Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

282 more. I would gladly have loved you, trust* eJ you, cherished you : hut 1 feared to let 1 you know that I had a heart, lest you should j tear and insult it. Oh, sir, those who expect 1 love where they give none, and confidence where there is no trust, blast the fair time of youth, and lay up for themselves an unhon ored old age.’ The scene terminated by j Monsieur’s falling down in a fit and Amelie’s j being conveyed fainting to her chamber. ‘‘That night, the castle was enveloped by storms; they came from all points of the compass —thunder, lightning, hail, and rain! the master lay in his stately bed, and was troubled; he could hardly believe that Ame lie spoke the words he had heard; cold-heart ed and selfish as he was, he was also a clear seeing man, and it was their truth that struck him. But still his heait was hardened; he had commanded Amelie to be locked in her chamber, and her lover seized and imprison ed when he came to his tvyste. Monsieur, I have said, lay in his stately bed, the lightning, at intervals, illuminating his dark chamber. I had cast myself on the floor outside Ame lie’s door, but could not hear her weep, though 1 knew she was overcome of sorrow, As I sat, my head resting against the lintel of the door, a form passed through the solid oak from her chamber, without the bolts being withdrawn. I saw it as plainly as I see your faces now, under the influence of various emotions; nothing opened, but it passed through —a shadowy form, dark and vapory, but perfectly distinct. I knew it was ‘La Femme Noir,’ and 1 trembled, for she never came from caprice, but always for a purpose. I did not fear for Amelie, for ‘La Femme Noir’ never warred with the high-minded or virtuous. She passed slowly, more slowly than I am speaking, along the corridor, grow ing taller and taller as she went on, until she entered Monsieur’s chamber by the door ex actly opposite where I stood. She paused at the foot of the plumed bed, and the lightning, no longer fitful, by its broad flashes kept up a continual illumination. She stood for some time perfectly motionless, though in a loud tone the master demanded whence she came, and what she wanted. At last, during a pause in the storm, she told him that ali the power he possessed should not prevent the union of Amelie and Charles. I heard her voice myself; it sounded like the night wind among the fir-trees—cold and shrill, chilling both the ear and heart. I turned my eyes away while she spoke, and when I looked again she was gone! The. storm continued to increase in violence, and the master’s rage kept pace with the war of elements. The servants were trembling with undefined ter ror; they feared they knew not what: the dogs added to their apprehension by howling fearfully, and then barking in the highest possible key: the master paced about his chamber, calling in vain on his domestics, stamping and swearing like a maniac. At last, amid flashes of lightning, he made his way to the head of the great staircase, and presently the clang of the alarm-bell, mingled with the thunder and the roar of the moun tain torrents: this hastened the servants to his presence, though they seemed hardly ca pable of understanding his words—he insist ed on Charles being brought before him. We all trembled, for he was mad and livid with rage. The warden, in whose care the young man was, dared not enter the hall that echoed his loud words and heavy footsteps, for when he went to seek his prisoner, he found every bolt and bar withdrawn, and the iron door wide open: he was gone. Monsieur seemed to find relief by his energies being called into action; he ordered instant pursuit, mounted his favorite charger, despite the storm, des pite the fury of the elements. Although ths great gates rocked, and the castle shook like an aspen-leaf, he set forth, his path illumina ted by the lightning; bold and brave as was his horse, be found it almost impossible to get it foiward; he dug bis spurs deep into the flanks of the noble animal, until the red blood mingled with the rain. At last, it rushed madly down the path to the bridge the young man must cross; and when they reached it, the master discerned the floating cloak of the pursued, a few yards in advance. Again the horse rebelled against his will, the lightning flashed in his ejes, and the torrent seemed a mass of red fire; no sound could