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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
THE FAIR FOURIERITE.
A COLLEGE LYRIC.
Ah ! sure there was never so sad a complaint,
And spoken with so grieved and reproachful an
air,
That, bless me, I'm thinking that you are the
saint,
And I the worst sinner that swims in our
sphere ;
A picture so dark, of the faithless among us,
\Y r as never yet spoken or *ung by a maid;
And if the reproa-. h of a saint could have wrung
us,
Yours had surely compell’d me to leave off the
trade.
Dut your arguments subtle will scarcely suffice,
For all the results that you seek fr m the plea :
To prove that the man is a monster of vice,
Is no reason for se t ing you women all free :
Suppose that, for argument’s sake, we admit,
Thar men were still wicked from earliest time,
Still the very same women, in judgment who sit,
Will embrace the offender while cursing his
crime.
’Tis ruled, by a power much greater than yours, j
That your sex. to a certain nice point, shall
have sway;
But the very same wrong your indictment de
plores,
Brings the matter all right when you come to
obey:
Better ask, ere you plead for a tie fast or loose,
And for freedom from bonds when you happen ,
to chafe,
Whether, when you ‘ve succeeded in cutting the
noose,
The sinner or saint is more like to be safe
ELEPHAS.
Columbia. S. C.
■urn a® spa si® is s.
From the Columbian & Great West.
THE
BEAUTIFUL QUINTROON.
A TRUE TALE OF NEW ORLEANS.
BY CHAS. SUMMERFIKLD, ESQ.
PREFACE.
1 do not claim for the following story
the magazine title of Fashionable Fiction;
that it is “ founded on fact,” which means,
nine times out of ten, a single grain of
truth diluted in a whole sea of romance. —
My narrative demands a far higher degree
of credibility—that, although wrought into
the form of a tale, for the sake of greater
precision, and more intense dramatic effect,
in substance, it is all fact. It is a verita
‘ ble history of events that were, and yet
live in the memories of many : and when
ever called on, the writer stands always
ready to give the relerence of unimpeach
able witnesses.
I trust that the thrilling incidents of my
story will not be perverted by the political
sophist, to cast unmerited odium on any
portion of our common and beloved coun
try. At least, the author disavows all
such treasonable intention. Asa friend
of true logic, he abhors the miserable fal
lacy of prejudice and passion, which would
erect sweeping generalizations, and hold
theories, on the authority of isolated in
stances ; as a patriot, he shrinks from the
mete thought of inflaming those sectional
antipathies that alone threaten disunion
and death to the only free and happy gov
ernment on the globe.
This disclaimer being made for myself,
let the brief prologue end, and the actors
in the real drama shall, henceforth, speak
and perforin their genuine parts, as in life.
CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGER AT WASHINGTON A MYS
TERY.
During the winter of 18 —, there resided
for a time, at the city of W ashington, a
young man, whose appearance and con
duct, in many respects alike singular, caus
ed a sensation as intense as it was univer
sal. The fact itself might be regarded as
extraordinary ; for Congress being assem
bled in session, had, of course, collected
the usual immense crowd, embracing the
riches’ and rarest varieties of character,
from every State whose star burns its sym
bolic light on fredom’s beauteous banner.
The lions of tame were all there—politi
cians,heroes, literati, artists: celebrated men
and charming women ; the wizards of di
plomacy, and the witches of love ! Hence
there must, assuredly have been something
peculiarly remarkable in the person or man
ners of the stranger, coming as he did, a
simple individual, without pomp, or dis
play, or the prestige of accredited renown.
Nor did the unpretending object of the
general gaze employ the slightest effort to
achieve notoriety. On the contrary, he
seemed as anxious to shun the broad stare
of the popular eye. as most others were to
woo it. He never attended balls, files, or
brilliant assemblies. Indeed, for some
weeks in the early part of the session, he
did not appear to have one single acquaint
ance. He was not seen on the marble
steps of the. elegant hotels, or in any of
those gorgeous saloons, where the youth
of his own age resorted for amusement or
excitement of a deeper meaning. He com
monly attended the debates in the House
or Senate, and looked on the proceedings
with a listless and melancholy counte
nance, until some true towering giant took
the floor-a Calhoun. Clay, or Webster—
when it was delightful to witness the joy,
the rapture of mental intoxication, ex
pressed on his speakihg features, as his
soul followed the logic of profound argu
ment, or flew away on the fire-wings of
soaring eloquence.
