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VOL. 2.
For the Georgia Citizen.
LEOftJ,
OR THE ORPHAN OF VENICE.
A TRAGEDY IN* FIVE ACTS.
•V T. H. CHIVERS, M. C.
Preface.
When I was a student of Medicine in Transylvania
University, some person gave me a pamphlet contain
jj.gthe confession of Beauchamp, who was condemn
,J to die for the murder of Colonel Sharpe of Ken*
tacky. 1 then made a sketch o’ the outlines of a Play
which I intended to write upon that remarkable oceur
*aoe ; but before I had finished i*,some person took the
pamphlet away from me, and I then wrote the follow
jujt play. Any person acquainted with that unparallel
f(] circumstance, will see, at once, tha> the play is
based Upon It. and that the catastrophe is tile Millie. —
‘flic young lady who whs seduced by Colonel Sharpe.
gn<i afterwards married to benuchumpe, will be recop
niieJ iu the character of Leom. Beauchtunpe, who
wa. instigated by her to k ill Sharpe, will be recognized
in the character of Alvino, and Sharpe, in that o!
Count Alvar. The Scene of the action, and th.
pines of the characters are only omitted—the spirit is
th. stone. The creation of the other characters, and
the construction of the plot, are my own invention.
THE AUTHOR.
Philadelphia, November 8, 1834.
Dramatis Person®
MEN.
CoCNT AivaK. Leom’s seducer, afteruards married to Tueresa.
Don Carlos, Lkom,/riemi to Leom, and brother to Elvira.
Aia'lno, cousin “nd husband to Leom.
Don Redo, friend to Count Alvar,
Count Rudolph, father to Tueresa and one of the Duke’s
OoUECtL.
Dies and his council.
OrttcEß and Guard.
WOMEN.
LroM, Orphan of Venice.
Elvira, her friend.
Theresa, ictft to Count Alvar.
ACT I.—SCENE 1.
X magnificent apartment in the palace of Count
ALVAR.
Enter Count Alva* and Leom.
COUNT ALVAR.
You know what pains most people take to lie.
What said Elvira on thy quick return ?
LF.ONI.
She bade me keep the face of Virtue bright.
COUNT ALVAR.
That means that thou shaltshun my company?
LEON I.
Xaj 1 give me but one atom of thy love,
And like the healing medicine of old,
’Twill cure the heart that thou hast wounded so !
For there are priceless joys along our path—
They scatter now their rich perfumes to Ileaven !
COUNT ALVAR.
I cannot swallow down Elvira’s words. [Starting away.
LEONI.
Nay, stay but one sweet moment, that my life
May not be darkened longing for thy love 1
The Dove will love but one fond mate through life,
And if the fowler's hand should lay that low,
Thou mayest, at noontide, in the sultry sun,
When wanton zephyrs play around her wings,
Stand auditor beneath the lurid pine,—
Aud hear her plead the merits of his cause—
’Ttvoula lend affection to the hardest heart!
COUNT ALVAR.
My soul must link itself with larger views
Thou with Leoni’s love. „
LEOM.
What! sayst thou so ?
Wouldstthou betray the trust reposed in thee v < - ’
For that poor, paltry reeompenee, called pride ,
And drive mo loathsome from myself and Heaven ?
count alvar. — [Aside.
What if theli-.k that bind me to the world,
Should break in nature’s chain I—’Twould let me down
To dark nonentity with Devils damned—
To rise no more 1 But, Gods! it mast be done !
[Aloud.\ So, now, Leoni fare-thee-well!
LEOM.
What! now?
And break the chain that binds me uuto Ileaven ?
COUNT ALVAR.
If that will break it, it must break.
LEONI.
And you
Have sworn this from your heart ?
COUNT ALVAR.
I have not sworn—
But it must be.
LEONI.
So, you will leave me now,
And yeld me for another's love ! /
COUNT ALVAR.
1 must.
LF.ONI.
Then, by the eternal Gixlsl there is no hope—
No recompense—beneath the sun !
COUNT ALVAR.
There is—
Go, marry with your cousin now in Rome.
Leom.
I thank thee for that noble thought, my lord 1
I thank thee fur that thought! for after this,
Methinks, the wretched lies that thou hast told
ill make each second of thy dying life
A thousand years of misery!—l lear me now 1
[Dashing away her jewels.
I would not wear another gift of thine,
if every hnir upon thy head were gold!
B/flpJ.iM fond heart—so full it fain wou'd burst—
That would not harm the simplest thing on earth—
As loth to scorn as fierce to insult given— n
(Until despite is on its honor thrown ;)
Shall turn an August for tbv dying life,
And thirst for every drop that fills Uty heart!
So, now, farewell! ( Weeping.) /
COUNT ALVAR. *
Leoni! fare-thee-well! — [Exit count alvar
Enter Elvira.
ELVIRA.
Leoni! why have you been shedding tears?
LEOXI.
Mysoul is full of sorrow, and my heart
Is crushed beneath the mountain of my T woes !
ELVIRA.
Count Alvar has deceived you then !
LEO.NI.
He has ;
And bitterly shall he repent the deed !
ELVIRA.
Perhaps he loves Theresa better.
LEO.NI.