be heard but its roaring waters; the attendants clung, as they advanced, to the hand rail of the bridge. The youth, unconscious of the pursuit , proceeded rapidly; and again roused, the horse plunged forward On the instant, the form of ‘La Femme Noir’ passed with the blast that rushed down the ravine; the torrent followed in her track, and more than half the bridge was swept away forever. As Ihe master reined back the horse he had so Trged forward, he saw the youth kneeling, with out-stretched arms, ou the opposite bank —kneeling in gratitude for his deliverance §©®lf[o IE IE lid Qa OIT B li\ IE ¥ ©A% 05 ‘if If g . from his double peril. All were struck with the piety of the youth, and earnestly rejoiced at his deliverance; though they did not pre sume to say so, or look as it they thought it. I never saw so changed a person as the mas ter when he entered the castle gate: his cheek was blanched, his eye quelled; his fierce plume hung broken over his shoulder; his step was unequal, and in the voice of a feeble girl, he said—‘Bring me a cup of wine.’ I was his cup-bearer, and for the first time in his life he thanked me graciously, and in the warmth of his gratitude tapped my shoulder; the caress nearly hurled me across the hall. What passed in his retiring-room, I know not. Some said the ‘Femme Noir’ visited him again; I cannot tell: I did not see her: I speak of what 1 saw, not of what I heard. The storm passed away with a clap of thunder, to which the former sounds were but as the rattling of pebbles beneath the swell of a summer wave. The next morning Monsieur sent for the pasteur. The good man seemed terror-stricken as he entered the hall; but Monsieur filled him a quart of gold coins out of a leather bag, to repair his church, and that quickly; and grasping his hand as he departed, looked him steadily in the face. As he did so, large drops stood like beads up on his brow; bis stern, coarse features were strangely moved as he gazed upon the calm, pale minister of peace and love. ‘You,’ he said, ‘bid God bless the poorest peasant that passes you on the mountain : have you no blessing to give the master of Rohean?’ “*My son, 1 answered the good man. ‘I give you the blessing I may give : May God bless you, anti may your heart be opened to give and receive.’ “‘1 know l can give,’ replied the proud man ; ‘ but what can 1 receive V “ ‘ Love,’ lie replied. ‘ All your wealth has not brought you happiness, because you are unloving and unloved !’ ‘•The demon returned to his brow, but it did not remain there. “ ‘ You shall give me lessons in this thing,’ he said ; and so the good man went his way. “ Amelie continued a close prisoner : but a change came over Monsieur. At first, he shut himself up in his chamber, and no one was suffered to enter his presence ; he took ! his food with his own hand from the only at tendant who ventured to approach his door. 1 He was heard walking up and down the room, day and night. When we were going to sleep, j we heard his heavy tramp; at day-break, I there it was again ; and those of the house j hold who awoke at intervals during the night, I said it was unceasing. “Monsieur could read. Ah! you may j smile; but in those days, and those moun | tains, such men as the master did not trouble I themselves or others with knowledge; but i the master of Rohean read both Latin and | Greek, and commanded the book he had nev er opened since his childhood, to be brought to him. It was taken out of its velvet case, and carried in forthwith; and we saw his | shadow from without, like the shadow of a . giant, bending over tiif. book ; and he read in it for some days; and we greatly hoped it would soften and change his nature : and though I cannot say much for the softening, it certainly effected a great change ; he no longer stalked moodily along the corridors, and banged the doors, and swore at the ser vants; he rather seemed possessed of a merry devil, roaring out an old song: “ Aux bastions de Geneve, nos cannons i v ont branquez ; S’il y a quelquc attaque nous less fero is ronfler, Viva! ies cannoniers! and then he would pause and clang his hands together like a pair of cymbals, and laugh. And once, as I was passing along, he ponne ed upon me, and whirled me round in a waltz, roaring at me when he let me down, to prac ; tice that , and break my embroidery frame, lie formed a band of horns and trumpets, and insisted on the goatherds