with her father, mother and sisters, entered that enclosure of merry
hearts. She hoped to see at the festival the youth who had so strongly
impressed her; and the moment she entered the rude structure, her eyes
eagerly ranged round the assembly until they rested upon the person of her
rescuer, who as eagerly returned her significant glance. During the
continuance of the feast and frolic, the lovers had many interviews; and
before it closed, their faith and vows were exchanged. They were to have
been married the month after her capture; and now, since her return and
deification, she had not learned a word about her 'brave,' and had come to
the determination if he proved false to destroy herself. Day after day
passed without the presence of the only one who could drive the dark cloud
from her mind, and it was becoming every day more dense and oppressive,
until she gave way to utter despondency, and bitterly bewailed her fate.
One afternoon, about two months after her return, while some of her
kindred were bowing before her in heathenish worship, hasty steps were
heard approaching; the next moment the young brave appeared and clasped
his lost treasure to his heart; and taking advantage of the bewilderment
of the worshippers, occasioned by his sudden appearance, the happy pair
escaped to the sea-coast, and passing over a portion of the bay, found a
secure retreat among the Mickmacs, to which tribe the young brave
belonged.
And there may they rest. I sometimes, though quite infrequently, meet with
some one from Newfoundland; and among the first questions I ask is one
touching the 'Red Indians;' and although I have not heard any thing which
went to confirm the hope that they may yet be brought to place confidence
in the white man, yet I still trust that I shall; and when this result is
brought about, or any other thing of interest shall be learned of these
strange mortals, I shall take much pleasure in communicating the
information, for the benefit of the readers of the KNICKERBOCKER.
BIRTH-DAY MEDITATIONS.
I stand upon the wave that marks the round
Of Life's dark-heaving and revolving years;
Still sweeping onward from Youth's sunny ground,
Still changed and chequered with my joys and fears,
And colored from the past, where Thought careers,
Shadowing the ashes in pale Memory's urn;
Where perished buds were laid, with frequent tears,
That on the cheek of Disappointment burn,
As blessed hours roll on, that never may return.
What have they seen, those changed and vanish'd years?
Uplifted, soaring thoughts, all quelled by fate;
Affection, mournful in its gushing tears;
And midst the crowd that at the funeral wait,
A widowed mother's heart made desolate
O'er a war-honor'd Sire's low place of rest;
These are the tales that Memory may relate:
They have a moral for the aspiring breast,
A lesson of Decay on earthliness impress'd.
Yet Hope still chaunts unto the listening ear
The witching music of her treacherous song;
Still paints the Future eloquent and clear,
And sees the tide of Life roll calm along,
Where glittering phantoms rise, a luring throng;
And voiceful Fame holds out the laurel bough:
Where rapturous applause is loud and long,
Frail guerdon for the heart!--which lights the brow
With the ephemeral smile of Mind's triumphant glow.
C.
THE HOUSEHOLDER.
BY JOHN WATERS.
'For the kingdom of Heaven is like unto a man that is an
householder, which went out early in the morning to hire labourers
into his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the labourers for a
penny a day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out about
the third hour, and saw others standing in the market-place, and
said unto them; Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is
right I will give you; and they went their way. Again he went out
about the sixth and ninth hour, and did likewise. And about the
eleventh hour he went out and found others standing idle, and
saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle? They say unto
him, Because no man hath hired us. He saith unto them. Go ye also
into the vineyard; and whatsoever is right that shall ye
receive.'--ST. MATTHEW: XX, 1-7.
O thou blest Householder! the starry dawn,
The light crepuscular, the roseate morn,
Long since had melted into day!
Long since the glow of Youth's THIRD hour,
And the bird's song, and Fancy's magic power,
Long since have, traceless, pass'd away!
Ent'reth the sun into its zenith height!
Ent'reth the mortal into manhood's might!
Op'neth again the vineyard Gate
And Labourers are call'd! but Honour's dream
Entranc'd my soul, and made Religion seem
As nought, Glory was man's Estate!
The NINTH hour found me in the market place;
Fierce passion ruled my heart, care mark'd my face;
In vain, in vain, Thy blessed call!
To glitter, to achieve, to lose or gain,
Form'd every hope, or thought, delight, or pain:
The world, the world, was still my All!
The TENTH hour sounded in my startled ear!
Thy gracious Spirit touched my heart with fear!
