify my long-cherished plan of

visiting the old world. Be reassured, readers, I have no intention of

harrowing your gentle spirits by a description of sea-sickness, nor of

wearying you with my experiences at custom-house or railroad dépôt,

but desire to transport you at once to the good little watering place

of V----, which had been recommended to me as the very place for the

exorcising of that tyrant devil, dyspepsia.

It was a lovely evening in July that I took a carriage from D----, for

the said watering-place, for railroads have not as yet invaded the

primitive simplicity of the village; hotels have, however, and much to

my satisfaction I found myself, after a charming hour's drive, seated

in a cozy room with an excellent dinner before me. My Hostess I soon

discovered to be quite a character; a raw-boned, fast-talking

Frenchwoman, with a suspicious darkness on her upper lip. When I had

finished my repast, this worthy dame informed me that it was the

custom of all good "Seigneurs" to repair to the beach after dinner; so

giving me my hat and cane, she showed me the way, and I in all

obedience departed.

The moon was then full, and cast a deliciously deceptive light on all

around; even the wretched huts wherein the French peasantry

contentedly huddle, mellowed by its light, looked picturesque and

quaint. Looking around, I found that the village nestled between two

hills, and that I was at the moment in the principal street, which

cuts it in two, and from which smaller streets diverge in all

directions. Tempted by the quiet of the evening I turned from the main

road, and soon found myself in one of the prettiest winding lanes

imaginable; at that quiet hour, with the moonlight streaming through

the interlacing trees, I know of nothing more charming than a walk

along the winding paths which form a network around the village; what

in the day time might be simply pretty, borrowed from the lovely night

a charm and mystery that was irresistible; and so I wandered on, a

luxurious feeling, half melancholic, half pleasurable, soothing my

spirit, until I was abruptly reminded that all things sweet in this

life are short, by finding myself at the end of my pretty lane, and

once more landed in the village street. Here my landlady's admonition

was brought to my mind, by seeing several parties of red-hooded,

red-cloaked personages all going one way; these were evidently some of

the good bathers, and them I followed. In a few minutes I found myself

in quite a small crowd of strangers, who made the beach look like a

gaden of poppies. I, who had formed my ideas of watering-places from

Newport and Long Branch, looked in amazement at this beach, which is

nothing more or less than a break in the high white cliffs, which

stretch on either side at far at the eye can {406} reach; however,

though small, it seemed convenient, and I looked at the rippling water

in eager anticipation of the morrow's bath. Seating myself on the

stones, which form a poor substitute for the firm white sand of

Newport, I proceed as is my custom, to observe my companions, and from

their trifling actions to form an opinion of their different natures.

A number of groups attracted my attention, but as I merely discovered

that the ladies of the parties were industriously occupied in trying

to out-babble--talk it hardly was--each other, and that the men

carelessly reclined near them smoking, in utter despair of otherwise

making use of their mouths, I was beginning to think that there was

not much food for my observations, when my attention was suddenly

arrested by the familiar sound of a few English words. Turning around,

I saw at a few steps from me a party which I had not yet observed. The

centre figure of this new picture at once arrested my attention;

evidently this lady considered herself of great importance, for she

was laying down the law to the various persons around her, with a

volubility that a French woman only can attain. Her dress was an

extraordinary caricature of rural finery; it was a pity, I thought,

that the face under that peculiarly youthful, flower-ornamented hat,

should be that of a plain woman of fifty. Her court was principally

composed of various feeble imitations of herself, but my attention was

soon entirely occupied by two figures at the extreme verge of the

group, a young lady and a gentleman; the young lady seemed to be

giving an English lesson to her listless companion, who appeared

almost too indolent to turn around in admiration of the girl's

sprightliness; a second glance convinced me that I was near one of my

own countrywomen; the delicate profile, fragile form, and rather

nervous manner could belong to none but an American. My interest was

now excited to the highest pitch, for when an ocean rolls between a

man and his country, all that reminds him of that country has an

irresistible charm, especially when that something happens to be a

pretty girl. But my observations were cut short, for the whole party

arose a few minutes after, and left the beach. I soon followed, and

learned from my voluble landlady that I had been observing

fellow-boarders; that the strangely attired lady was the most

important personage of V---- that she patronized sea-bathing every

summer, and that she rejoiced in the name of Madame la Baronne d'Agri.

