11
VeaCC/11. 7 1 VllO
UO'W.LBS'D.Le
WEDNESDAY, JULY 16, 1845
DASHT.S AT Lizr..—Prom 'Willis' dew work, "Dashes
at Lift with a free rencil," we extract a portion of the
story—" WIGWAM is. Amtacxs," on this page. l'he
remainder will be given next week.
If it were not for spoiling the romance of the tale, we
should add that we fear that Ruth Plymton and her
father; the landlord, are creatures of Willis' fruitful ima
gination. The "memory of the oldest inhabitant," how
ever, may be consulted by any person wishing to posicss
themselves of authentic information on the subject.
The Dying ilehymist.
I=
The nigh; wind with a desolate moan swept by;
And the wild shutters of the turret swung
Screaming upon their binges ; and the moan,
As the torn edges of the clouds flew past,
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes
So'dimly, that the watchful gyp of death
Scarcely was conscious whet it went Itnil came..
The fire beneath his crucible was low;
Yet still it burned - ; and ever as his thoughts
Grew insupportable, lte raised himself
Upon his wasted t if„irand stirred the coals
Was-difficult energy, and when the rod
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye
Felt faint within its socket, he shrunk back
Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips
Muttered a curse on death! The silent room,
From its dim corners, mockingly gave back
His rattling breath ; the humming in the fire
Hatt the distinctness, of a knell; and when
Duly the antique horologe beat one,
He drew a phial from beneath his head,
And drank. And instantly his lips compressed,
AmLwith a shudder in his skeleton frame,
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat
Upright, and communed with hitnself:—
I did not think to die
Till I had finished what I had to do;
I thought to pierce th' eternal secret through
With this my immo!tal eyC;
I felt—Oh God ! itaeemeth even now it
This cannot ha tho death-dew on my brow !
• ' And yet it feel,.
.of . this.dull sickness" at my heart afraid;
And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade;
And something seems to steal
flyer my bosom like a frozen hand—
l/inthog its pulses with an icy band.
And this is death! But why
Feel flthis wild recoil ? It cannot be ,
Th' initnortal spirit shuddcreth to be free !
Would it not leap to fly,
Like a chain'd eaglet at his pgrent's call?
1 fear—/ fear,-th* this your life is
Yet thus to pass away !
To live but for a hope Abu mocks at ,last—
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fabt,
To waste the light of day,
Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought,
All that we have and are—for this—for nought:.
Grant me another year,
God of my spirit !—but a clay—to win
Something to satisfy this thirst within!
I would know something here!
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken !
.Speak for me but one word that is unspoken!
Vain—vain!—my brain is turning
With swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick,
And these hot temple-throbs come fist and thick
And I am freezing—burning—
Dying! Oh God! if I might wily live!
My phial-11a! it thrills me—l revive
were were not man to die
He were too mighty for this narrow sphere!
Had he hut time to brood on knowledge here—
Could he but train his eye—
Might he but wait the mystic word and hour—
truly his maker would transcend his power !
Earth has no mineral strange—
•Th' illimitatble air no hidden wings—
Water no quality in covert springs,
And fire no power lo change—
Seasonsno mystery, and stars no spell,
Whit-11;11w unwasting soul might not compel:
Oh, but fur time to track
The upper stars into the pathless sky—
To see th' invisible spirits, eye to cyc—
To hurl the lightning back—
To tread unhurt the sca's dim-lighted halls—
_Tu chase Day'. chariot'. to the horizon walhi—r.
And more, much mom—fi-now
The life-scaled f winning of my nature move—
To nurse and purify 11th human hive—
To clear the - god-like brow
Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it dowel
Wort* atol beautiful, to the mucls•iovcd
This were indeed to tee)
The soul thirst slaken nt the living strewn—
To live—Oh God! that life is but a dream ?
And death—Aha! I reel—
faint—darknesa cameleer my eye—
Cover me! save me !—God of heaven ! die!
Twas morning, and the old man lay alone.
No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips,
Open and ashy pale, th• expression wan;
Of his death struggle. ) His long silvery hair
Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild,
his frame was wasted, and his features wan
And haggard as with want, and in his palm
His nails were d riven deep, as if the throe
Of the last ago had wrung him sore.