The harvest ended with the day;
That thought imbued my mind--'not saved? too late?'
I left the throng; I sought the Vineyard Gate;
'Twas shut-- Death-struck, I turn'd away!
Low sank the Sun adown the Western Sky!
Each cherish'd hope had prov'd its vanity!
Now neither Earth, nor Heaven was mine.
Rejected, sad, abandon'd, and forlorn;
Of God it seem'd not lov'd; of Hell, the scorn!
No hope, or human or Divine,
Brighten'd my dark, cold, doubting, wretched mind;
The world, a wilderness; Heaven's self, unkind!
'Blackness of darkness' seem'd my way:
Slow struck the ELEVENTH! Thy light around me broke!
And deep, unto my soul, these words were spoke:
'Why stand ye idle all the day?'
'Enter and work through the waning hour!'--
Lord of the Vineyard! grant Thy servant power
To labour, love Thee, and obey.
Let every thought, plan, word, deed, wish, be Thine!
Thine be all honour, glory, praise divine,
And let thy pardon close my day!
THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.
Harry Harson.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
On the day but one after Rust's death, Mr. Kornicker was very busy in his
office. His coat was off; his hat was on a chair, and in it was his
snuff-box, a black silk neckcloth, and a white handkerchief, not a little
discolored by the presence of snuff and the absence of water. In one
corner of the room lay a confused heap, consisting of bed, bedding, and
various odds and ends of wearing apparel; and from these Mr. Kornicker,
after due reflection and calculation as to the order in which to make his
choice, selected article after article. First, he spread upon the floor
his counterpane, then his blanket, then a sheet not a little akin in
appearance to his handkerchief, and then his bed: upon these he piled his
apparel, in a confused heap, and proceeded to roll the whole into a large
ball, which he secured with a piece of rope. 'Now then, the moving's
begun,' said he, opening the door and rolling the bundle into the entry.
'The premises are ready for the next tenant.'
Having brushed his knees with the palm of his hands, and then dusted his
hands by knocking them together, he put on his neckcloth, coat, and hat;
pocketed his snuff-box and handkerchief, walked into the entry, locked the
door, put the key over it, as he had always been in the habit of doing;
seated himself upon his bundle, with his back leaning against the wall;
and immediately lapsed into a fit of deep abstraction, which he
occasionally relieved by kicking his heels against the floor, shaking his
head, in a sudden and emphatic manner, or inhaling his breath rapidly and
violently, producing a sound blending the harmonious qualities of a snort
and a whistle.
'So,' said he, after indulging in one of the last mentioned performances
with so much energy as to arouse him from his abstraction, at the same
time nodding his head at Rust's office, '_his_ cake being dough, our
bargain's up; and here am I, Edward Kornicker, Esquire, attorney and
counsellor at law, a man of profound experience, severe knowledge of the
world, of great capacity in various ways, though of small means--I think I
may say of d----d small means--once more in the market; for sale to the
highest bidder. Such a valuable commodity is not met with every day. If
any gentleman,' continued he, raising his hand and looking round at an
imaginary audience, 'is extremely desirous of securing the eminent talents
of one of the most prominent young men of the day--not exactly new,' added
he, running his eye over his rusty coat, 'but wonderfully serviceable; no
cracks, nor flaws, no pieces broken off--here is an opportunity which will
not occur again. This is only a scratch on the surface,' said he, as he
thrust his finger into a small hole in his coat-sleeve; 'the article
itself is warranted to be perfectly sound, and of the best quality. How
much is bid?--how much for the promising young man aforesaid? How much?
One thousand dollars? Five hundred? Two fifty?--one?--fifty? It wont do,'
said he, in a melancholy tone; 'strike him down to me. The gentleman's
bought himself in; there being no demand for the article in this market,
he thinks of disposing of himself to some respectable widow lady with a
small family and a large purse. He may alter his mind, but that's his
present intention.'
Here Mr. Kornicker concluded his rather extraordinary soliloquy by
plunging his hands in his pockets, and dropping into a subdued whistle; in
the course of which his thoughts seemed to have taken altogether a
different channel; for it was not long before he said, as if in
continuance of some unuttered train of thought:
'Well, old fellow, I promised you to look after your girl, although you
didn't seem much struck with the offer. But I'll stick to my promise;
although, to tell the truth, I don't exactly know how to commence. But
nothing will be done by sitting on this bundle. So I'll to my work at
once.'