An enemy to virtue, love ?—Tell tno
That Heaven is Hell!—that he will go to Heaven!—
1 lie mountain’s heights are ascertained —the seas
Are fathomed, and the ocean’s depths are known —
Ihe Heavens are fettered by material space —
Revenge iu woman hath no limitations!
ELVIRA.
Revenge ! —Why talk you of revenge ?
LEOXI.
’Tis sweet!
* tu H you there is in my breaking heart,
A chronic sorrow most incurahle!
A fell disease, unequalled hy the worst
* 1 a; l contagions—striking to the soul!
I lien mark me well 5 Keep this, my secret hate,
As silent as the grave confines the dead,
A-Dd go to Curbs—-tell Urn that my soul
——*— ■ - ■ • - -• ~ - - - - -i i ■■■i ¥ i
Desires that he should watch the perjured Count,
A nd then report to me what he may see
Between Count Rudolph’s daughter and himself.
ELVIRA.
1 will. It shall be done this very night.— [Exit Elvira,
leoni.
And now, by yon eternal sun that rolls
1 his chariot through the confines of the sky 5
And every star that gents the arch of Heaven !
1 swear that never shall my soul find rest,
Until the purple mirror of his blood
RcHectc ’he deep damnation of his deeds,
Aud make Bed fiction stare him in the lace!— [Exit.
SCENE tl.
A magnificent apartment in Count Rodolph’s ‘palace.
Enter Count Alvar and Theresa.—Don Carlos en
ters, unobserved, behind them.
COUNT ALVAR.
The air is filled with freshness from the sea,
And all the winds seem laden down with balm !
And now, Theresa! blessed of my heart!
How sweet to trace the outlines of thy face,
And drink the living music of thy voice,
Whose tones first taught me what it was to love !
How sweet to hear the softness of thy sighs,
And fold thee gently on my bosom thus ! [Embracing
her.
THERESA.
When next we meet, my lord ! this hand of mine
Will have the privilege of grasping thine
fit everlasting love!
COUNT ALVAR.
Then shall thine eyes,
Twin-born divinities, gize into all
the secret Sanctuary of my soul,
Aud learn the richness of my love for thee !
DON CARLOS — [Aside.
That voice reminds me of my native land !
count alvar. — [Observing him)
What brought you here ?
DON carlos.— (Aside.)
Foul fiend !
(Aloud) When that is told,
Thou w'.lt not hate Leoni's love!
count alvar. — (Drawing his sword.)
Begone!
Theresa. —(Preventing him.)
W hat! would you have his blood upon your sword ?
count aLvar.— [Patting up his sword.
No, by the Gods!—Retire awhile. Farewell! (Exit
Theresa.)
Well, Carlos, stealing on me as thou hast,
Wliat business have you with me at this hour ?
don carlos.— (Aside.)
If that is not the everlasting voice
Which drowned the music of tny soul, there is
No discord in the language of the damned! [.4/oud]
Iconic as some dark whirlwind from the sea,
Crushing the oak amid the silent woods,
When, from the forest boughs, the morning dow
Is shaken by the mighty sound in rain—■
To bring such sorrow to thy cursed soul
As will engulf thy checks iu briny tears 1
COUNT ALVAR.
W ho made thee bearer of such wondrous news ?
don carlos.
Leoni! she who was bestrayed by thee !
’ ‘llOL’.<l r ALVAR. ‘ ~ ~
What could have urged her on to this extreme?
don carlos.
Revenge! Ay ! deeper than thy perjury,
Ami stronger thau the whirlwinds of the sea!
COUNT ALVAR.
Then go, foul braggart! tell her that the down
Upon the Turtle’s wing were better armed
Against the furious Hurricane! — Revenge !
don carlos.
You know that school-boy-lriend of hers?
lie meuns to marry her 011 his return.
COUNT ALVAR.
By Heavens ! —lf that is all. he will do well.
don carlos.
By Jove! that is not all! He ic7Z do well 1
count alvar. — (Aside.)
He will do well! By heavens he is too bold!
There must be something devilish in his talk ? /
[Aloud)
What! heard you that Leoni was his bride ?
DON CARLOS.
I did not come to tell you what l heard.
COUNT ALVAR.
I trace the outlines of some devilish deed
Upoll the marble of thy lofty brow!
DON CARLOS.
But if Count Alvar would advise tne how
To shame the Devil of the mask he wears,
I would unfold to him the foulest crime
That ever stained tbe Annals of the damned !
COUNT ALVAR.
Foul crime! Will Carios tell me what he means?
DON CARLOS.
With joy, if you will listen to my tale 1
COUNT ALVAR.
I will, with ail my hear*. on.
DON CARLOS.
Then murk!
It was the gentlest of” those Summer eves,
When day stood peaking on the hills of Spain,
That, wandering through the Orange Groves alone,/
[ met Almeda coming from the sea—
A sweeter spirit never came from Heaven!
She stood so sinless that you might have plucked
Perfection from her lofty brow!
COUNT ALVAR.
And then—
DON CARLOS.
Asinoeence hath ever done, she sought
Protection, due her gentler sex, within
My arms.
COUNT ALVAR.
Which bore her soon away ?
DON CARLOS.
I did,
Aias!
COUNT ALVAR.
And married her that night ?
DON CARLOS.
I did.
But Gods! it ended sooner than ’twas done !