The storm was raging still. The shutters swung
Screaming as harshly as the fitful wind,
And all without went onLas aye it will, '
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart
Is breaking, or has broken, in its change.
The fire beneath the crucible ant out;
The •essscls.of las mystic tut lay zountl,:'
. - .. •. . .
. .
. .
..t .
1: f • .
....R ~ i
..,:..;.
.....
.. , .
Useless and cold as the ambitious-hand ,
That fashioned them, and the small rod,
Foiniliur to his touch for threescore years,
Lay on th' alembic's rumps if it still
Might .vex the elements at its master's gill
Aud thus had pa,c;sl from its unequal frau.
-A soul of fire—a sun-bent eagle stricken"
From his high roaring down—an instrument
Broken with-its own compass.. On how poi
Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies,
Like the adventurous bird that bath out-flown
His strength upon the sea, ambition-wrecked -
A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest.
Wigwam versus Ainiack's,
IN one of the years not long since pass.d to
your account and mine by the recording Agel,
gentle reader, I was taking my fill of a delleous
American June, as Ducrow takes his butte of
wine, on the back of a beloved horse. If the
expressive language of the raftsmen onthe
streams of the West, I was " following" the
Chemung—a river whose wild and peefliar
loveliness is destined to be told in und:ing
song, whenever America can find leisur to
look up her poets. Such bathing of the eet
of precipices, such kissing of flowery slu es,
such winding in and out of the bosoms of ro pd
meadows, such frowning amid broken mks,
and smiling through smooth valleys, you world
never believe Could go in this out-of-flora
world, unvisited and uncelebrated.
Not far from the ruins of a fortification,aid
to have been built by the Spaniards beforeb.e
settlement of New England by the Engl.h,
the road along the Chemung dwindles - Ma a
mere ledge at.the foot of a precipice, the r:er
wearing into the rock at this spot by a btck
and deep eddy. At the height of your lip
above the carriage track, there gushes from he
rock a stream of the size and steady clearnsa
of a glass rod, and all around it in the snull
rocky lap which it has worn away, there grove
a bed of fragrant mint, kept by the shade a d
moisture Of a perpetual green, bright as erne
ald. Here stops every traveler who is nit
upon ran errand of life or death, and While lis
horse l stands ay to his fetlocks in the river, le
parts the dewy stems of the mint, and drink,
for once in his life, like a fay or a poet. It
one of those exquisite spots which paint tlic
own picture insensibly in the memory, eve:
while you look on them, natural "Dagtierre
types," as it were; and you are surprised
years afterward, to find yourself rememberit4
every leaf and stone, and the song of even .
bird that sung in the pine-trees overhead while
You. were watching the curve of the spring
leap. As I said before, it will be sung an.
celebrated, when America sits down wear:,
with her first century of toil, and calls fir
her minstrels, now toilitig with her in tht
fields.
Within a mile of this spot, to whichl hat
been looking forward with delight for soot
hours, I overtook a horseman. Before Com
ing up with him I had at once decided he wat
.an- Indian. His relaxed limbs swaying to
every motion of his horse with the grace and;
ease of a wreath of smoke, his neck and shoal-;
ders so cleanly shaped, and a certain watchful'
look about his ears which I cannot define, but
which you see in a spirited horse—were in
fallible marks of the race whom we have driven
from the fair land of our independence. Ile
was mounted upon a small black horse—of the
breed commonly called Indian ponies, now not
very common ,so near the Atlantic—and rode
with a slack rein and air, I thought, rather
more dispirited iban indolent.
The kind of morning I have described, is,
RS every one must remember, of a sweetness
so communicative that one would think two
birds could scarce meet on the wing without
exchanging a carol ; and [involuntarily raised
my bridle after a minute's study of the traveler
before ine,, and in a briefgallop was at his side.