He rose up hastily, and was descending the stairs when he abruptly turned
back, went up to his luggage, and after eyeing it for a minute, said:
'It's a hazardous business to leave you here. You can't be distrained on,
nor levied on, because you're exempt by law. So you are safe from
landlords and creditors; the law makes you exempt from being stolen too;
but thieves consider themselves like members of parliament, out of the
reach of law. There's the rub. You might be stolen; and I very much regret
to say, that the gentleman who should lay violent hands on you would walk
off with all my goods, chattels, lands, tenements, and hereditaments; but
I've no where to take you, and as I expect to sleep in this entry, you
must take your chance. So, good bye, old acquaintance, in case you and I
should never meet again.'
Having in a very grave manner shaken one corner of the counterpane, as if
it were the hand of an old friend, he gave his head a sudden jerk, to
settle his hat in the right place, and descended the stairs.
The task which Kornicker had imposed upon himself was by no means easy;
but firm in his purpose of fulfilling his promise, he shut his eyes to all
difficulties, and commenced his pursuit.
The first place to which he went was the prison, for he hoped that the
keeper of it might know something about her, or that she might have left
her address there, in case her father wished to see her when he was
imprisoned. But he was disappointed. They could tell him nothing, except
that Rust neither asked for her, nor mentioned her, and had always refused
to see her. She had never succeeded in gaining admittance to him, except
on the night of his death, when the jailer, a fellow unfit for his office,
for he had some human feeling left, unable to resist her tears and
entreaties, had let her in unannounced, as mentioned in the last chapter.
She had left the cell abruptly, had hurried off, and had never returned.
'God help the poor child!' exclaimed the man, as he told the story. 'Such
hearts as hers were made for heaven, not for this world. I have a daughter
of her age; and even if she had robbed a church, I couldn't have treated
her as that man treated his child.'
The man looked at Kornicker, as if to observe the effect of his last
remark; but probably that gentleman viewed the robbing of a church in a
less heinous light than the jailer, for he made no comment on it, but
after a pause said:
'So that's all you know?'
The man nodded.
'Good morning to you, Sir,' said Kornicker; and he walked straight out of
the building, and had crossed several streets before he had made up his
mind what to do next. This however was soon settled, and he buttoned his
coat tightly, pulled his hat firmly on his head, drew on a pair of shabby
gloves, and performed a number of those little acts which in ancient times
were known under the head of 'girding up the loins,' preparatory to
setting out to his next point of destination, which was the girl's former
home, the place where Rust had committed the murder. It was many miles
off; and the distance which Rust, under the whip and spur of fierce
passions, had traversed without trace of fatigue, drew from his clerk many
a sigh, and many an expression of weariness.
When he got there he found the house deserted. He entered it, for there
was no one there to hinder it, but the rooms were empty and dismantled.
The house had been hired by Rust, and no sooner was he in the gripe of the
law, than creditors innumerable, who like birds of prey were biding their
time, kept in check by the unbending character of their debtor, came
flitting in from every quarter; seized and sold the furniture, and left
the house desolate. A single dark stain upon the library floor, where the
murdered man had fallen, was all that was left to tell a tale of the past.
The dust had gathered thickly on the walls, as if preparing to commence a
slumber of years; and as Kornicker went out, the rats raced through the
hall, startled at the tread of a stranger.
With a heart as heavy as his limbs, as he thought of the past life of the
girl who had once tenanted this house, and then fancied what her present
fate must be, Kornicker set out on his return. 'If it had been me,' said
he, pausing to take a last look at the lonely house, 'if it had only been
Edward Kornicker who was thus cast adrift, to kick his way through the
world with empty pockets, and without a soul to say to him God speed, or
'I'm sorry for you,' it would have been right and proper, and no one would
have any cause to grumble or find fault; but this being a girl, with no
money, and consequently with no friends, no experience, as _I_ have, it's
a very hard case--a very hard case, indeed.'
Having arrived at this conclusion, Kornicker took off his hat, wiped his
forehead, snuffed, and set out on his return.