Two vears had scarcely told our hopes were crowned,
When late, one night, about the hour of ten,
A villian came, tapping upon tny door
And, waking her from slumber by my side,
Playing upon his lute h won her heart!
She rose, like Venus, from her downy sea,
And,leaping in hisarms witli frantic joy,
There, Devil-like , fiAgot that she was mine.
Oh God ? such earth-quake-vengeance rent my heart,
I chased her Paris with Achilles speed,
And like another Grecian
COUNT ALVAR.
Stabbed him dead!
DON CARLOS.
No, by the Eternal Gods! the villain live#!
COUNT ALVAR.
And did she die ?
DON CARLOS.
I neither knew nor oared !
I left my perjured Helen from that hour,
A jewel worn upon my breast in joy—
And from that fatal hour, now twenty years,
I have not seen my childhood’s native land !
COUNT ALVAR.
And did you never learn that villain’s name?
“ in nil tjjings —Jieutrnl in nottjing”
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 17, 1851.
DON CARLOS.
I did—although he traveled in disguise— >
A Florentine, who .Courted with his lute,^
And oft repeated songs—who neither knew
Nor cared what garment virtue wore, so lie
Could win her, by the sorcery of false smiles,
To his lascivious arms! —Should he not die ?
By Heavens! the answer slides iu thy throat!
COUNT ALVAR.
Away!
DON CARLO3.
Count Alvar! thou slink die to-night! (Exit)
COUNT ALVAR.
To-night! By Heavens! the villain said-fo-nigAf,
As it there were no time to die but night!
The reed that cannot stay the torrent’s course,
Must die beneath the glory of its force ! — [Exit.)
SC !NE 111.
A magnificent apartment in Don Carlos’ Palace —
Enter Leoni, attended by Elvira.
Let nature re-instate lierself again.
The past in happiness is gone for ever,
And lends the present only sterner grief!
We cannot feel the joys we have enjoyed,
And only know the joys we now enjoy, >
LEONI. r
The fiery blood leaps through my burning brain,
And there enkindles thoughts too wild to name—
Foul, murderous thoughts!
ELVIRA.
Thy vengeance, then, will seek
The villain throughout all the world ?
LEONI.
It will;
And finding him, will open every vein,
And, filling each foul tube with molten lead,
Shall hang him up for mockery to the world,
Till he has grown so old in ugliness,
That evefy fowl that soars through Heaven shall scream,
And every wolf stand howling at his corse !
But did your brother watch him to my wish ?
ELVIRA.
He did. lie has more in his heart against
The Count, than ever entered thy soft soul.
LEONI.
Then he has watched the fiend for something moro
Than friendship for an injured girl ?
ELVIRA.
He has;
But every fibre of thy tender lu art
Will echo buck the justness of tha
LEONI.
The cause ? What cause is that ?
ELVIRA.
Revenge! revenge !
But see ! my brother comes !
Enter ■Don Carlos
DON CARLOS.
Leoni weeps!
Would that my hand could stay those gentle tears!
LEONI.
Ah ! know you not some way to wipe thorn off",
Aud make the cheeks of poor Leoni smile 7
DON CARLOS.
If I could muster in my faithful soul
A single thought that would, when called to aot,
Be beneficial to thy injured cause,
1, would devote the remnant of my days
if* exetviaitig it for thee !
LEONI.
Then mark !
I would nothavehim Chronicled on earth,
But have thee dip thy dagger in his blood,
And write upon the tablet of his heart
The fuluess of the vengeance of my hate!
DON CARLOS.
Then glut the hunger of my owu revenge!
But then bia wife—
LEONI.
Ilis wife ?
DON CARLOS.
Ay— wife , by Heaven!
LEONI.
Then, you have seen her with the Count 1
DON CARLOS.
I have;
And told him that if every hair upon
Ilis head were gifted with ten thousand lives,
And every life were punished by the inch
Through all eternity, that he not
Repay you for the injury he had done.
LEONI.
But why not blast him to Theresa’s fuce 7
DON CARLOS.
I would have told her of the blackest crime
That ever lashed the groping soul to Hell,
Had it not been that, when he drew his sword,
She spat upon me with her words, and said, /
’ WAal / would you have his blood upon yoltr sword. n
As if she looked upon me with disdain !
Then pity from that moment, left my heart,
And such eternal vengeance took its place,
I said, ‘Now may h’B pestilential breath
Contaminate the air in which she lives,
Breed foul consumption in her honored blood,
And rot her bones through all eternity !
LEONI.
Then,in the name of all that is most dear!
Let not another day roll round !
DON CARLOS.
But stay 1
What if she heard me tell him he should die 7
LEOXI.
Well, did you say it. Carlos ?
DON CARLOS.
Yes, 1 did;
And sorry am I that the word was said !
LEON I.
Why so? Alas! all false?
DON CARLOS.
You called mo false !
llosv false, Lconi ? ,
LEONI.
Puerile as the child,
That over-fed will vomit in its sleep !
1 thought thou wert the thorn among the flowers—
What stood to wound the hand that came to pluck
The rose. Hut, like the Dead-Sea-Apples, thou
Hast won upon my appetite to taste
The hope that turns to ashes on my lips!
DON CARLOS.
By Jove ! you wrong me !
LEONI.
Then revenge thyself!
Revenge thyself upon Theresa’s lord !