1,5' :di the sound of my horse's feet, ho - wever,
he changed in all his characteristics to another
man—sat erect in his saddle, ;-ud assumed the
earnest air of an American who Dever rides but
upon some errand ; and, on his giving me back
my " my good mount)" in the unexceptiona
ble accent of the country, I presumed 1 had
mistaken Idly man. •He was dark, but not
darker than a Spaniard, of features singularly •
.liandsome.and regular, dressed with no pecu
liarity except an otter-skin cap of a silky and
goldeti,colored fur, too expensive and rare for
any bpi a fanciful, as well as a luxurious pur
chaser. A slight wave in the black hair which
escaped from it, aiid fell back from his temples,
confirmed me in the conviction that his blood
-vas of European origin. ,
We rode on together with some indifferent
conversation, till we arrived at the spring-leap
L have - described, and here my companion,
throwing his right leg over the neck of his
poney, jumped to the ground very actively,
and applying his lips to the spring, drank a
free draught. His lioree seemed to know the
spot, and, with the reins on hid neck, trotted
on to a shallower ledgeht .the river mu! stood
,with the- water to his knees, and - his quickeye
turned on his master with an. expressive look
.of satisfaction.
" You have been here before," I said,
my less disciplined horse to the branch of an
wrerhanging shrub.
" Ves=tiften:!" tray his
.reply, with a tone
so quick and mile, however, 'that, but for the
softening quality of the day, I should have
abandoned there ahl thought of further ac•_
quaituance.
I took a small valise from the pommel of my
saddle, and while my fellow-traveler sat On the
rock-side looking moodily into the river. I
drew forth a flask of wine and a leathern cup.
a cold pigeon wrap.peti in amooLeabbage leaf,
the bigger end of a large loaf, and as.mnch salt
as could be tied up in the cup of a large water
set-out of . provender Which owed its
daintiness to the fair hands of my hostess of _the
night before.
The stranger's fast resemblance to an in
,tlian had probably given a color to tuy thoughts;
PußLlsilEp EVERY WEDNESDAY,. AT T9AVANDA, .BRADFORD S,. 0001)R1C11 & 'SON.
CHAPTER I
REGARDLESS OR DENUNCIATION • FROM' ANY QUARTER.''
tor, as I handed hini a cup of wine, I said, " I
wish the Shawnee chief to who - Se tribe this
valley belongs, were here to get a cup of nay
wine." •
The young man sprang to his' feet . with a
sudden flash through 'his eyes, and while he
looked at me, he seemed to stand taller than;
from my previous impresston of his height, 1,
should have thought possible. Surprised as 1.
was at the effect of my remark, I did not with
draw the cup, and with a moment's searching
look into my face, he changed his attitude, beg
ged pardon rather confusedly, and, draining
the cup, said with a faint smile, The Bhavira
nee chief thanks you !"
" Do you-know the price of land in the val
ley ?" I asked, handing him a slice of bread
with the half pigeon upon it, and beginning to
think it was best to stick to commonplace sub
jects with a stranger.
" Yee !" he said, his brow clouding over
again. tt It was bought from the Shawanee
chief you speak of for a string of beads the
acre. The tribe had their burial-place on the
Susquehanna, some twenty miles from this,
and they cared little about a strip of a valley
which, now, 1 would rather have for my in
heritance than the fortune of any white man in
the land."
'Throw in the landlord's daughter at the
village below," said 1, and I would take it
before any half-dozen of the German princi
palities. Have you heard the news of her ill' .
heritance 1"
Another moody look and ‘a very crisp
" Yes," put a stop to all desire on my part to
make further advances in my companion's ac
quaintance. Gathering my pigeon bones to
gether, therefore, and putting them on the top
of a stone where they would be seen by the
first "lucky dog " that passed, flinging my
emptied water-lily on the river,
.and strapping
up cup and flask once more in my valise, I
mounted, and with a crusty good morning, set
off at et hand-gallop down the river.
My :last unsuccessful topic was, at the time
I write of, the subject of conversation all
through the neighborhood of the village toward
which I was traveling. The inost old-fash
ioned and . comfortable inn on the Susquehanna,
or Chemung, was kept at the junction of these
two noble rivers, by a certain Reber Plymtnn,
who had One fair daughter and no more."—
He was a plain farmer of Connecticut, who
had married the grand-daughter of an English
emigrant, and got, with his wife, a chest of
old papers, which he thought had better be
used to mend a broken pane or wrap up gro
ceries, but which hie wife, on her death-bed,
told him " might turn out worth something."