The handsome young monsieur with the beard, proved to be her nephew,

and the "Charmante Americaine" was with with her mother, an invalid

for whom sea air had been ordered. Then followed a long description of

the other members of the party, a Mr. and Mrs. Poirier and their

daughter, by young artist and several other personages, to which

description I fear I was but indifferently attentive.

Next morning it rained--rain forming a part of nearly ever day's

programme, as I afterward discovered. Not yet having become hardened

to the fact, I was dolefully looking from the hotel door, vainly

endeavoring to discover a patch of blue sky, when I was joined by

Madame la Baronne's nephew. Remarks on the weather were followed by a

polite offer of a cigar, whose genial fragrance soon induced a more

interesting conversation. A few chance words brought out the fact that

my young companion was quite an amateur chemist, and as, in my college

days, chemistry had been a sort of passion with me, we were soon

launched in an animated discussion. I was much interested to hear what

rapid strides the French had recently taken in that and other positive

sciences. From chemistry we passed to politics, philosophy, and

finally religion. While listening to this young man's clear, strong

exposition of his sentiments on these various subjects, I found myself

wondering at this, to me, new, new phase of the French character, as

unlike the light, {407} frivolous, gay-hearted Frenchman of the novel

and stage, as possible. I must say it pleased me even less; the

down-right scepticism, the well-turned sophisms, the extreme

materialism, were easily traced to the teachings of Voltaire. I am

well pleased to think that this young man is the representative of but

a comparatively small class, but unfortunately that class is composed

of much of the brain of the country, and consequently carries with it

great influence. On all American questions M. Louis d'Agri (for so the

young man was called) showed a curious interest; of our great war his

opinion had been biassed by Southern influence--not unnaturally, since

his only American associates had been from that portion of our

country; these associates had also given him their ideas on the

subject of slavery, but a few facts, put in the simple, plain way

which seemed best to suit his turn of mind, convinced him, or seemed

to convince him, that, in that particular at least, his judgment was

in error. He asked many questions on the present state of affairs in

our country, of the possible future of the South, of the treatment of

Jefferson Davis, etc., etc., all of which I answered apparently to his

satisfaction. Indeed, not only in his case, but in many others, I have

noticed that there is a great curiosity felt about everything

American; to tell the truth, I think that the war brought to their

minds that a vast and important country really does exist on the other

side of the broad ocean, a fact of which before they were but dimly

conscious. Even now, the strange ignorance of our customs, people, and

especially our geography, even among the educated classes, would bring

forth the astonishment and indignation of any American fifth-form

school-boy. The French are singularly devoid of our go-ahead qualities

in everything; they travel but little, and being perfectly convinced

that France is the only country of any real importance on the globe,

trouble themselves but little about any other, especially should that

other be separated from them by an ocean.

From American politics we turned to those of France, a subject which

brought out the young man's most bitter anathemas; dissatisfied with

the form of government, with the people, and especially with the

emperor, he expressed himself with much more freedom than any other

Frenchman I had yet conversed with. Most of them answer any objections

with a shrug of the shoulders, and a furtive glance about them; they

often praise the emperor for the good he has done their beloved Paris,

but with an air which says: "I like not the man, but admire his

sagacity." Very few Americans, however, could have expressed more

republican, more anti-aristocratic sentiments than M. d'Agri, who, as

I learned afterward, is the last direct representative of a decayed

but noble house. On all religious topics he proved to be an utter

sceptic, avowedly believing in nothing, and regarding as either knaves

or dupes all those who did not stoop to his own degrading materialism:

singular that a mind so clear should be so perverted. We had merely

broached the last subject, when the ladies of the party, enticed by

the sun which was beginning to brighten the sky, descended, and

proposed going down to bathe. M. d'Agri, advancing toward the young

lady I had observed the night before, said:

"_Mees Fannee_, I have just been having an interesting conversation

with a countryman of yours."