Nobody knew his name. He soon, how
ever, notwithstanding his incognito, at
tracted such envious attention as to be
called, among the idlers of both sexes, who
frequented the galleries, by the flattering
appellation of “the handsome stranger.”
The title was well-merited, by a figure
tall, slender, and of the most graceful sym
metry, combined with power and elasticity,
as if his nerves and joints possessed the
strength and spring of sword-steel, rather
than of human fibres; with ample, intel
lectual brow, high and white, environed by
a circle of raven hair, flowing in many
curls, line as the down of flowers, smooth
as the texture of Persian silk; face regu
lar, oval, almost feminine in its outlines,
pale, and tinged with the shadows of a
deep sadness; eyes large, dark, piercing,
hut mild, like the light of a dream; and
mouth small, firm, rigid, betokening the
presence of an unconquerable will. But
what, more than anything else, rendered !
him the subject of so much puzzled obser
vation and thought, was the soft, spiritual,
unearthly melancholy of his otherwise no
ble countenance. Could it be the memory ‘
of measureless suffering, or the impress of
irretrievable crime ? Had his young heart
already been stricken by some thunderbolt
of passion, and was that unrelaxing gloom
its scar ? Or had he hurled death in the
faces of others, and was the sombre cloud,
on his brow, flung there by the pale fingers
of a haunting ghost from eternity 7 None
could answer.
As numerous, and as contradictory, were
the surmises as to the character of the
stranger: but on this social crux criticorum,
also, volleys of babbling breath were ex
hausted in vain. It could only be infered
dubiously, “that he was rich, and a scion
of the land of summer and the sun,” —con-
clusions predicated on two facts; the cost
ly splendor of his wardrobe, and the pres
ence of a sleek, black waiter, that drove
his flashing carriage in his morning and
evening excursions.
Several stratagems, devised by the gen
teel loafers of Pennsylvania Avenue, to
pierce the shroud of his mysterious soli
tude, resulted in poor success. Once they
doged his steps to the house where he
lodged, and feigned an application as
hoarders.
“ We does n’t take boarders,” replied a
| cross-looking servant, who came at the
ring of the bell.
“But,” interrogated the fashionable fops,
“ does not a young man with dark hair and
! eyes—”
The incipient question was cut short by
a hoarse curse from the crabbed slave,
who, without farther ceremony, slammed
the door in their faces.
The same hopeful duad, the next morn
j ing, accosted the stranger, as he stood in a
j posture of deep thought on the granite
| pavement before the Capitol, sweeping with
his eagle glance that finest prospect on the
globe —a magic panorama, where su n-bright
woods, and gleaming waters, transparent
air, and.brillianl sky,shining spires, wreaths
j of curling smokp. proud palaces, and
! snowy cottages, all melted and mingled in
: the distance to realize a scene as of fairy
enchantment.
The stranger returned the salutation of the
i loafers but as they persisted in their efforts
to cultivate a better acquaintance, he fixed
his piercing eyes full in theirs, and asked
with an appalling frown, “ Were not you
the impertinent fools, who inquired after
me at the cottage in street, last
evening 1”
Both began to falter apologies; but he
interrupted them : “ No excuse is necessa
ry : nature pleads your justification, since
she made you puppies and cowards: but
if you attempt todisturb my privacy again,
1 shall be forced to pollute my horse-whip
by contact with your hang-dog hides !”
And shaking the weapon of castigation
menacingly over their shoulders, he turned
on his heel, and slowly descended the cap
itolean hill, not deigning the intruders even
another glance of his proud eye. And they
were so thoroughly cowed by his voice and
manner as to be heartily content with the
separation. Many had been spectators of
the scene ; it was repeated with the com
mon embellishments of rumor, and thus
served to intensify public curiosity to the
highest acme of extravagance.