With this slender thread of expectation, he had
kept the little chest under his bed, thinking of
it perhaps once a year,and satisfying his daugh
ter's inquisitive queries with a shako of his
iaead, and something about " her poor mother's
tantrums," concluding usually with some re
minder to keep the parlor in order, or mind
her housekeeping. Ruth Plymten had had
some sixteen " wintere'schooling," and was
known to be much " smarter" (,Bn lice„
cleverer.) than was quite necessary for the ful
fillment of her manifold duties. Since twelve
years of age (the period of her mother's death)
she bad officiated with more and more success
as bar-maid and host's daughter to the most
frequented inn of the village, till now, at eigh,-,
teen, she was the only ostensible keeper of
the inn, the old man usually being absent in
the fields with his men,or embarking his grain
in on "ark," to take advantage of the first
freshet. She was civil to all corners, but her
manner was such as to make it perfectly plain
'even to the rudest raftsnaan and hunter, that
Idle highest respect they knew how to render
o a woman was her due. She was ratherun
' lopular with the Aide of the village from what
hey called her pride and " keeping to herself,"
tut the truth was, that the cheap editions of
affiances_ which Ruth look instead of money
...tr the lodging of -the itinerant book-pedlars,
ere more agreeable companions to her than
tie girls of the village : and the long summer
irenoons, and half the long winter nights,
were little enough for the busy young hostess,
v ho, acetid on her bed devoured tales of hig
Li e which harmonized with some secret long
lag in her breast—she knew not and scarce
taought of asking-herself why. 1 I
I had been twice at Athens (by this classical
lame is known the village I speak of,) and
each time had prolonged my stay at Plynstotr's
i m for a day longer than my horse or my re-
iosc strictly exacted. The scenery at the
jtnetion is magnificent, but it was scarce that.
Aatl I cannot say that it was altogether admi
reion of the host's daughter ; for though I
bitakfasted late for the sake of having a clean
parlor while I ate my broiled chicken, and,
hiving been once to Italy, Miss Plyinton liked
to pour out my tea and tear me talk of St.
Peter's and the Carnival, yet there was that
marked retenu and decision in her manner that
elide me feel quite too much like a culprit at
srlool, and large and black as her eyes were.
and light and airy as were all her motions,
tubed up with my propensity fort her society.,
masrt of dislike. In short, I never felt a ten
deraess fur a woman who could *. queen it"
soitasily, and -I went heart-whole on my jour
net, though always with a high rearieet for
Rpth Plymton . ,.and a pleasant remembrance of
her conVeristion. • I
The story which I had heard farther up the
river was, briefly, that there had arrived at
Athens an Englishman, who had !Mind ie Miss
RICC I Plymion, the last surviving descendant
of tle family of her mother ;that she was the
heire ss to' a large fortune, if the proof of bee
descent wore complete, and that the contents
of the little 'chest had been the subject of a
week's hard study by the stranger. who had
departed after a vain attempt to persuade .old
Plymtem to accompany him :to o un g land mitt'
his daughter. This was the, rumor, the alio-
Sion to which had been received 'with suchre-
Pulsive coldness by ply dark . companien at she
spring-le a p.
America is so much of an asylum for de
spairing younger sons and the proud and stary.
ing branches of great familiesohat a discovery
of heirs to property among people of very in-
feriae condition, is by iienicans fincommon.---
It is a species of romance in real life, however,
whiclrwe never believe upon hearsay, and I
rode on to the village, expecting my usual re
ception by the fair.daMsel of the inn. The
old sign still hung askew as I approached, and
the pillars of the old wooden stoop "or por
tico, were as much off their perpendicular as
before, and true to my augury, out stepped my
fair acquaintance at the sound of my horses
feet, and called to Reuben the ostler, and gave
me an unchanged welcome. The old man
was down at the river, side, and the, key of the
grated bar Ining at the hostessiitirOle, and
with these signs of times as they Were, my'
belief in the marvellous• tale vanished•into thin
atr.
"So you are not gone to Engte,nd to take
possession I said.
Her serious .! No !"- unsoftened by any oth
er remark. put a stop to the subject again, and
taking myself to; task -for haviiig been all day
stumbling on mittaprOpo:i subjects, I asked to
be shown to. my room, and spent the hour or
two before dinner in watching the chickens
from the window, and wondering s great 'dial
as to the whereabouts' of my friend in the
otter-skin cap.