Wait not auother day—not even an hour!
DON CARLOS.
I told the villain be should die to-night'.
LEONI.
Then let it be— to-night —the dead of night!
DON CARLOS.
Nay, wronged Leoni! that would never do.
She may have heard my threat; whioh, if she did,
Such foul suspicion would be fixed upon
Me from that hour, that all woqld say, at wipe,
’ J'wns Carlos killed the Count! —-No— mark me
note!
Let not the fragment of an evil thought
Give utteranoe to the breathing of his name,
And write AI vino to reiurn from Rome !
LEONI.
Alvino! Call that blessed namo again,
And let the music settle in my soul,
And tune the discord of my broken heat*
To childhood monody!
DON CARLOS.
And when he comes .
LEONI.
The Count .
PON CARLOS.
But let no human being know
That Carlos ever knew the Count.
LEONI.
Shall die!
f thank thee for that blessed thought, good friend !
I thank you for that thought— Count Alvar dies!
(Exeunt Omnes.)
CURTAIN FAILS. END OF ACT FIRST.
(To be continued.)
The of
Two young men, one with leathern cap on his
head and military buttons on his coat, sat in close con
versation, long years ago.in the bar-room of the
Hotel. The subject that occupied their attention seem
ed to be a very exciting one, at least <o him of the mili
tary buttons and black cap. for he emphasized strongly,
knit his brow awfully, and at last went so far as to swear
a terrible oath.
“Don’t permit yourself to get so excited, Tom.” in
terposed a friend. “It won’t help the matter at all.’’
“But I’ve got no patience.”
“Then it is time you had some,’’ coolly replied a
friend. “If you intend pushing your way into the good
graees of my good lady Mary Clinton, you must do more
than fume about the little mutter 01 rivalry that has
sprung up.”
“Yes; hut to think of a poor milk-sop of an author—
author—pah!—scribbler!—to think, I say of a spiritless
creature likg Blake, thrusting himself between me and
sueh a girl as Mary Clinton; and worse, gaining her
notice, as too bad! lie lias sonneteered her eye-b'ows.
no doubt—flattered her in verse until she don’t know
who or where she is—and iu this way become a for
midable rival. I'll I'll—”
“What will you do?’’
“Do! I'll wing him! That’s what I’ll do. I'll chal
lenge the puppy and shoot him.’’
And the young Lieutenant, for such he was, flourished
his right arm and looked pistol balls and death.
“But he won’t fight Tom.”
“Won’t he?” and the Lieutenant’s face brightened.
“Then I’ll post him for a coward! That'll finish him.
All women hate cowards. I'll post hint—yes, and
Cowhide him in the bargain, if necessary.”
“Posting will do,” half sarcastically replied his friend.
“But npon what pretext will you challenge him ?”
“I'll make one. I'll insult him, the first time I meet
him, and then if he says anything challenge and shoot
him.”
“That would be quite gentlemanly—quite according
to the code of Honor,” returned the friend quietly.
The young military gentleman we have introduced
was named Redmond. The reader has already pene
trated his character. In person he was quite goodlook
ing, though not the Adonis he deemed himself. He
had fallen deeply iu love with the “acres of charms”
possessed by a) certain Miss Oiiyion, and was making
rapid inroad her bcartLnt Jftni I><j lliougl.t so
when a young man well “fc>v jPU rary circles,
made his appearance, and .jflW* P ith a degree
of favor that confounded the 1 had already
begun to think himself sure of tut* prizeS, Blake 1 ad a
much readier tongue, aud a great deal more in his
head, than the other, and could therefore, in the matter
of mind, at least, appear to much better advantage than
his rival. 11c had also written and published one or two
popular works. Take him all in all, he was a rival to
be seated, and Redmond was not long in making the
discovery. What was to be done? A military man
must not be put down, beaten off, by a mere civilian.
Ihe rival must be gotten rid of in some manner.
The professional means, was, as has been seen, thought
of first. Blake must be challenged aud killed otT and
then the course would be clear.
A few days after this brave and honorable determi
nation the officer met the author in a public place, and
purposely jostled him rudely. Blake said nothing,
thinking it possible that it was an accident. But he re
mained near Redmond, to give him a chance to repeat
insult, if such had been his intention. It was not long
before the author was again jostled in a still ruder man
ner than before, at tile same time some offensive Word
was muttered by the officer. This was i . the presence
of a number of respectable persons, who could not. help
hearing, seeing and understanding all. that
an insult was intended, Blake looked him in the face for
a moment, and then asked, loud enough to be heard all
around—
“ Did you intend to jostle me?”
“ I did !” was the angry retort.
“ Gentlemen never do such things.”
As Blake said this with marked emphasis, he looked
steadily into the officer’s face.
‘You'll hear from me, sir.’
And as the officer said this menacingly, ho turned
and walked away with a military air.
“There’s troub’e for you now, Blako. He’ll chal
lenge you!” Said two or three friends who iustanly
gathered around him.
•Do you think so ?’
‘Certainly, ho in an officer, fighting’s his trade-.’
‘ Well, let him ’
‘What’ll you do ?’
‘Accept the challenge of course.’
‘And fight?’
‘Certainly.’
‘He'll shoot you.’
‘l'm not afnrd.’
Blake returned with his friend to his lodgings, where
he found a billet already from Redmond, who was a|l
eagerness to wing his rival.