The young lady's face brightened, and with a frankness that is

certainly a charm peculiar to American girls, extended her hand,

saying in English:

"Is it possible! Americans in a foreign land can scarcely be

strangers!" and so, from that moment, I was considered as one of the

party. Mrs. Hayne, the invalid mother, I found belonged to that rather

extensive class of ladies who, from having some slight {408} nervous

ailment, nurse and pet it till it grows to be a real malady, which

makes them fretful, wrinkled and miserable. As we walked to the beach

I was made the honored recipient of the good lady's woes, and being a

tolerable listener was immediately taken into her favor.

We found the beach already lively with the indefatigable bathers, who

seize on all tolerably sunshiny days to search for health in the

luxurious water. Several groups of people, who either had bathed or

were going to bathe later, were seated on the stones, watching with

interest the extraordinary looking figures that emerged from the long

row of cabins. Notwithstanding my eagerness for a good swim, I stood

for nearly half an hour watching also; many of the ladies who went

into their cabins majestic in width of skirt and flowing drapery,

emerged from them reduced to a mere ghost of their former grandeur. To

all whom it may concern, I give it as my decided opinion, that

oil-silk caps and scant bathing dresses are generally not becoming,

and that a young man must be of a peculiarly susceptible disposition

to become enamored of these sea-nymphs.

One thing let me observe, there is a regard for personal safety here

of which we are too devoid. I noticed in the water two black-clothed

individuals, whose only business seemed to be to exercise those ladies

and children who did not swim, so that they might not catch cold; to

give lessons to beginners in the noble art of swimming, and to have an

eye to the safety of the bathers generally. When the bath is over, the

well-cared-for person is well wrapped up and hurried to the cabin,

where a hot foot-bath is in readiness; to this latter arrangement I

give my most cordial approval.

As I turned around, after these various observations, intending in my

turn to appropriate one of the cabins, I was met by Madame d'Agri,

who, in an eccentric bathing-dress, was tripping down to the water.

Stopping me, she overwhelmed me with voluble patronage, assuring me

that her nephew had spoken of me in the highest terms, and that all

his friends were hers; and finally pointing to the largest cabin on

the batch, over which the family arms floated ostentatiously, informed

me that in that cabin they often retired from the vulgar herd, and

invited me, whenever I felt annoyed by the plebeians around me, to

join them, that a chair would always be at my disposal. Bowing my

thanks, I beat a hasty retreat, out of breath for very sympathy.

After my bath, which I enjoyed as only veteran swimmers can enjoy it,

I sallied forth to verify or destroy the impressions my moonlight

stroll of the night before had given me. To some extent, at least,

they were destroyed; in the moonlight the low, thatched huts

--cottages they could scarcely be called--looked picturesque; in the

broad daylight they looked simply squalid; dirt and discomfort reigned

supreme. In many of these huts there seemed to be but one, unfloored,

wretched-looking room, serving as kitchen, bedroom, and parlor, to a

swarming family of dirty children, with their dirtier parents. Yet I

an told that many of these peasants, who are content to live in these

hovels year after year, and subsist on crabs, periwinkles, and such

trash, are often comparatively well off, some of them being in actual

receipt of rents amounting to ten and fifteen thousand francs a year;

but as their fathers live so do they live, and the natural consequence

is that they are an ill-favored, withered-looking set. I looked in

vain for a fresh, blooming girl, there seemed to be no age between

twelve and fifty; even the children looked withered, and the old

people were fairly bent double; yet they lived on, contented enough,

because dreaming of no other possible life, and enjoying the bustle of

an occasional fête with a zest which our more phlegmatic people would

disdain. While making these {409} reflections, I again found myself in

one of those charming lanes which had so pleased me the night before.

These, at least, were unspoiled by the misery around; what a blessing

that man cannot degrade nature, however he may degrade himself! By my

side murmured and gurgled the prettiest little brook, dignified here

by the name of "petite rivière," which I ever saw; clear as crystal,

swift and cold, it lends beauty and freshness to the whole country

around. An American farmer would laugh at the tiny stream scarcely

more than a mile in length, but an artist would revel in its beauty.