The evening of that day was unusually
warm, and I strolled down to the bank of. the
Susquehanna, to bathe. The moon was near
ly full and half way to the zenith, and between
the lingering sunset and the clear splendor of
the moonlight, the 'dusk of the folding hour"
was forgotrn, and the night went on almost
as radiant as day. I swam across the river.
delighting myself with the gold rims ot" . .the
ripples before my breast, and was within a yard
or two of the shore on my return, when I
heard a woman's voice approaching in earnest
conversation. I shat forward and drew my
self in bencaih a large clump of alders, and with
only my head out of water, lay in perfect con
gealpent.
"You ace not just, Shahatan t" were the
first words I distinguished, in a voice I imme
diately recognized as that of my fair host..ss.
You are not just. 41s far as I know myself
I love you better than any one 1 ever
eaw—
but "-.
As she hesitated, the deep low voice of my
companion at the spring-leap, uttered in a sup
pressed and impatient guttural, "But what ?"
He stood still with his back to the moon, end
while the light fell full on her face, she with
drew her arm from his and went on. -
" I was going to say dirt I do not yet know
myself or the world sufficiently to decide that
I shall always love you. I would not be too
hasty in so important a thing, Shahatan 1 We
have talked of it before, and therefore I may
say to you, now. that the prejudices of my ta
ttier and all my friends are against it." , •
" My blood "—interrupted the young mart,
with a movement of impatience.
She laid her hand on his arm. " Stay t the
objection is not mine. Your Spanish mother,
besides, shows more in your look and features
than the blood of your father. But it ;would
still be said I married an Indian, and though I
care little for what the village ;yeah' say, yet if
must be certain that I shall love you with all
my heart and till death, before I sat my face
with yours against the prejudices of every
white man and woman ,in my native land !-:-
You have urged me for my secret, and dieie it
Fa. t i feel relieved to have unburthened my
heart of it."
That secret ie but a summer old l" said
-lie, half turning on his heel, and looking from
her upon the moon's path across the river.
" Shamel" she replied ; yob know that
long before this news came, I talked with you
constantly of other lands, and of my irresisti
ble desire to see the people of great cities, and
satisfy myself whether I was like them. That
curiosity, Shahatan, is, I fear, even stronger
than my love, or at least. it is more impatient;
and now that 1 have the opportunity 'alien to
me like a star put of the sky, shall Igo ? 1
must: Indeed I must."
The lover felt that all had been said; or was
too proud to answer, for they fell into the path
again, side by aide, in silence, and at a
. slow
step were soon out of my sight and hearing.—
I emerged from my compulsory hiding-place
wiser ilran I went in. dressed and strolled bark
to the village, and finding the old landlord
smoking his pipe alone under the port; ;o,
lighted a cigar, and sat down to pick his brains
of the little information I wanted to fill out the
story.
I
-I took my leave of Athens on the following
morning, paying rmy bill duly to Miss Plyni
ton, from whom I requested a receipt in wtit
jog, for I foresaw without any very sagacious
augury beside what the old man told Inc. that
it might be an amusing document.by-and-by.
You shall judge by the sequel of the story,
dear reader, whether you would like it in your
book of autographs.
Not long after the adventure described in the
preceding chapter, I embarked for a ramble In
; Europe: Apimfg the newspapers wlich were
lying about in the cabin of the packet, was one
which containmt this paragraph, extracted from
a New. Orleans Gazette. The Americanread
er- will nt once:remember - It :
"E.XtraordetMCy attachment to savage lye.
—The officers at Fort (one of the most
distant outpoits jof human habitation in the
weal.) extended their hospindity lately to tine
of the young pivieges of government, a young
Shawanee chief, who has been educated at
public expense for the purpose of aidingin the
civilization of his tribe. This youth, the Actti
of a Shawanee chief by a Spanish mother, was
put to a preparatory school in a small village
on the Susquehanna, and suhsequently _was
graduated at. College with the first
honors of his class. He had become a most
accomplished gentleman, was apparenly fond
of society, and, except in a scareellistiegnirtlia
ble tinge of capper color in hie skin, retained
no trace, of his savage origin. Singular to re
late, however. 'he disappeared suddenly from
the fort, leaving behind him the clothes in'
which lie had arrived, and several articles of a
gentleman's toilet; and as tho sentry on duty
was passed at
. dawn of • the same day by a
17. f' 7 77 L -7: : ,.