On the next morning two friends of the belligerents
were elosetted for the purpose of arranging the prelimi
naries for the fight.
‘The weapon?’ asked the friend of the military man.
‘Your principal, by the laws of honor, has the choice ;
as, also, to name the time and place, &c.’
‘Yes, I understand. All is settled.’
‘He will fight, then?’
‘Fight? Oh. certainly, Blake is no coward.’
‘Well then name the weapons.’
‘A pair of goose-quills.’
‘Sir!’in profound astonishment.
‘The weapons are to be a pair of good Russia quills,
opaque, manufactured into pens of approved quality.
The place of meeting, the Gazette; the time, to
morrow morning, bright and early.’
‘Do you mean to insult me?’
‘By no means.
‘You cannot be serious.’ 4
‘Never was more serious in my life. By the code
of honor, the challenge party has a right to choose
weapons, place of meeting, and time. Is it not so?’
‘Certain})*.’
‘Very well. Your principal has challenged mine.
All these rights of course his : and he is justified in
choosing these weapons with which he is most familiar.
The weapon he oan use best is the pen; aud he choos
es that. If Lieut. Redmond had been the challenged
party, he would of course, have named pistols, with
which he is familiar, and Mr. Blake would have been
oalled a coward, paltroon, or something as bad, if after
sending a challenge, he had objected to tho weapons.
Will year principal fiod bimeclf in diffcreDt position if’
he declines this meeting on like grounds? I think not.
Pens are as good as pistols, at any time, and will do as
much.’
‘Fighting with pens? Preposterous!’
Not quite as preposterous a* you may think. Mr. B.
has more than insinuated that Mr. Redmomd is no gen
tlernan for this he is eha'lenged to a single combat that is
to prove him to be a gentleman or not one. Surely the
most sensible v capon with which to do this is the pen.
Pistols won't demonstrate this matter. Only the pen
can do it. So the pen is chosen. In the Gazette
of to-morrow morning my friend stands ready to prov.
that he is a gentleman ; and your friend that he is one.
and that a gentleman has a right to insult publicly and
without provocation whomsoever he pleases. Depend
upon it, you will find this quite as serious an affair as it
pistols were used.’
‘I did not come here, sir, to bt\trifled with.’
Net trifling in the matter at all. lam in sober ear
nest. Pens are the weapons. The Gazette tin
battle-ground. Time, early as you please to-morrow
morning. Are you prepared .’or the meeting?’
‘No.’
‘Do you understand the consequences?’
‘What consequences V
‘Your principal will be posted as a cowcrd before
night.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘No. Cool and earnest. We fully understand what
we are about.’
The officer’s second was non-plussed. lie did not
know what to say or think. lie was unprepared tor
such a position of affairs.
‘l'll see you in the course of an hour,’ he at length
said rising.
‘Very well. You will find me here.’
‘ls all settled ■’ asked the valiant Lieut, as Ills second
came into his room at the hotel, where he was pacing
the floor.
“Settled? No. Nor like to be. I objected to the
weapons, and, indeed, the whole proposed arrange
ment.’
‘Objected to the weapons ! And pray what did he
name? A blunderbuss?’
‘No. Nor a duck gun, with trumpet muzzle ; but an
infernal pen ?’
‘A what!’
‘Why curse the fellow, a pen ! Aou are to use pens
—the place of meeting, the Gazette —tune, to
morrow morning, lie is to prove you are no gentleman,
nnd are to prove you are one, and that a gentleman is
at all times privileged to insult whomsoever ho pleases
without provocation.’
‘He is a cowardly fool!’
‘lf his terms are not accepted he threatens to post you
for a coward before night.’
‘What ?’
‘You must accept or be posted. Think oftnat.’
The precise tqrms in which the principal swore and
the manner in which he fumed for the next five min
utes,need not be told. He was called back to more sober
feelings by the question —
‘Do you accept the terms of the meeting ?’
‘No —of course. The fellow's a fool.
‘Then you consent to be posted. llow will that
sound?’
‘l’ll cut off the rascal’s ears if he dare do such a thing.’
‘That won’t secure Mary Clinton, the cause of this
contest.’
‘Hang it, no’.’
‘With pens for weapons he will wing you a little too
quick.’
‘No doubt. But the public won’t bear him out in
such an outrage —such a violation of all the rules of
honor.’
‘By the code of honor, the challenging party has the
right to choose the weapons, &e.’
‘I know.’
‘And you arc afraid to meet the man you have chal
lenged upon the terms he proposes. That is all plain
and simple enough. The world will understand it ad.
‘But what is to be done?’
‘You must fight, apologise, or be posted. There is
no alternative. To be posted won t do. The laugh
would be too strongly against you.’
‘lt will be as bad, and even worse to fight as he pro
poses.’
“True. What then?’
‘lt must be made up somehow or other.
‘So I think. Will you write an apology V
‘I don't know. That is too humiliating.’
It's the least of the three evils.’
‘So, at last, though the valiant Lieutenant Redmond.
When the seconds again met, it was to arrange a set
tlement 01 differences. This could only he done by a
very humble written apology, which was made. On the
next day the young officer left the city, a little wiser than
he came. Blake and his second 3aid but little about
the mat'er. A few choice friends were let into too se
cret, which afforded many a hearty laugh. Among
these friends was Mary Clinton, who not long after gave
her heart and hand to the redoubtable author.