And so, what with bathing, walking, driving, and chatting, time passed

quietly but pleasantly at the little village of V----. Meanwhile I

grew more and more interested in watching my companions, especially

two of them; I often found myself, while seeming to listen to the

Baronne's endless tales of her house's past grandeur, or to poor Mrs.

Mayne's recital of her troubles, closely observing my young

countrywoman and M. Louis d'Agri. Knowing as I did his ideas on

serious subjects, and feeling, too, the influence which a mind like

his, strong, cool, and calculating, could scarcely fail to exercise

over a sensitive and impulsive nature like hers, I found myself

growing more and more uneasy. Evidently accustomed to that sort of

flirting and freedom which is entirely prohibited to French girls,

Miss Hayne delighted in taking her lazy cavalier unawares, and

obliging him, with the most innocent air possible, to give up his dear

comfort--now to fetch a chair, again to hold her worsteds while she

wallowed them; a sort of treatment to which the gentleman was

evidently unaccustomed, and which, perhaps for the very novelty of the

thing, seemed to create not an unpleasant sensation. But, on the other

hand, he was fond of bringing out all her girlish and unsophisticated

ideas, and quietly leveling at them his battery of cold-hearted

sophisms, in order to destroy them one by one; at first she would

battle bravely, but an impulsive girl, untrained to analyze her own

convictions, has but a poor chance against a clear-headed, determined

man, and I noticed, with pain, that after every such discussion she

would seem uneasy and depressed. Then her opponent would lazily settle

himself in his chair, and allow his rival, the young artist, whom I

have strangely slighted heretofore, to bring his gallantries into

play. This young man was a sort of _protégé_ of Madame d'Agri's, and

an entirely different type of man from Madame's nephew; all the arts

and graces, compliments and "petits soins" which the latter despised,

M. Dubois employed with true French art. He had from the first been

struck by Miss Hayne's pretty face, which he sedulously introduced

into all his sketches, paying her, whenever he was permitted, most

unremitting attentions; but I noticed that, though the native coquetry

which seemed to be this girl's principal fault, induced her to

encourage him, a word, or even a look from M. Louis d'Agri, would draw

her away from him to the piano, or oftener to the chess-board, where

she invariably received severe lectures on her neglect of the rules of

that noble game. You may, in the mean time, wonder what became of the

other young girls of the party, for there were several; they looked at

_Mees Fannee_, and her freedom of speech and action, in ill-concealed

horror, and remained near their mothers, chattering fast enough among

themselves, but scarcely venturing to answer "yes" or "no," when

addressed by their elders, especially if those elders happened to be

of the other sex. Indeed, M. Louis informed me in confidence that his

young countrywomen, "s'ennuyent bien, et ma foi! elles ennuyent

joliment les autres" before marriage, but after--bah! and an

expressive wave of the hand finished the sentence.

One morning as I was lounging about, thinking with a certain degree of

_ennui_ that doing nothing was, after all, the hardest sort of work, I

was met {410} by Madame d'Agri, who accosted me with one of her

sweetest smiles.

"O Monsieur! I was just wondering where I should find you--so

delighted, really so charmed--you must go with us, indeed you must!

now, no excuse; positively I will accept none; this time you must

allow my will to be law."

"Madame, I am your most obedient; but in what particular am I required

to show my duty?"

"Mon Dieu! and have I not told you? what a giddy thing I am; indeed my

poor husband" (whom I am sure she talked to death) "always said I was

giddy! We are going to C----, where there is to be a fête, and on the

way we can see see a chateau or two, not much, you know, but pretty

well for these degenerate times. Yes, we are all going--that is, no,

not all, for poor Madame Hayne has the migraine: dear! dear! how that

poor woman suffers! So the charming _Mees Fannee_ has accepted me as

her chaperone--interesting girl, is she not? Well, as I was saying,

Madame Hayne has the migraine, and Madame Poirier has the toothache

and will not that her daughter go without her; so the party will be

reduced to Madame Duchemin and her daughter, _Mees Fannee_, my nephew,

M. Dubois--has he not a charming talent--and myself; and you really

must join us--plenty of room I assure you, plenty of room. We shall

go in one of those vehicles they call an 'Americaine'--I fancy it got

its name from the hospitality with which it holds so many people--so

like your delightful country!"