I
t)tiVi •i • •
!Mg
rmunum
mounted Indian in the ustial.avage dregs, %%he
gave the pass-word in issuingfrom" 'he gale. it
is presumed it was no other than 'the young:
Shahatan, and that he'has joined his tribe, who
were removed some years since beyond the
Mississippi." •-• ' "
The reader will agree with me that I pos
sessed the key to the mystery. .
As no one thinks of the thread that disep 7
pears in an intricate embroidery tilkit conies
out again on the surface, 1 was too busy in
weaving my own less interesting woof of: ad
-venture for the two years following, to give
Shehewn and his love even a passiogtheit,glit.
'summer's night in IS—; however, t
found myself on a baquelle at an Almack's
ball, seated beside a friend who, since we had
met lest at Almack's.. had given up the' white
rose of girlhood for the diamonds of the dame,
timidity and blushes for self-possession and.
serene -sweetness, dancing for conversation,
and the promise of beautiful and admired seven
teen for the perfection of more lovely and
adorable twenty-two. She was there as chape : -
fon to a younger sister, and it wai . delightful
in that whlrt of giddy motion, and more giddy
thought; to sit beside a tranquil and unfevered
mind and talk 'with her of what was Passing,
withont either bewilderment or, eiTowt.'
" What is it," she said, "-that constitutes
aristocratic beauty t—for it is of often remark
ed that it is seen nowhere in such perfection
as at Annuli's ; yet, I have for a half-Mier
looked in vain among these handiorne foci's for
a regular profile, or even a perfect figure. It
is not symmetry, surely. that gives a look of
ll.iglt breeding — nor regularity of feamre."
" If you will take a leaf out of a travelers
book." 1 replied, " we may at least have the
advantage of a comparison. I remember re
cording, when traveling in the East, that for
months I had not seen an irregular nose or
forehead in a- female face ; and, almost univer,
sally, the mouth and chin . of the Cirientafs are,
as welt as ihe upper features, of the most clas
sic correctness. Yet where, in civilized coun
tries. do women look lower-born or more de
graded r
"'Then it is not in the featms," said my
friepd.
" No, nor in the figure, strictly," I went on
to say, " for the French and Italian }vomen
(vide the same book of niense,) are generally
remarkable for ehape and fine contour of limb,
and the French are, we all Itnow lbeggiug your
pardon.) much better dancersond more grace
ful in their movements, than all other-. nations. .
Yet what is more rare than a ...thorough-bred"
looking Frenchwoman
" We are comingto a eonclusort yery faal,"
she said, smiling. "-Perhaps we shall find the
great secret in the delicacy of skin after all."
Not unless you will agree that Broadway
in New York is the "prat° flarilo," of aristo
cratic beauty—for nowhere on the face,of the
earth do you see_suchsomplexions. Yet, my
fair countrywomen stoop too much, and are
rather too dressy in their tastes to convey very
generally the impression of high birth."
"Stay !" interrupted my companion, laying
'het haml on my arm with i:loci4 'of more
meaning than I quite understood ; " before you
.commit yourself farther on that point, look . at
this tall girl corning up thellecir, "and tell me
what you thing of her, apropos to the anb
iect;- .
Why, that she is thovery forth shadowing
of noble parentage," I replied, in step, air,
form-.-everything. Rut surely the face ie fa
miliar to me."
It is the Miss Trevanion whom you said
you had never met. Yet she is an American,
and with such a fortune as hers, 1 wonder you
should not have heard of her at least."
"Mss Trevailion ! I never knew anybody
of the name, I am perfectly sure—yet that face
I have seen before, and I would stake my life
I have known the lady, and not casually ei
ther."