As for the Lieutenant, he declares that he had as lie!
come to contact with a Paixhan gun as an anther with
his infernal pen. He understands pistols, small swords,
rifles, and even cannons, but he can t stand up when
pen-work is the order of the day. The odds would be
too much against him.
Our own Conseqnence.
Wo think of our own consequence; our talents; our
attainments. We think what a breach will be made
when we die. We think of the mourners who will
gather .around us with broken hearts. Me think ot
the solemn sad procession that will go with us to the
tomb:—forgetting how seldom it is that the hearts ot
any considerable proportion in a funeral procession are
serious and solemn at all, or care anything about the
dead. We look at our own affairs and press them for
ward, as if everything else should give way to them, as
if the world had no interest so great that they may not
be required to yield to our convenience.
Now, how contrary till this is to truth and reality, it
is hardly necessary to attempt to show, tew will care
about us when we die; and the world at large w ill care
nothing, and know nothing about it. Avery lit.le
circle of friends will be affected —as a littse cire e of
water is agitated when a drop of rain falls into the ocean.
At the centre of that small circle of friends, there will
bo some deep emotion, and some tears of genuine grief
will be shed; at a very little distance, the emotion will
be fainter and feebler, at u point but a little remote there
will be none, and soon, very soon, all the agitation
there will have died away as when the little drops of
rain lall into the ocean —
The gay will laugh.
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
Ilis favorite phantom.— 'Bryant.
A few friends will go and bury us; and then they
will turn away to their own concerns, forgetful that we
are sleeping in the grave. Affection will reai ’ a stone,
and plant a few flowers over our grave but the hand
that reared the atone or planted the flowers will soon
become unable to out the letters deeper as they become
obliterated, or to cultivate the flowers—and in a brief
period the little hillock will be smoothed down, and
the stone will fall, and neither friend nor stranger will
■ be concerned to ask which one of the forgotten millions
of the earth was buried there. No‘Old Mortality, will
go to cut again those effaced words which told our name,
and tho time of our birth and of our death. Every
vestige that we ever lived upn (\\e earth will have van” i
•shed away. All the little memorial* of our remem
brance—the lock of hair encased in gold, or the por
trait that hung in our dwelling, will cease to have the
slightest value to any living being, nor will even mo
mentary curiosity be excited to know who wore that
hair, or whose countenance is delineated there.
From the Home Journal.
The Arts at Home and Abroad.
TVe have always endeavoured, in the Home Jour
nal. to do whatever lay within our power for the en
eourgement of the Fine Arts in America; and in this
we have always sought to exercise an impartial julg
ment, and although bound to prefer home merit to for
eign, under similar circumstances, yet we have never
stinted our praise of English, French or German pic
tures, engravings or statuary, whenever and wherever,
in our estimation it has been deserved. Indeed, with
out assuming to ourseives any superiority over our edi
torial brethren in such matters, we do darn* that one
of the leading objects of the Horne Journal is to
foster and encourage, in our country, a true and culti
vated raste for the Fine Arts, and so far as in us lies, to
obtain, extend and disseminate the knowledge and in
formation which will most surely lead to the attainment
of this end. The readers of our journal since its com
mencement need hut slightly tax their memories to
bear us out in the truthfulness of these statements.
Among the foreign publications which we have often
spoken highly of, is the London Art Journal, which
we consider among the most prominent having for their
object the advancement of the Fine arts at home and
abroad ; hut we cannot pass over silently an article in
the last March number of that work, in which a gross
itnd violent attack is made upon the American enter
prise of re-cutting nnd re-publishing •Boydell’s Illustra
tions of Shakspeare.’ This is the second article of the
same character which has appeared in that journal.—
The first was in April, 1S48; but we did not think
proper to notice it, although it contained many gross
mistatements, and was dictated iu a spirit or bitterness
which betrayed the feeling nnd motive of the author.
The facts in relation to the original ‘Bny-dell's Illustra
tions of Sharkspeare’can be gathered into a very few
words: It was one of the most extensive , costly,
and most s uccesfully executed works of art in the
world. It is a matter of little consequence now wheth
er it cost one hundred thousand pounds, or one million.
The Art Journal acknowledges that it took twenty
years to complete it, and that the British Parliament
passed a special net in favour of Boydcll, (never before
or since granted to any individual,) allowing him to dis
pose of the original one hundred pictures by lottery. —
The London Art Journal , in the article of 1818, de
nies that Sir Joshua Reynolds received a bribe of five
hundred pounds to engage in the work, yet Allen Cun
ningham. in his ‘Lives of Eminent British Artists.’
plainly and positively states this fact; and also many
otlier of the statements given by the late John Inman,
editor of the Commercial Advertiser, in his ‘Cur ous
piece of History,’ rest upon equally good foundation.
If such English writers as Cunningham are not good
authority, when describing English artists, then we
know not where to look for the truth.
In the recent article of the London Art Journal
we find the following plain admissions, and we quote the
exact words: ‘The sum originally expended by Alder
man Boydcll on the production of these plates, was un
doubtedly very large; and in another paragraph:‘There
is no doubt of the plates having found their way to
America, neither is there any reason for disbelieving
that Dr. Spooner and his partners in the speculation
may have expended $17,000 in the work of restora
tion.’