After some little delay occasioned by the ladies, who, as might be

expected, all forgot something at the last woman's, we started. It was

a fresh, breezy morning, just such a one as to excite high spirits,

and make one appreciate every trifling incident. The road was

excellent, indeed it made me blush for some of our own ill-made,

ill-kept roads; but of this I said nothing, for every American feels

bound, when abroad, to represent all concerning his country "couleur

de rose." The scenery was charming; nothing perhaps striking and grand

and vast, like the scenery we are most accustomed to, but a pleasing

alternation of hill and dale, with well-cultivated fields, villages

nestling in groves of fine trees, and above all occasional glimpses of

the blue ocean, to delight the eye and to give one a genial and

pleasing sense of the beautiful, without calling forth rapturous, and

let me add, fatiguing expressions of admiration. When we reached the

first chateau we all agreed that we were tired of the "Americaine,"

and that it was absolutely necessary for our happiness to wander about

for half so hour or so.

"M. d'Agri!" exclaimed Miss Hayne "you once promised me a sketch; here

is my album, and yonder chateau is the very subject for a drawing; so,

sir, please, to sit down and obey my command."

"Obedience was never my principal virtue, _Mees Fannee_, and I feel

particularly lazy this morning."

But a little imperious gesture, accompanied by a half smile, had their

effect, and the young man, perhaps too indolent to make further

objections, took the proffered album, and seeking the softest

grass-plot, sat down. I noticed that the artist, of whose arm the

Baronne had taken possession, looked around angrily, as though this

time M. d'Agri were in reality trespassing on his ground; but that

gentleman, himself quite a clever draughtsman, proceeded with most

imperturbable _sang froid_. The view he chose was really pretty. The

chateau, a large, irregular edifice, stood at the end of a noble

avenue of horse-chestnuts, whose broad leaves made a dense shade; the

country immediately around was charming; a little stream somewhat

resembling that of V----, only larger, was seen in the distance,

wandering through shrubbery and trees, until lost behind a hill which

rose more abruptly than most of the hills in this part of Normandy. On

the other hand, fields of wheat and oats extended for some {411}

distance, ended by a dark belting of woods; not far from us stood one

of those large wayside crosses so often seen in Catholic countries,

near which a shepherd was tending a flock of sheet.

When the sketch was finished Madame d'Agri came up, and admiring it

loudly, thanked _Mees Fannee_, with many caresses, for having made

that lazy nephew of hers exert himself, and during the rest of the

ride showered even more than her ordinary share of condescensions on

the young girl. This brought to my mind various other trifling

circumstances, and I said within myself: "French titles are often

accompanied by French poverty; this girl is rich, and Madame la

Baronne knows it. I will watch."

It was late in the afternoon when we reached the village; leaving our

tired horses at the inn, we walked to the market place. Here, a number

of booths, gay with flags and ribbons, stood temptingly displaying

their wares; most of them were filled with second-rate, but highly

colored china, for which unlucky wretches were induced to try their

chance, through the agency of a particularly dirty pack of cards.