My eyes were riveted to the beautiful wo
man who now sailed past with a.graee and
stateliness that were the subject of universal
admiration, and I eagerly attempted to catch
her eye ; hut on the other side of-her walked
one of the most agreeable flatterers of the hour.
and the crowd prevented my approaching her.
even if I had solved the mystery so far as to
know in what terms to address her. Yet it
was marvellous that I could Aver,hnve seen
such beauty and forgotten the Wheil iny,4 tv.4.rep
or that such fine and unusually tustrous oyes
could ever have shone on me without inscrib
ing well in my memory their " whereaVont"
and history.
6. W ell !" said my friend. ;6 are you making
ont your theory, or arc you' 6, struejt . home "
with the first impression, like many another
dancer here to-night?"
"Pardon me ! I shall And out. presently,
who Mis s Tre,vanion is—but, meantime, re
venous. 1 will tell you wheie I think lies the
secret of the aristocratic beauty of Eli - gland.—
It is in the lofty niainliciz of the lead and.buit
—the proud carriage ; if yuu in alt
these women—the head sei batik, tliechest
elevated and expanded, and- Alm wtiole.ptirt
and expression, that of pride and conscious so
periority, This, mind you, though the result
ofgualities in the character, is not the wprk of
a (lay, nor pekitap,s ofeying.le ,geoeTf74ton.-' 7
The effect of expanding the breast and pre-:
serving the back straight, Multhe pOsture - gen- -
erally erect, is
,the high Itenlip andeonsequent
beauty of those portions; of the frame-; and Om
physical advantages, handed. doWit . with the
pride which produced it. frcifn,nithert,o child,
the race gradually .has become Peelect in those
points, and the hilt of pride and'higlub.enOng ,
is now easy, natural, and
. urico,nsclotts. Glance ,
your eve amid and you will see that there is
not n defectivpluist, and hardly a head ill set
on, in the room
room. ,fn an assembly in any other
part of the ,world',./ofind a perfect but,t with a
gracefully carried Lead, is as difficult as here
to find the exception." ,
What a proud race you make us out, to
bosiure,"?sittil my ; companion. rather dissent
ingly.
" Awl so you are, etninenttrand emphatical
ly proud," I replied . . „ \Vital English family
does not revolt_ from any proposition of mar-
ERIM
their self-admiration by foreign. incre
. theirs may, fairly hp dignif,e4 the na.
pride. Hui what shall 1 say of the Ameri
. who.are_in a„perpctual fever at the ridic
English newspapers, and who receive;,
derstand, with aleneral convulsion thro
the states, the least slur in a reviewo
smallest expression oftli - paragement in •
newspaper. This is not pride, but vanit
lam hit. I grant you. A home thie,
I wish I could foil. Hut here. comes
Trevanine, again, and I most make he
or smother my curiosity. I leave you
40r."
'The drawing of the cord which enclii.es the
dancers, narrowed the path of the prome..ders
so effectually; that I could easily take m stand
in such a position that Al ise Trevanion coals)
not papa without seeing me. With my back to
-one of the slight pilars of the orchestra, I stood
facing her as she came down the room ;..and
within a foot or two of my position, `yet -with
several perlonsbetween us, her eye f r the
first time rested on me,' Thrre . wis atilden
flush, a look of embarrassed but morn npry
curiosity, and the beautiful features cleatied up,
t
and I saw. with vexatious mortificatio , that
she had the' advantage of me , and w'a eien
pleased to remember wbere we had met.i ' She
held out her hand the next moment, b t evi
*ft/only .understood my reserve, for, with milt.
ehievous compression of the lips, she eane4
F c
over, and said in a voice intended only - rmy
ear. " Reuben, take the gentleman's h mei"?
_ My sensations were very much tho 'of the
Irishman who fell into a pit ill a riark nigh,.
and catching a straggling rout in his d scent,
hung suspended by incredible exertio and
streugdi of arm till morning, when d ylight
discloied the bottom, at just otie inch below
the points of his toes. Po easy seem d thR
solution—after it was discovered. '
ECONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.)