One more effort was ventured to lift the
veil, though at a safer distance. Inquiries
were set on foot in the street where the cot
tage was situated, as to its present occu
pants ; but the nearest neighbors knew on
ly this—that the tenement in question be
longed to Col. Hume, a roving slave-dealer
who was seldom in the city—that it had
been vacant a long while, till just before
the meeting of Congress, when a family
moved in, who lived in the strictest seclu
sion, so that even their names had not
transpired. And thus the gossips were
again defeated.
At length an incident occurred that at
tracted all eyes in the galleries, and many
from the floor, in the direction of “the
handsome,” or as he was now generally
called, “ mysterious stranger.” He appear
ed one morning in his usual place in the
Senate, which commanded a full view of the
famous orator of Kentucky, whose classic
eloquence always afforded him unmeasured
delight. He had ever before, entered the
capitol alone, and it had been remarked that
he never so much as once cast a glance of
admiration, or even notice, towards the
numerous batteries of bright eyes, so often
levelled at his melancholy countenance; as
if his heart had lost its sensibility to the
power of love, by the same grief which
had left its changeless shadow on the pure
marble of his high forehead. It was no
wonder, then, that on the occasion of which
we now speak, his advent so attracted uni
versal atttention, for there came hanging
on hisarm a vision of beauty, such as never
before, or since, lightened along the air of
that brilliant chamber.
She was a young girl of not more than
sixteen summers —tall, slight, of faultless
symmetry in form and feature—the form
of a sylph floating in sunshine, the features
of an angel beaming with innocence—with
raven ringlets, eyes of dark ray; and a
face so serenely sweet that it seemed actu
ally bathed in starlight, or suffused with
the lustre of winged dreams, that never had
been darkened by a thought of sin !
There was so striking a similarity be
tween the two, that many persons, at first
sight, concluded them to be brother and sis
ter.
The eyes and hair were of the same col
or. The exquisite oval—ideal of peerless
beauty —was the same in the profile of
each; and so was the inimitable charm of
contour in the graceful outlines of the body
—as also the soft ease and expressive dig
nity of every gesture of the limbs—every
movement of the muscles. There existed
one difference, however, in a point where
it might have been least of all expected, on
the hypothesis ot the relationship inferred.
His complexion was extremely fair—the
whiteness of Parian marble, especially on
the high, open brow. But hers, without
being positively dark, was difficult to de
scribe : it seemed indeterminate, flashing,
changeful. It varied as one viewed it ir.
various positions relating to the fall of light
and shadow. In this respect, it resembled
those divine madonnas —matchless master
pieces of the elder artists who painted from
inspiration, rather than by rule. When
the solar beams shone full in her face, it
looked fair as the lily : but when they
touched the fine velvet of its surface ob
liquely, a singular hue was revealed, like
the tints of the golden orange blushing to
the kiss of the sun; and when you saw
her by lamp-light, she appeared colorless,
pale, almost sallow —yet still beautiful ever
more,and always —beautiful beyond speech,
or imagination, or any simile of thohght—
aye, beautiful as a new-born dream, when
the summer rain sings on the house-top, and
the beloved one sleeps in the bosom of the
dreamer!
Day after day, the two came together to
the galleries of the Senate ; and the opinion
as to their relationship underwent a rapid
change, and mair.N for the reason that the
manner of “ the mysterious stranger” had
itself, first of all, so completely changed.
The beautiful being at his side had dissipa
ted the cloud of melancholy from his coun
tenance, by the brilliance of ‘that starlight
smile” of hers, and he looked more cheer
ful, contented, happy; because, perhaps,
he now looked alone on her who appeared
to fill both sight and soul. He would sit
and gaze upon her face for hours in suc
cession, bound in tlie speechless spell of
that delicious trance which no feeling ever
burning in the human breast but one could
bring; he experienced the glance of no
other eyes; was conscious of no alien ex
istence : heard no voice save her silvery
whisper : time and space had vanished from
his world—the world itself was gone—and
she was his universe! All this his fascina- |
ted look revealed : a child could not mistake
its meaning. The character of the tie be
tween them could then be read as in the j
light of sunbeams. They were lovers:
their very life was love!