Gambling on a small scale, for pieces of dusty gingerbread, seemed to

be another favorite mode of parting with sous. On the other side, the

beating of drums and clanging of cymbals announced that in a certain

tent the unsophisticated mind could be rejoiced by extra-ordinary

theatrical representations for the moderate sum of three sous; dust,

noise, and bustle reigned supreme, and the peasant's in their holiday

clothes seemed to be at the very height of enjoyment. Altogether it

was a gay and picturesque scene, but I was content to view it at a

respectful distance. Not so Madame d'Agri; she patronized the

peasants, who looked at her eccentric costume in bewildered

admiration; chucked the children under the chin, scolded the parents,

and in short acted out the "grande dame" of the fête to her heart's

content. As night approached, a large building in the centre of the

place, used, I believe, as a sort of flour dépôt on market days, was

lighted by Chinese lanterns and flaring tallow candles; here the youth

of both sexes enjoyed a rollicking, laugh-abounding dance, to the

sound of a cracked fiddle. Madame was just insisting on forming a

quadrille of her own, to encourage the peasantry, who, by the way,

seemed but little in need of encouragement, when her nephew

represented to her that we should not get home till late as it was,

and that the moon would not serve after a certain hour. Reluctantly

she yielded, and we settled ourselves once more in our "Americaine,"

tired but pleased. The conversation was soon monopolized by M. d'Agri

and Miss Fanny, who, whatever might be their fatigue, always seemed to

have some point of dispute.

After this excursion my vigilance increased, and my observations were

not pleasing; two or three little circumstances brought out in M.

d'Agri's character an insensibility to the pains and sufferings of

others, and a certain cruelty of thought and action, which,

notwithstanding the interest his fine intellect excited in me, brought

a feeling of distrust, and at times of dislike.

One rather misty day, on which but few bathers ventured into the

water, I, feeling a need of exercise, determined to enjoy my customary

swim. The cabin I happened to take stood next to the large one of

Madame d'Agri. When I returned, dripping and glowing from my bath, I

noticed that the lady was seated in it sewing, and that her nephew was

lounging by her, reading the paper. As I was luxuriating in the

delicious feeling which I believe sea-bathing alone can give, I was

startled by a few words which came distinctly to my ears; so far the

conversation had not risen above an occasional, monotonous hum, but

suddenly I found myself in the awkward position of a forced listener,

as the thin wooden partition proved but a slight {412} obstruction to

the heightened voices of the speakers.

"My good aunt, let us not broach that subject again."

"My good nephew, I must and will; the welfare of our noble house--"

"Fiddlesticks!" (this is a mild translation.) "Listen rather to this

account of the transactions at Vienna.

"Louis, you are mad. If you will not be moved by higher

considerations, think at least of your own comfort--that comfort that

you love so well. You are poor, too high born to work, what then is

left you but a wealthy marriage?"

"There you have touched my only vulnerable point, my comfort; but

then, my dear aunt, what becomes of your aristocratic scruples? would

you have the noble blood of the d'Agris contaminated?--"

"But, Louis, Americans are not like others; it is true they do say her

father made his money in commerce, but then, I read somewhere or other

that Americans consider themselves all as sovereigns; besides, we want

money, and if it is said that you married a foreigner, people will not

trouble themselves about the origin of her money-sacks, as they would

if she were the daughter of a French roturier. Come, my boy, be

reasonable; remember that you are the last representative--"

"I remember, rather, that champagne is dear, and so are cigars: what

do you want of me?"

"I want you to marry this rich girl; no hard task--you seem to like

her well enough--"

"My good aunt, everything in life bores me. When I was a child, my

playthings bored me; later, school and college proved almost

intolerable bores; my rank bores me; Paris bores me, the country still

more so; society is an insufferable bore, but above all, French girls

bore me. Now, this _Mees Fannee_ is original or seems to me so; she

stirs me a little with her quickness, her coquetry, and her _outré_

ideas. But remember that has not yet lasted long; a few weeks more,

and she too probably, will bore me--and then for a whole lifetime . . .

good aunt, that is a consideration to make a man tremble!"

"Nonsense, Louis; yon will have to marry some time or other."

"Yes, I suppose so; but French girls are brought up with a becoming

sense of the submission due from wives to husbands; now, this girl

would prove rebellious I know, and, however democratic I may be in my

theory of the government of nations, my theory of the government of

the 'menage' is that of despotism. Besides, I have a remnant of

humanity left in me, and would not condemn that bright young creature

to the misery of being my wife; no, no, let her marry some Quixotical

American, who will place her on a high pedestal and pass his life in

admiring her and letting her henpeck him."

I could not help smiling at this resume of an American husband's

chivalric devotion.