Day after day for several weeks he prosecuted his inquiries without
success; and just when he was in despair, chance led him to success. In
the course of his rambles, he encountered a person who had been at Rust's
trial, and happened to speak about him; for now that the criminal was dead
and in his grave, when public opinion could be of no service to him, many
who had hunted him down began to view less harshly the crime which had led
to his death; and this man was one of the number. He said that, although
he deserved punishment for his previous evil deeds, yet the best and
purest act of his life had been that by which he had struck down the
destroyer of his child.
'Poor thing!' said he, 'she must have led a miserable life since her
father's death. I have met her several times since then in the street, but
that was several weeks ago; and then she was very feeble, scarcely able to
walk: perhaps she's dead now.'
Kornicker waited only long enough to ascertain that she lived in a certain
out-of-the-way part of the town, which the man designated, and thither he
directed his steps, and resumed his search; and after several days spent
in fruitless inquiries, he discovered her.
The house in which he found her was a small ruinous building, sagged and
jutting forward, as if struggling to sustain itself against time and
dilapidation. The windows were broken; the doors and shutters unhung,
except a solitary one of the latter, which creaked as it flapped to and
fro in the wind; and this was the home of Rust's child.
Kornicker ascended the ricketty stairs and paused at the door of a room,
which a slipshod woman had pointed out as that of the 'murderer's
daughter.' He knocked, but there was no reply; he knocked again, but all
was silent. Then he opened the door and looked in.
It was a small dingy room, unfurnished, with the exception of a bed on the
floor, and a single chair, on which stood a candle whose flaring light
served only to add to the gloom of the room by revealing its wretchedness.
The girl was in bed; her hair lying in tangled masses about the pillow.
Her cheeks were sunken and colorless, and her eyes deep-set and glowing,
as if all that was left of life was concentrated in them.
Kornicker hesitated for a moment, and then pushed the door open and walked
in. The girl looked listlessly up, but did not notice him; for she turned
her head away with a weary, restless motion, and did not speak. Kornicker
went to the bed, got on his knees beside it, and took her hand in his. As
he did so he observed that it was very thin and shrunken, and that the
large veins stood out like cords. It was hot as fire. 'You're very ill,'
said he, in a low tone. 'I'm afraid you're very ill.'
'I'm dying of thirst,' said the girl, pointing to an empty pitcher, which
stood on the floor. 'Give me water; the want of it is driving me mad. No
one has been near me to-day. I tried to get it myself, but could not
stand.'
Kornicker waited to hear no more, but seizing the pitcher, darted out to a
pump, and in a very few minutes came back again with it filled to the
brim. The girl's eye grew even more lustrous than before, as she saw it,
and she attempted to rise, but was unable.
'You must excuse ceremony,' said Kornicker, as he placed his arm under her
back and supported her while he held the pitcher to her lips. 'Nursing
isn't in my line.'
The girl swallowed the water greedily, and then sank back on the pillow
exhausted.
'Have you a doctor?' inquired Kornicker, placing the pitcher on the floor.
'No,' answered she feebly; 'I have no money: the last went yesterday. I'm
deserted by all now.'
'Not quite,' exclaimed Kornicker, slapping his hand earnestly on his knee,
while he experienced a choking sensation about the throat; 'not while I'm
left. I'm sorry I a'nt a woman, for your sake; but as I don't happen to
be, I hope you'll make no objections on that score; I'll look after you as
if you were my own sister.'
It was the first word of kindness that the girl had heard for a long time,
and the tears came in her eyes.
'There, there, don't cry,' said Kornicker. 'It bothers me; I don't know
what to do when women cry. But you haven't a doctor; that will never do.
Keep up your heart,' said he, rising; 'I'll return presently.' Saying
this, and without waiting for a reply, he left the room.
Arriving in the street, his first impulse was not only to feel in his
pockets, but with the utmost care to turn them inside out, and to examine
them narrowly.
'Not a copper--pockets to let!' said he, restoring them to their former
condition, after a long and unsuccessful search. 'But this girl must be
looked after; that's settled. Now then,' said he, in a very meditative
mood, 'who's able to do it and _will_?'
This seemed a question not easily answered, for he stood for more than a
minute in profound thought, in endeavoring to solve it; but apparently
making up his mind, he hurried along the street. The direction which he
took was toward the upper part of the city, and he was some time in
reaching his destination, which was no other than Harry Harson's house. He
crossed the court-yard and knocked at the door, which was opened by
Harson.
'I want a word with you,' said Kornicker, abruptly.
Harson told him to come in; led the way to his sitting-room, and pointing
to a chair, told him to be seated.