But who was she, so young, so beauti- [
ful, so gorgeously attired, so flashing with ;
jewels of gold and starry stones even to !
the summit of the dazzling wreath that
nodded in her raven hair l Who was she,
that did not belong to the solar sphere of
fashion, but yet eclipsed its brightest plan
ets, as the queen-moon doth the feeble
twinklers of the firmament 1 Who was j
she, whose incomparable charms had pow- j
er to thaw the polar ice candied over “ the
mysterious stranger’s” misanthropic heart,
filling his eye with fire, clothing his iron
lip with smiles, and bowing his proud knees
to wonder and adore at her feet ?
Such was the new enigma, which, no
(Edipus among the gossips of two dozen
States then at Washington could solve. It
was only known that for the time being 1
she resided in the same cottage which shel
tered her lover—so alleged some spies who j
had followed their footsteps. It was known
that they always appeared together—that
they delighted in morning and evening ram
bles, and in moonlight walks—when the
dappled dawn came in the east, the eve
ning’s blush glowed in the west, and the
stars were burning in the blue expanse of
heaven—nothing more.
Shall we inform the reader? Not now,
for he will learn hereafter from themselves.
There was, also another and far deeper
problem, that concerned, not the public, but
the lovers—a problem that concerns infi
nitely all lovers, and happy, indeed, are
those who solve it soon. Did they know
who each was, respectively ? Alas ! no.
Had he been thoroughly acquainted with
the history of that angelic creature, though
as pure from the taint of sin as any being
of mortal mould, he would have fled from
her presence as from the deadliest poison :
while had she possessed on her part, alike
knowledge of all the past, she would have
shudered at the contact of his fingers, as
at the touch of inexpiable pollution, al
though a more lofty and chivalrous soul
than his never animated a form of organ
ized atoms! The clear truth of the se
quel will explain and justify this seeming
paradox.
CHAPTER 11.
ANOTHER ARRIVAL —MORE MYSTERY.
The session of Congress was drawing to
wards its close. There had been several
days of the sweetest sunshine, which were
succeeded by an evening of storm and
darkness as unusual for the latitude, as so
late in the season; and it was amidst rat
tling hail and the howls of a hurricane la
den with snow, that the fast train of cars
from Baltimore came shrieking and roaring
in fire and thunder to the goal.
Among the passengers set down from a
coach at the steps of Gadsby’s, was a man
whose appearance would have attracted
notice in any city of the world. He was
some fifty years of age, of a lofty and
commanding person, with dark hair, which
swept in long masses far below his shoul
ders: his black, piercing eyes, gleamed
with a fierce, almost lurid light, beneath
jutting, craggy brows, like two live coals
in a pit—eyes whose keen, restless glances,
sinister and furtive, were aggravated rather
than relieved by the marble pallor of his
features, white as those of a corpse, and,
although regular, painfully disagreeable,
from their expression of truculent stern
ness—heightened still more by thin, sneer
ing lips, with a cold smile writhing there,
always, like a snake in its coil! and re
vealing two rows of dazzling but singular
ly sharp-pointed teeth—the teeth of a beast
of prey. His upper lip was clos'ely shav
en. With that exception, his face had re
mained for years intact by scathing steel,
and hence, had yielded an immense crop of
coal-black beard, which flowed in festoons
half-way down his breast, after the fashion
of certain rare religious fanatics. A deep
scar across his aquiline nose completed the
portrait of his unique person, whose power
of bone and muscle seemed enormous as
the Titans of the antedeluvian epoch. As
to the rest, he was attired in splendid
clothing, and wore a profusion of costly
jewelry, but had with him no visible bag- j
Rage.
The officious runners of the hotel hus
tled up to the stranger before he was well 1
out of the coach ; hut he repelled their of- I
fers of service with a fierce oath, and a
fiercer frown, drew near the lamp hanging
at the door, that struggled fitfully against
the tempest, pulled out his gold watch,
and mutterins: some inaudible curse about
the time, walked away rapidly through the
pitchy darkness up the Avenue. After i
proceeding a hundred yards, he turned to
the left, and hurried along a narrow street
leading out into one of the most remote,
but quiet and beautiful, of the suburbs.—
He paused at the door of a large English
cottage, gave a hasty pull at the bell-han
dle, and the next minute, a gruff voice de
manded—“ Who’s there?”