"Very well, you will pass your life as you have commenced it; you will

deny yourself all sorts of luxuries because they are expensive; that

Rembrandt you covet so, will remain unpurchased; you want to travel,

but you will stay at home, because travelling costs money; and finally

you will marry some girl as poor as yourself, or with a dôt, which she

will spend, together with more than half your pittance, in buying

silks and satins to outshine Madame this or Madame that--"

"Hold!"

"On the other hand, you might, by marrying this charming _Mees_,

decorate your house with pictures and statutes, go everywhere, see

everything, and take your place among the enlightened patrons of art

and science; all this you reject because you are afraid this little

_Mees_ will prove stronger of will--"

{413}

"Stronger of will than I!" and M. Louis sprang from his chair; the

Baronne was no fool after all. "Diable! there are few women I could

not bend to my will. My aunt, I will try my luck with this little

_Mees_; win her, wed her, and conquer her, too?"

"There spoke a d'Agri; but, my dear boy, you should pay her court more

assiduously, compliment her--"

"Pshaw! I understand your charming sex better than you do yourself; if

flattery could have won her, I should long ago have been beaten by

that soft-headed, smooth-tongued artist. No, the surest way to win a

woman is to make her feel that you can master her, and that if you bow

before her, it is only because you choose to do so."

"So you are not afraid of ultimate success; you think she loves you?"

"No, but I think she is fascinated, mesmerized, what you will, by me,

which answers the same purpose; what I have to do is to hasten

matters, and that is what I mean to do. I think she has gone to the

'Source' for one of her eccentric, solitary rambles. An revoir, ma

bonne Tante!" and the young man sprang from the cabin with an energy

which I had never before noticed in him. Soon after, Madame gathered

up her work apparently, and I heard no more. My toilet finished I also

took my departure, and thoughtfully turned my steps toward the hotel.

On my way I met Miss Fanny just returning from her walk; evidently M.

Louis had missed her. Ascertaining that she was not tired, I begged

her to accompany me to a particularly pretty spot on the hill, from

which the village was seen to advantage; on the way the conversation

was desultory, though I tried gradually to lead it to the subject I

meant soon to attack. Once seated under the trees, I changed my tone,

and looking at her earnestly, said:

"Miss Fanny, will you pardon me if the interest I feel in you, as a

countrywoman, and as a guileless girl, leads me to speak plainly to

you? Remember that I am more than twice your age; come, have I

permission to make myself disagreeable?"

"I do not understand you"--and she looked up startled; then, perhaps

reading a part of my thoughts in my face, she said with a blush, "Yes,

you may speak."

I then, as gently as possible, told her what I had observed, and dwelt

on the young man's unsound religions principles, on his want of

sympathy for others, etc., and finally related the conversation I had

just heard, softening some parts, but giving a detailed account of

others. She bent her head, and seemed considerably moved.

"And now, my child," I continued, "give me the satisfaction of feeling

that I have done right, that you are glad to know this, that your

heart is not as yet so engaged in this affair as to bring you any real

unhappiness; if I thought I had unwittingly wounded any deep and

honest sentiment of yours, if I thought you felt for this young man

that sort of love which hallows its object, and often purifies it from

evil, I could not easily forgive myself."

"You need not fear, my good friend; I thank you for your interest in

me," and she extended her hand, smiling faintly through her tears. "I

have done wrong I know, but this is how it happened: at first, ennuyed

by the quietness of this place, which seemed so dull after Newport, I

commenced a sort of flirtation with this M. Louis d'Agri, merely

because I craved excitement."

"Precisely; in other words you are an example of our as yet imperfect

system of education. In France young girls are kept in severe

restraint, from which they rebound after marriage, often causing much

misery; ours is the other extreme--there is an almost unlimited degree

of liberty among our young people, which is so far good that it

creates a feeling of chivalric honor among the men, and of

self-sustaining strength among the women; but at the same time this

freedom creates also a longing for excitement, a {414} fear of ennui,

which finds vent in an immense amount of flirting, generally innocent

enough, but which becomes a part of the character of almost every

young person, especially every young girl--is it not so?"