and shepherds sound ing reveilles in the mountains, and the village children beating drums; his only idea of jov and happiness was noise. He set all the can ton to work to mend the bridge, paying the workmen double wages; and he, who never entered a church before, would go to see how* the laborers were getting on nearly every day. He talked and laughed a great deal to him self ; and in his gaiety of heart he would set the mastiffs fighting, and make excursions from home —we knowing not where he went. At last Amelie was summoned to his pres ence, and he shook her, and shouted, then kissed her: and hoping she would be a good girl, told her he had provided a husband for her. Amelie wept and prayed: and the mas ter capered and sung. At last she fainted; and taking advantage of her unconscious ness, he conveyed her to the chapel; and there, beside the altar, stood the bridegroom —no other than Charles le Meitre. “ They lived many happy years together; and when Monsieur was, in every respect, a better, though still a strange man, the ‘Fem-j me Noir’ appeared again to him —once. She did so with a placid air, on a summer night, with her arm extended towards the heavens, “ The next day, the muffled bell told the valley that the stormy, proud old master of Rohean had ceased to live.” Selected jJoctrji. THE RETURNING PESTILENCE. BY JOHN C. LORD I> . D . Bv river and fountain, By desert and plain. Over valley and mountain I’m coming again, To execute judgement—an Angel of Wrath, With Terror, and Anguish, and Death in my path. In the East I begun. O’er the dark jungles sweeping; In the old Ilindostan Was waiting and weeping ; From the plague-smitten city e’en the Pariahs flee, And Gunga corpse-burdened, rolls cn the sea, On the flower-scented gale, Is the taint of my breath, And Pers on wives wail For the Angel of Death — In the land of the rose his shadow he cast, And darkened the hopes of their heart as he pass'd. Then Siberian snows In my passage I crossed, And the death-wail arose In the regions of frost ; In the Ice-Monarch’s mantle was there no defence, ‘Gainst the life- juelling touch of the pestilence. By the sign of Salvation I paused for a time ; From each Christian nation, Rose voices of crime. Tho’ the symbol was there, the substance was gone, To the harvest of death I went speedily on. Then Russia—the cold — In my pathway I swept, And in Moscow, the old, The grey-bearded have wept: Who saw. without tears, their palaces filed. For him whose commission at Moscow expired. And onward advancing, Like a strong man from wine, Where sun browned are dancing In the land of the vine, With the steps of a giant, Death’s wine 1 tread, Before me the living—behind me the dead. Weep maids of Vienna ! Howl, Paris and Borne ! The gates of Gehenna Are opening for doom ; Tha plague cart shall wait at your mansion of pride, The rich with the poor to the Dark-llouse shall ride. At last I shall sail For the star-bannered West, And nn r barque shall not fail O’er the Ocean’s broad breast, To land me, long dreaded, tho’ my shipmate shall sleep, Where, o’er the sea-buried, the mer-maiden’s weep. THE SECRET. B Y JAMES G R E G Olt G R A N T . In a fair lady’s heart once a Secret was lurking— It tossed, and it tumbled—it longed to get out: The Lips half betrayed it by smiling and smirking. And Tongue was impatient to blab it, no doubt ! But honor looked grave on the subject, and gave it In charge to the Teeth, (so enchantinglv white !) Should the captive attempt an elopement, to save it By giving the Lips au admonishing bite ! ’Twas said, and ’was settled: Sir Honor departed; Tongue quivered and trembled, but dare not rebel, When, right to its tip, Secret suddenly started, And half in a whisper, escaped from its cell! Quoth the Teeth, in a pet, “we’ll be even for this!” And they bit very hard, both above and beneath ; But the Lips, at that moment, were bribed with a Kiss, And they popped out the Secret “ in spite of their teeth /” THE FATHERLESS. Speak softly to the fatherless! And check the harsh reply Tli*:t sends the crimson to the cheek, The tear-drop to the eye. They have the weight of loneliness In this rude world to bear ; Then gently raise the fallen bud, The drooping flowerets spare. Speak kindly to the fatherless! The lowliest of their band Godkeepeth, as the waters, In the hollow of his hand. ’Tissad to see life’s evening sun Go down in sorrows shroud. But sadder still