“ Open the door, or I’ll send a pistol
bullet through the shutter, to teach you
who is here,” answered the stranger, in
the stern tones of one accustomed to be j
obeyed.
“Oh, it’s dear master back again,” said
the person within, tremulously essaying to
feign accents of joy.
Instantly, the key grated in the lock,
the bolt recoiled with a harsh noise, the
door flew open, and a huge negro, holding
a wax candie, welcomed the stranger with
obsequious bows and a great display of
teeth.
“Is there any one in the parlor ?” asked
the master—for such he evidently was—in
a low voice.
“ No, master Colonel, nothing but a good
fire,” replied the slave.
“Is Henry Beaufort here yet?”
“Yes, master, and dead in love with
Alice May. They are to be married next
week.”
At the reception of this intelligence, a
strange smile, like the fiery flash of some
infernal meteor, illuminated the master’s
stern features. He said not a word, how
ever. hut led the way to a small but ele
gantly furnished parlor. Here, dashing
the snow from his fur cap, he presented
the slave a hunch of keys, and ordered—
“Go, Bill, unlock my large trunk—you
know where it is, in the attic—and bring
me a fresh suit of clothes : these are stiff
with ice, as the nose of the north pole.—
Be careful not to awaken any one, and see
if a light be burning in Beaufort’s room.”
“ Well, master,” said Bill, hurrying to
obey.
As slave left the parlor, the master
drew from his pocket a flask of brandy,
and, having swallowed a vast draught,
muttered to himself—
“Ah! I need such diabolical stimulus to
keep my purpose steady. ‘Tis the arch
fiend's own work—to ruin a confiding
friend, and—the daughter of the only be
ing I ever loved on earth! But who has
pitied me ? My revenge is yet incomplete!
and I shall need money—money —l must
die worth millions, and be buried in a cof
fin of yellow gold—ha! ha! ha!”
And he laughed the laugh of a demon.
In a brief space, the slave returned with
the new supply of raiment. His master
asked hastily, “ Is Beaufort asleep ?”
“No,” answered Bill; “I listened at
the key-hole, and heard him reading. 1
guess he won’t sleep much to-night.”
“ Why ?” inquired the master, eagerly.
“ Because he got a letter this evening,
that made him cry like a child. I heard
Alice telling one of the girls, that old
Beaufort is dead, and has appointed Henry
his sole heir. He ’ going hack to New
Orleans, to take charge of the big store.”
“ If you lie, I’ll murder you,” exclaimed
the master, bounding to his feet like one
distracted, and seizing the slave’s throat,
as if about to execute his savage menace.
“1 swear before God it is ti ue,” declared
Bill, in tones of mingled truth and terror,
impossible to doubt.
“Then the devil himself aids his own,”,
said the other, with a look of hellish joy,
as he hurried to change his dress. Then,
tracing a few lines on a piece of paper
with his lead pencil, he told the negro to
take it to Beaufort, and wait for his an
swer. In a short time, Bill returned with
Beaufort's request that the gentleman should
be conducted to his room.
As the stranger approached, the youth
sprang forward with animated features,
ami grasping warmly the other’s hand,
said, in a voice trembling with emotion—
“ Welcome, Colonel Hume—welcome,
preserver of my life. In heaven’s name,
what kind wind has blown you here so
unexpectedly ?”
i “ Business, boy,” replied the other;
“ the only winds that move my old sails
now, are the trade winds. I came in the j
cars of to-night, and 1 leave in the first
train of the morrow; but I could not deny
myself the pleasure of seeing my young ‘
poet, who had such a passion for suicide,
when I fished him out of the Mississippi!”
As Col. Hume finished the sentence, a :
striking change passed over the counte
nance of Beaufort. At first, there came a |
flash of anger; then, an expression un
speakably mournful, which was imme
diately replaced by a look of frank and
even joyous confidence.