"Perhaps it is; at all events the peculiar character of this young man

soon interested me; I felt piqued at his indolent, indifferent manner,

and continued the flirtation; gradually, as I came to know him better,

he acquired over me, I scarcely know how, a sort of influence from

which I could not rid myself; but never once did I mistake the feeling

which prompted me to crave his society, for love."

"Then you do not think he could have succeeded in--"

"I do not know; had I not been made aware of his base, mercenary

motives, he might have strengthened that influence so far as to blind

me to its nature, and make me think it love; but--"

"But now you are warned."

"But now I defy M. Louis d'Agri and his fascinations," and her eyes

flashed.

"Still, do you not think that you would feel more comfortable away

from his society?"

"I feel no fear, but shall be glad to leave this place. Fortunately,

mother was complaining this very morning of the cold sea-winds, and I

can easily persuade her that it is necessary to go further south. Is

your mind easy now? I see you have but little faith in my resolution."

"Pardon me. I have, but I think that the Baronne would find means to

make a longer residence here disagreeable, did she perceive the change

which your manner must necessarily undergo."

Our conversation lasted some little time longer, and ended by most

kindly expressed thanks, and hopes for some future meeting, which

hopes I most cordially reciprocated, for the girl's frank and simple

manner during the past conversation had much heightened my esteem of

her.

That evening there arose a perfect storm of regrets, and expressions

of surprise at Mrs. Haynes suddenly expressed determination. "It was

not possible! Madame's health had improved so perceptibly," which

assertion the worthy lady repudiated with as much energy as though it

had been an insult. "We shall feel so deserted after she and _Mees

Fannee_ have gone," etc., etc. _Mees Fannee_ said nothing, but a

heightened color, and a quiet, determined manner new to her, seemed to

strike M. Louis forcibly; he darted a quick look at me, but whether he

really ever suspected my agency in the transaction or not, I never

knew. If he did, I believe that after the first feeling of anger had

passed, he felt grateful rather than not, for his better nature, I am

glad to think, really revolted at the idea of the contemplated

meanness.

At eleven the next morning the old-fashioned diligence carried _Mees

Fannee_ and her mother away, leaving the hotel _triste_ indeed. A

little while after I saw Madame la Baronne and her nephew walking up

and down the little garden, the lady gesticulating violently, and the

young man quietly smoking a cigar, and answering his excited relative

with an occasional shrug of the shoulders.

Soon after I also took my departure, for I found the interest of the

place strangely diminished, and the evenings at the "plage" stale,

flat, and unprofitable; so leaving the good French ladies and their

daughters discussing the coming winter's fashions with voluble

interest, the indefatigable Baronne eagerly looking out for another

heiress, and the nephew lazily indifferent to her success, I made my

adieux. Thus ended my month at a French watering-place.

------

{415}

AVE MARIA SINE LABE CONCEPTA.

BY REV M. MULLIN.

Hail, Mary, our Mother! Hail, Virgin the purest!

Hail, Mary, the Mother of mercy and love!

Hail, Star of the Ocean, serenest and surest

That ever shone brightly in heaven above!

'Mid the shadows of death stretching down o'er the nations,

Thy children have always rejoiced in your fame.

Oh! proudly we witness in our generations

The last crowning halo that circles thy name.

Tradition, which, joined with its sister evangel,

God placed upon guard at the door of his bride.

Tradition, which beams like the sword of the angel,

As flame-like, it "turneth on every side,"

Tradition shoots up o'er the ages victorious--

Its summit in heaven, its base upon earth--

Like a pillar of fire, far-shining and glorious,

And shows thee all sinless and pure in thy birth.

As fair as the rose 'mid Jerusalem's daughters.

As bright as the lily by Jordan's blue wave,

As white as the dove, and as clear as the waters

That flowed for the prophet and circled his grave;

As tall as the cedar on Lebanon's mountain,

As fruitful as vine-tree in Cades' domain.

As straight as the palm by Jerusalem's fountain.

As beauteous as rose-bush on Jericho plain;