when morning's dawn Is darkened by the cloud. Look mildly on the fatherless ! Ye may have power to wile Their hearts from sadden’d memory By the magic of a smilo. Deal gently with these little ones . Be pitiful, and He, ‘The friend and father of us all. Shall gently deal with thee !” (Eclectic of iUit. O’CONNELL IN THE COMMITTEE ROOM. “The stranger who visited it saw a W low apartment, rather narrow for its length - of which the centre was occupied, from end to end, by a table and benches. By the light of three or four gas-burners, he discerned - numerous assemblage, who were seated on both sides of the long central table, earnestly discussing the various matters submitted foY their consideration. At the upper end of the apartment might be seen a man of massive figure, weaving a broad-brimmed hat, and a dark fur tippet. He is evidently ‘ wide awake’ to all that passes. Observe how his keen blue eye brightens up at any promising proposition, or at any indication of increasing strength—how impatiently he pshaws away any bttise intruded on the Repeal Councils Difficult questions are submitted for his o- u j<E ance ; disputes in remote localities are refer red to his adjudication; reports are confided to his care to be drawn up. He glides through all these duties with an ease that seems absolutely magical. He originates rules and regulations. He creates a working staff’ throughout the country; he renders the movement systematic. He cautiously guards it from infringing, in ihe smallest particular, upon the law. No man is jealous of him. for his intellectual supremacy places him en tirely beyond the reach of competition. And as he discharges his multifarious task, the hilarity of his disposition occasionally breaks out in some quaint jest, or playful anecdote. “Ray was the ordinary mouth-piece of all matters submitted to O'Connell in committee for his decision or his advice. ‘Here’s an application. Liberator, from Mr. cuniary aid to go on a Repeal mission.’ ‘ Does any body here support that applica tion, Ray? I will oppose it, because I saw the reverend gentleman as drunk as Bacchus at the dinner at .’ ‘ But he is quite reformed, Liberator, and has taken the pledge.’ ‘ No matter —after such a public expose of himself, we ought to have nothing to do with him. The case is the worse for his being a clergyman.’ ‘ Very well, sir. Here’s a letter from the Ballinakill Repealers, wanting Mr. Daunt to go down to address a meeting there.’ • I’m glad of it. 1 suppose Daunt will have no objection V ‘ Not the least,’ said I. ‘And here's a let ter from the people of Kells, wanting Mr. John O’Connell to attend their meeting next week.’ ‘My son John will go—won’t you, John ‘ Yes, lather.’ ‘ Then write and tell ’em so.’ ‘Counsellor Clements,’ resumed Ray, ‘ha? made an objection to the words, “We pledge ourselves,” in the Irish manufacture declara tion : he’s afraid of their being illegal.’ ‘ Then alter the passage thus—“ We pledge ourselves, as individuals." —if there be anv difficulty, that will obviate it. What's that large document before you ?’ ‘That, sir, is a report sent up by Mr. • It came by this day's post. He wishes us to print it.’ ‘ Umph! Let us see what sort of affair it is.’ Ray then unfolds and peruses the report. When he has done. O’Connell exclaims. ‘ What a waste of industry! There is ab solutely nothing in that voluminous paper that it would be of the smallest utility to la;, before the public.’ 4 think,’ said I, ‘the last two pages con tain a few good facts.’ ‘Then print the last two pages, and throw away the rest.’ Some remark being made on the mortifica tion of a disappointed author, O'Connell hall mutters the quizzical compliment paid to a pamphleteer by a waggish friend —• ‘1 saw an excellent thing in your pamph let.’ ‘ What was it ?’ cries the author. •’ A penny bun P says his friend. O’Connell would then apply himself to tnc dictation of a report, or of answers to letters of importance, until half-past four or fivt o’clock, the hour at which the committee usually broke up.” REPETITION IN A PUBLIC MAN. ‘“There are many men who shrink from repeating themselves, and who actually fee ,l repugnance to deliver a good sentiment or a good argument, just because they have deliv ered that sentiment or lhat argument befort. This is very foolish. It is not by advancing a political truth once, or twice, or ten times, that the public will take it up and firm V