He rejoined : “lam glad, my dear Col
onel, that you have alluded to that act of
melancholy madness. [ wish to relate a
few facts in my biography, which may,
perhaps, alter your opinion, somewhat, in
my favor, and soften the memory of my
seeming insanity—that is to say, if you
have the leisure and desire to hear me.”
“ It will afford rne the greatest pleasure,”
said the other, scarcely suppressing an im
perceptible sneer: but added—“Be as brief
as possible; I have some business yet to ;
adjust to-night, and must be away in the ;
morning with the first scream of the steam
whistle for Baltimore.”
“Then, I will begin at once,” replied
Beaufort, and shall not detain you long.”
Col. Hume lit a perfumed cigar, crossed j
his massive legs, and waited with assumed j
nonchalance, the development of the prom- ;
ised story.
CHAPTER 111.
THE REMINISCENCE —THE FALSEHOOD AND
THE MARRIAGE.
“Os my parentage,” began Beaufort, “it
is unnecessary to speak. At a tender age.
I was adopted by Isaac Beaufort, a bache- j
lor and wealthy merchant of New Orleans,
who educated me as his own son, and
promised to make me his heir. While a
boy, 1 was generally treated with sufficient
humanity, though the millionaire was oft
en pettishly harsh, and rated me for what
he termed ray romantic disposition. How
ever, I never had much cause to complain
of his outward conduct. The source of
my earliest sorrow lay in a region beyond
his control, The gloom of a melancholy
that darkened the young day of my life’s
golden prime, was a shadow shot from the
depths of my own soul.
“The first desire 1 can remember, was
an insatiable and perpetual yearning lor
love. I cared not for Mr. Beaufort’s cof
fers of wealth, or presents of jeweled trin
kets : what 1 wanted, was a warm place
in his heart. This, 1 felt, 1 did not and ‘
could not possess. He was not my father.
He was proud of me, as of a fine horse, or
an intelligent dog—nothing more. Oh!
you cannot conceive the desert solitude,
the icy desolation of such an ardent, lov
ing spirit as mine, at an age when the fire -
of fancy and of feeling was burning fresh
from its birth-star, to know itself alone—a
separate atom in the great-peopled uni- ;
verse!—to see bright eyes beaming, and
hear soft lips murmuring kisses, for others
—never for ine!”
The young man paused an instant, and
passed his hand across his eyes, as if to
hide a tear, and then proceeded :
“To fill the vacuum that ought to have
been occupied by warmer attachments 1
formed several juvenile friendships, which ‘
all terminated unfortunately, and 1 can see
it clearly enough now, from my own fault.
My situation hail rendered me jealous, ex
acting, and distrustful: and every succeed
ing rupture with my bosom’s mates deep- i
ened the festering wounds of vanity and !
aflection alike.
“ After 1 had completed my collegiate
course, graduating with the highest hon
ors, an event happened, which, at first,
promised to exercise a most favorable in
fluence on my feelings and fortune. 1 was
ushered into fashionable society in New
Orleans, anil it being publicly understood
that 1 was the destined heir of Mr. Beau
fort’s immense estate, the flattering atten
tions lavished upon me were extravagant,
and almost oppressive. For the most part,
1 valued these hollow and selfish courte
sies as they deserved, ami with a single
exception, credited them to the proper ac
count on the mercantile ledgers of ‘ Beau
fort & Co.,’ not on pty own private and
personal journal. But the exception was
different.
“ Among my professed female admirers
was a young lady belonging to one of the
wealthiest aristocracies of the city, as beau
tiful as she was accomplished. Her man
ner, in ten thousand trifles, looks, tones,
blushes, which seemed to say nothing, and
yet to me their fascinated victim—as 1
deemed —revealed everything, declared that
she loved me. I eagerly grasped this new
and tempting aliment proffered to my old
yet undecayed passion for sympathy. I
had tried many of my own sex and found
their friendship frail as a weed : and I said
to myself—‘l will now prove the virtue of
an angel, whose very sighs are the burn
ing breath of love, whose heart is the liv
ing mirror and counterpart of mine!’ I
proposed, was accepted and we swore vows
of eternal constancy. The bright moon
saw it all, and the stars smiled as if them
selves were lovers.”