This is amply sufficient in the way of acknowledge
ment, nnd narrows the question down to a single point.
Are the impressions from the restored plates equal to
the original ones ? On this subject, an American is
equally as good a judge as an Englishman, and hun
dreds, probably thousands, of our citizens have a fair
opportunity of comparing the original and the new im
pressions, side by side; and although we will not speak of
our own opinion, yet wo fully believe that such gentlemen
as Washington living, Wm. 0. Bryant, G. P. Put
nam, D. Appleton and Cos., Dudley Scldcn, Danforth
and Ilufty, Row den, W right and Hatch, and the late
John J. Audubon, John Inman, and \l. M. Noah, and
fifty or sixty more whose names have been signed to
thu certificates, are reliable authority to settle this
question, the editors of the London Art Journal, who
probably never saw one of the restored impressions in
their lives, to the contrary notwithstanding.
As to the possibility of obtaining the original work
perfect and complete in London or else were, we speak
with confidence—it cannot be done, e.xoept in rare in
stances a copy may be bought at the breaking up of some
old library or valuable collection of engravings. M e
know full well that impressions from worn-out
plates, singly, and probably in sets, can be procured
in London, nnd possibly in this country ; but this fact
of being i corn-oiit impressions, renders them utterly
worthless, and hence the necessity of this large outlay
in re-cutting and restoring the plates.
The last blow given by the London Art Journal to
demolish this work, and upon which it is evident hangs
the ‘forlorn hope’ of the writer, is so rich that we give
his language. Speaking of the original engravings, he
savs,‘lt must not be forgotten that when Boydcll first
issued them, the British public was but half educated.’
etc ! Shade of Reynolds and Bejamin West, what a
genius this writer must bo! And would any one be
lieve, from such language, that these engravings were
actually all executed, in the first style of line and stip
ple, by such English artists as Sharpe, Bartolozzi, Si
mon, Wilson, Earloin, Thew, Middiman and Watson,
and from large pictures, painted in the best manner, by
such pointers as Reynolds, W eet, Bacehv, 1 usetl.
Northcote, Romney, Suiirke andOpie?
Now, the true secret of all this feeling of hostility
on the part of thu London Art Journal , is easily ex
plained. Tho restoration of the Boydcll (dates was a
bold and original American project on the part of Dr.
Spooner, and, contrary to the predictions of many,
even of his friends, has proved entirely successful. —
The American edition is, past all doubt, fully equal to
the original English; and instead of one thousand dol
lars, he is publishing it, with the addition of fine de
scriptive letter-press, at one hundred dollars per copy,
and we have heard of more than one instance where
English gentlemen, on a visit to this country, liaTe sub
scribed for copies to take back with him on their re
turn. It is well known that at present the American
print market is supplied, in a great measure, by Eng
lish engravings, executed English mezzotinto engrav
ers, and tho success of this American edition of the
Boydcll Illustrations, executed all in line and stipple by
•he best engravers of the last and the present eenturv.
is beginning to interfere materially with this English
trade. Instead of paying ten or twenty dollars each for
mezzotints, scraped by the present English artists from
pictures by Landseer and others, many of ouroitiz ns
[•refer giving Dr. Spooner ono dollar each for a set of
these sqperb line engravings.
The London Art Journal and its English publish
ers are deeply and personally interested in this matter,
and they feel that our American enterprise is interfer
ing with English monopoly of print-selling, and here
lies the whole secret of these repeated attaoks upon the
‘Boydcll Illustrations.’ They will break up the enter
prise if they can; but they oannot.
The last article on this subject, in the March num
ber of the London Art Journal , iu alluding to his first
article in 1848, has this very significant paragraph :
i ‘Who thought that tho remarks then nude would have
l t ’• ‘ •
proved sufficient to disabuse the minds of the Ameri
can public of any idea entertained that this costly work
was about to be circulated among them in all its pris
tine glory , but we were mistaken etc. The quotation :
exact, but the italics are our own. ea, the writer ol
tlie article was mistaken, and will be again in this se
cond attempt of the same nature. We have felt it to
be our duty to show up this matter in its true light, and
we have evidence already that, without a word from
us, many had seen through the London Art Journal's
motive, and fed certain that all the attempts of Eug
lish journals, interested in English publications of e n
gravings, to disparage another English work, becaus •
successfully restored by American enterprise, will only
re-sult in injury to themselves, and.will unquestionably
increase the* sale among us of the work they are en
deavouring to break down. This will be the case in the
present instance, and the motive onee understood, ail
that the London Art Jourual , or any other foreign
publication, may say against the American Moj'Jeli.
will only increase its popularity in the United States.
We trust that those American papers and periodicals
which have adverted to tho Art Journal article, not
understanding its motives, will, in proper spirit, ‘show
up’ the moving cause of such violent r.nd amneritvi
attacks. It is a fact, now seen and acknowledged by
many artists, that the publication of this work in tin*
United States, at u price which places it within tlwi
reach of almost every man of taste, is gradually creat
ing a love for good pictures and good engravings, and
much of the trashy coloured lithographs and the Uadlv
executed mezzotintos arc giving place to the carefuliy
eut line and stipple engravings, from well-painted pie*
tur.s by American artists. Thus good pictures beget
good pictures, and Dr. Spooner is, by his enterprise and
perseverance, rendering a real and lasting benefit to ar
tists and the arts in this country, by assisting in culti
vating and improving the standard of taste among
and in hastening that period when America shall bo
second to noneon the earth in ali that refines and tie
vales a nation and a people
How to Increase Beauty.