To one who has for a long time been
ger milts sound of the church-going
few things could be more interesting-than
day in Moscow. Any one who bils r
along the maritime
_Alps, and- has heart'
some lofty eminence the convent hells
for matins. vespers, and midnight prayeli, with
ni
long reember" the not unpleasant noun . To
me there is always something in the sound of a
churchgoing bell ; in its effee ,
but far mere so,in its associa!
nn Sunday iit the city of Most
they . nre almost innumerable ;
first time I happened to pass II
city.. Ilay an d Jistene4 tiltiaost
_ .
came over me of the :day of
ering for church, awl the _ nt
church door. But he who' never itai heard.
the ringing of bells at 111.oseo* does not' know
its music. Itnagine a city containing to re than
six hundred churches, and innurnerab e conr'
rents, and all these sounding fogetkes, f to the
sharp; quick - banner note to the loude t pea's
,that,e,ver lingered _ on the ear, struck at rig in
tervals; andsweiling .tho air , as if nr.wil ing tq
-
die meat-. I arose and threw open my indoW p
and dressed mytelf, and after breakfast joined
thegirobi, caled to the respective . chti Us by
their well known bells. I 'weitt.to an ngrislt .
Chapel, where fir many( months, I jaineil
regidasielmrch service, and listened to an.orthcir
vdox sermon: lr was Surprised in see so large a
congregation ; though I remarked among Ahern
many grOish geiverossses frith child
-
English langnagctli,eing_nt that insment
among Russians, and multitudes of,.
climnhetralids being,.employe4 to: teach
sing Russian nobility Aiie beauty of the
. tongue.-81rphetts' Travels.
.Jt is perhapsmit generally known th.t block
pe . pper(not red) is poison for ntany oneeds.
The fullowingelinple mixture is the bat des
troyer:of the eontelon se fly Takla . equal
po . rtioni of finn bract pepper. freflt ground.
and engir sny 'enough of each to corer a ten
fent 'piece ; and mix well with a
spoonful of Milk. (a little cream is ..irtter.r)
keep that is your mom. anti . you wiII keep
down your 41ire. gine advantage or other
PoiQons is that it injures nothing c lue -;! and
another. that, the flies ppl; the air. and never
t,40 windows being •pen.
an taking down the census of a
poput a lted neighborhood." as the fell'
when he bwalluweti thu I....,kyppery quel
. . -
riage frau, n liireig,nir? For air tnglist :l4
i
to marry aWrtmeliman nr an Italian, a f4i
Qr a Russian. Greek', Turk, nr - Sii'aniditl;
lorleit a certain elegree of-respectability; 1;.,
match be as brilliant as it . may. The firs I
•ing on hearing of it is against thesgirl's i i
of - delicacy. It extends to everything eh
i in
V,our.soldiers; your sailors, your tradeti en,
your gentlemen, your common - people end
yournobles, are all (who ever doubted it you
'are nienkaiy asking) out dal( cOmparisq bet
ter than the same ranks and professions,i any'
other country. John Bull is literallksur 'risia
if . any one doubts this—nay, he does n t be
le that any one doe' doubt it.'„ .Yet yo Ica!!
li
the Ami•rieana, ridiculously, vain ,becauseithPY
'believe their institutions better than you ,that
their ships 'fight 'as well, their women ', e,as
fair, and their men as gentlentenlk as a y in
world. ' The . .. vanity' s of the Freneli,, who
believe in themselves, just as the Englis I do,
only inn less blind entireness of'self.glio ifica
lion, is a common theme of ridicule itfE',glish
newspapers; and the F'rencliMid , thMA - erj.
cans, fora twentieth part of Englistrintole Ante
and self-exaggeration, are written doivn daily
by the English, as the two vainest natio s-on
earth," .t
.• Stop !" said my fair listener, who W, s be.
4. 1 ,
ginning to snide at my digression from f male
beauty to national pride, .• let me Make\ dis
tinction there. As the English and enc l
are quite indifferent to the opinion .of otlierma, ;
tjopa on these points, apd not at all shaken in
A Sunday at Moscow.
eelings were exeeedinglv fres
est I should lose tht. sounds ;
4f),:sTEtq4, correspon
he Ciririiiitati ; Chronicle g . tre.e - the full
II
MBII
r
M . ffg
ratan
is to
• t tlt
to*
ens°
=I
out,
vie-
strata
' bell;"
a Sun
mbled
ngtt!g
n. tins
he rage
net off
the
ent: of
wing :
7E21
~ I