“It became necessary to consult my
adopting father, as to the future alliance.
To my astonishment and regret he refused
his approbation, and urged a reason, which,
alas! I was soon destined to find, but too
well founded. The merchant’s sagacity
had penetrated the veil of my seraph's as
sumed character. He said, with a mock
ing laugh, that Miss Julia was a natural
flirt, with no more heart than a dry oyster
shell, and cared not a fig for aught save
my fortune: and he proposed a plan to
convince me of the fact: ‘he would pub
licly give out that he hail altered his will
to my prejudice, and that I should write
my charmer to that effect, when her an
swer he, he was sure, would satisfy me as
to the correctness of his opinion: I was
happy to make the experiment, firm in my
assurance of her fidelity, as in the belief of
a God!
“Accordingly, I dispatched a note con
taining the intelligence, and awaited the
result without a pang of doubt. I would
have periled my immortal soul on her
truth: I had supposed it impossible for
even a friend to break such vows as we had
plighted. She did not keep me long in sus
pense. Her answer was a most admirable
specimen of calligraphy : her fairy hand
had not trembled while tracing those lines
of atrocious perjury. ‘ She regretted, that
I had misunderstood a matter —all jest on
her part to while away some hours of en
nui—as an affair of earnest!’
“ It was a wonder that my sensitive na
ture and morbid vanity ever sustained the
shock. It was like the fall of a thunder
bolt from a cloudless sky, as apalling as
j unexpected. 1 was attacked by a delirious
fever, and for weeks, vibrated, like a wa
vering pendulum, betwixt life and death.
The first thing 1 can remember as reason
resumed its trembling throne, in the dim
twilight of consciousness, was an unutter
able loathing for life; thegoiden sunbeams
of mellow autumn flashing through the
stained glass of my sick chamber, resem
bled the glare of burning sulphur; the blue
sky seemed soiled with streaks of dark
ness; and the very air was foul, thick and
noisome, as the odors from a sepulchre!
Thus do our foolish fancies make or mar
the beauties of nature —nature that exter
! nal dream of the waking soul, as ideal as
any vison of dewy sleep !
“ As soon as I was convalescent in body,
but, if possible, more diseased than ever in
mind, my physician advised travel. My
adopting father kindly fitted me out to
| spend a winter at Washington, and 1 em
barked, as you remember, on the same
boat with yourself, then an entire stranger,
i for Louisville.
“It was on the third evening of our voy
age, that the dark thought of suicide first
entered my gloomy imagination. The boat
had stopped to wood, about sunset, near a
picturesque bluff, on the summit of which,
half-hidden among sheltering vinesand fa
‘ ding verdure, stood a lovely cottage, bright
and beautiful as a bird in its bower. I was
pacing alone the hurricane deck which
j commanded a view of the interior of the
: cabin. A youth and maiden w r ere seated
’ near the door, so intently engaged in con
versation that they failed to notice me.—
! The character of their discourse could nql
j be mistaken : love, like the play of sum
mer lightning, beamed in every look : their
faces were glowing in crimson flame : their
very eyes glittered with joy, like stars. I
had enjoyed before, during the afternoon,
a chance gleam of cheerfulness: that vis
ion dashed it all away. It was like a
glimpse into their own forbidden garden
by the lost exiles of Eden ! Here was a
pure stream of love watering humble hearts
in the wilderness of woods —love, the on
ly life-beverage for which my spirit had ev
er panted—dear, delicious love, the nectar
of the starry spheres, the cup that intoxi
cated immortals, the talismanic word en
graven on the highest walls of unascended
heaven —love, in the dim forest-shades, de
nied to me, the denizen of the great city,
fanned my thirst when a boy, and hurled
from my parched lips, as a full-grown man;
The incident was simple in itself; but the
power of exterior things to bewitch or
wound us, depends, ever, more on our
weakness than on our strength. That cot.
tage-scene, which in other moods of mind,
would have melted into my heart, soft and
soothing as a baptism of celestial dew, ac
tually stunned me, like a blow of a ham.
iner—maddened me —for when 1 turned
away to avoid the sight, the declining sun
looked like a lurid meteor floating in a sea