There is a divine contagion in all beauteous things.
Me alternately color objects with our fancies and af
fections, or receive from them a kindred hue—
“ Like the sweet south,.
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing aud giving odor.”
litis princip4epcrvducs.nl nature, physical and mor
al. Lot those who would tiace an expression of seren
ity and teuderness on a human face, watch a person of
sensibility as he gazes upon a painting by Claude Ra
phael. In contemplating a fine picture, we drink in
its spirit through our eyes. If a lovely woman would
increase her charms, let her gaze long and ardently on
all beauteous images. Let her not indulge tltcwe pas
sions which deform the features, but cultivate, on tho
contrary, every soft affection. It will soon become an
easy task, for one good feeling suggests and supports
another. Me involuntarily adapt our aspeot to oar
emotions, and long habits of thought aud feeling leavy
a permanent impression on the countenance. Every
one believes thus far iu physiognomy, and act more or
less decidedly upon his belief. But even the effect up
on the fi-atures of a transient emotion is trnly wonder
ful. A fierce man often looks beautifully tender and
serene when either caressing or being caressed and de
ceives us like the ocean in a calm, which at time* is
toe gentlest of all things.’—• Richardson's Literary
Leaves.
From the Savannah Republican^
. Literary Furiosity.
Messrs. Editors:—ln my rambles among books, I
chanced to stumble upon the following metrical proph
ecy respecting steam, which, not doubting it will prove
interesting to a portion of your numerous readers, l
hand to you for publication, as a literary curiosity. It
was published in Dr. Darwin's “Botanic Garden” in
1789, and is supposed to have been written by him
twenty years before its publication. The prophecy, ro
lating to cars and barges, is already fulfilled, aud that
flying chariots may yet be propelled by steam ‘through
fields of air.’
Or warrior bands alarm tho gaping crowd,
And armies shrink beneath the shady cloud,
is the range of probability.
The following are the prophetic lines:
’i>oon shall thy arm, uuconqucred steam, afar.
Drag the slow barge or drive the rapid ear.
Or on wide waving wings expanded hear
The flying chariots through the fields of air
Fair crews, triumphant leaning from above,
Shall wave their fluttering kerchiefs as they move*
Or warrior bands alarm the gaping crowd.
And armies shrink beneath the shadowy cloud
So mighty Hercules, o'er many a clime.
Waved his huge mace in virtues’ cause sublime.
Unmeasured strength with early art combined
Awed, served, protected and amazed mankind.*
H
:7- HE i 10 * IH k° VE - —H is fabled, that the lion
•Oil in love, and was sick of love ; so bo wen* to tha
tather of the darn*ol, and demanded his daughter
bra wife. But the father said he count u. .iear
of such a thing, tin'ess the lion would consent to
have his teeth drawn, and his claws broken. To
this the lion, being so sick of love that he was
foolish, consented. Now, when his teeth were
drawn ami his claws broken, the man fell upon him
with a club and bear out his brains; an d thus his
suit prospering, he lust his life. Truth is of lion
like energy, and has lion like defences. The
world has a daughter named Favor whom Truth
l ‘‘y es 1J me your Favor,” says Truth to the
VVorld. I tie World, to entrap the adversary,
icigns consent, “Lav aside your sternness and your
strength, and my Favor shall be yours.” So * lion
like I ruth, sick ol desire of the world’s favor,
yields up his defences; and then, helpless a <nunH
his disguised enemy, is disposed of his life.
Tke Man who Fiddled himself into Co.>£e*
—Major .ochran who is now, or was quite recent
ly, hying in Oswego, New York, and who was a
mem >erot the House of Representatives dnrinrrtne
administration of the elder Adame, used to say that
tie belied himself into Congress. A short time
previous to his election, a vessel was to be launch
ed into Seneca Lake, at Geneva, and it being an
unusual event, people came from afar tosveit. The*
young iolks gathered there determined to have &
dance at mghi. A fiddle was procured, but a fiddler
was wanting. Major * Cochran, then quite *.
young man, was an amateur performer, and hiu
services were demanded on the occasion. He grat
ified the joyous company, and at the supper table
one of the gentleman remarked, in commendation
of his talents, that he was ‘-fit for Congress.” Th- •
hint was received by the company, the matter wh.i
••talaed of, and he was nominated and elected to
Longress for the dis’rict then comprising the whole
State ol New York west of Shenectady. The in
cident is related in Loesing’s Field Book of tie?
Revolution.
Fine Extract.— Providence makes no short
cuts, and by the whole course of History, has
taught us that ifweattpmpt them, failure and dis
appointment must be their inevitable issue. “Pa
tient, because Eternal,” qcting by grand and irrl
mutable law s, which it is the providence of science
to discover, and the part of wisdom toobev ; silent,
*t*ady, but unswerving; “without Haste.but without
Rest,” the Great Ruler of humanity leads us on
wards, towards the accomplishment of our destinies
in a progress which we cannot quicken, bat may
NO. 7.