'I haven't time,' said Kornicker, shaking his head. 'Do you know me?'
'I've seen you, but I can't recollect where.'
'_Here_,' said Kornicker, 'here, in this room. I breakfasted here. I'm
Michael Rust's clerk.'
'Then you can scarcely expect a cordial reception from _me_,' said Harson,
coldly.
'I don't care what sort of a reception you give _me_,' replied Kornicker;
'you may kick me if it will be any comfort to you, provided you only do
what I ask. Michael Rust is dead, and his daughter is now dying, with
scarcely clothes to cover her, or a bed to lie in; without a cent to buy
her food or medicine; without a soul to say a single word of comfort to
her. I wouldn't have troubled you, old fellow,' continued he, with some
warmth, at the same time turning out his pockets, 'if I had a cent to give
her. The last I had I spent in getting a breakfast this morning; and
although it's the only meal I've eaten to day, damme if I would have
touched it if I had thought to have found her in such circumstances. But
since you won't help her, you may let it alone; I'm not so hard run but
that I can do something for her yet.'
Kornicker had worked himself up into such an excitement, owing to Harson's
cold reception of him, that he took it for granted his request was to be
refused; and having thus vented his feelings he turned on his heel to go,
when the old man laid his hand on his shoulder.
'Nature puts noble hearts in very rough cases,' said Harson, his eyes
glistening as he spoke. 'You're a good fellow, but rather hasty. I didn't
say I would not assist the poor girl; on the contrary, you shall see that
I will. She has no doctor?'
'No.'
'No nurse?'
'No.'
Harson rang the bell. The house-keeper answered it.
'Martha, put on your things,' said Harson; 'I want you to sit up with a
sick person to-night. Bring a basket, and lights, and cups, and every
thing that's necessary for one who has nothing. I'll return in five
minutes; you must be ready by that time. Now then, Sir, come along; you
shall see what I'll do next.'
He went into the street, and walked rapidly on, turning one or two
corners, but without going far, and at last knocked at the door of a small
house.
'A very excellent fellow lives here,' said he to Kornicker; 'he's a
doctor; and if this girl can be saved he'll do it. Hark! there he comes. I
hear his step.'
The door was opened by the doctor himself, and a few words sufficed to
explain matters to him.
'I'll be ready in a minute,' said he, darting in the room and as suddenly
returning, struggling his way into the arms of a great-coat. 'Now then,'
exclaimed he, buttoning a single button, and dashing into the street,
'which way?'
'Where does she live?' asked Harson. 'I'll go back and bring the nurse.'
Kornicker told him, and was hurrying off, when Harson touched his arm, and
leading him a few steps aside, said in a low voice: 'You seem somewhat
straitened for money, Mr. Kornicker; I wish you would accept a loan from
me.' He extended a bank-note to him.
Kornicker buttoned his pockets up very closely, not omitting a single
button, and then replied coldly: 'I ask charity for others, not for
myself.'
'Come, come,' said Harson, kindly, 'you mustn't bear malice. I did not act
well toward you at first; you must forget it; and to show that you do so,
you must take this loan from me.'
'I don't wish to borrow,' replied Kornicker.
'Well, I'm sorry for it,' said Harson, taking his hand; 'but you're not
angry?'
'No no, old fellow; it's not an easy matter to keep angry with you; you're
a trump!'
'Perhaps you'll sup with me when we return?' said the old man, earnestly.
'I'll see how the girl is,' replied Kornicker; 'good bye. We're losing
time.'
Saying this, he shook hands with Harson, and joining the doctor, they set
out at a rapid pace for the girl's abode.
They reached it without interruption, other than a short delay on the part
of the doctor, who being of a belligerent disposition, was desirous of
stopping to flog a man who had intentionally jostled him off the sidewalk.
Kornicker, however, by urging upon him the situation of the girl, had
induced him to postpone his purpose, not a little to the relief of the
offender, who in insulting him had only intended to insult an inoffensive
elderly person, who could not resent the affront.
'Can it be possible that any thing human tenants such a den as this?' said
the doctor, looking at the half-hung door of the girl's abode, and
listening to the wind as it sighed through broken window-panes and along
the entry.
'Come on, and you'll see,' replied Kornicker; and seizing him by the arm,
he led him half stumbling up the stairs, and finally paused at the girl's
room.